Joni Edelman

A weekly trip to Walmart would end in tears — first theirs, then mine. Them pining in the toy aisle. Me saying no. Over and over. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to buy my kids whatever they wanted, it was that I couldn’t.

My mother didn't teach me how to be a mother. But my babies did.

91% of women report dissatisfaction with their body. Ninety-one. I know you know math—that’s 9/10 of women.

I was told that feminism is man hate. That abortion is murder. And then I thought, "What am I doing here?"

Body politics activist. Photographer. Chronic quoter of Monty Python. Unapologetic fat chick.

photo credit: Lindy West (instagram), by

If you're brave enough to take the DIY Brazilian plunge, these tips are a must-read. As in, tip #6: It hurts, but not more than having a baby. Good to know.

I didn't get a lot of mothering as a child, but when I did, it was from her. She taught me how to sew, how to crochet. She taught me how to stand up for myself, to be tough. She taught me how to make fried chicken and fried okra, which I will never make, because it's fucking gross.

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.

You should know that she is a really awesome human.