Joni Edelman

I said (on TV, to Rachael Ray, so there are a few million witnesses): If you want a bikini body, put a bikini on your body.

I'll never forget the day I discovered the name for my mental illness.

I just listened to my four and six year-old children (one boy, one girl) have a lengthy bathtime conversation about babies, growing up, m

By baby three, well let’s just say things are a little anticlimactic, at least where furnishings are concerned. Hand me down crib. Check.

Being vulnerable, being seen (even lumpy and naked), admitting weakness, asking for help — these acts inspire and edify.

When I was little, any time I got an insect bite or stubbed my toe, I had to ask my mom, “Am I going to die? If I was going to die from this, I’d already be dead — right?” I also had a 30-minute prayer that I needed to say at each meal or else everyone would be poisoned and die. And corners. I had to check all of them before I went to bed.

How do I raise a boy to love and respect all women regardless of size in a world where he is bombarded with images of what is attractive?

With the help of the midwife—and immense effort on my part—Ella finally slid out into the water. But she was limp, pale. It was scary.

"Food isn't the enemy –– calling it the enemy is the enemy."

At certain points in the month I definitely feel worse about my body. I'm much less confident and more prone to eating the wrong things, and not doing physical exercise.