Lindsay King-Miller

Asking for help is the hardest part. The truth is that asking for help is uncomfortable, even when we’ve been repeatedly reassured that it’s welcome.

Your period is a time for many things: comfort eating, getting into arguments for reasons you can't reconstruct…but it’s also a time to express yourself.

Someone I have never met donated a large sum of money, for no other reason than they felt it was the right thing to do, to help my family feel safe.

I am a compulsive memorizer. I am terrified of making a mistake, ever. But I'm learning to let go of my perfectionism.

I never want my child to doubt herself the way I do myself. I never want her to feel the anxieties that weigh me down, though I know she already senses it.

For queer parents like me, meanwhile — although I know that my whiteness and my class affords me a degree of protection from scrutiny and interference — the threat of being deemed an illegitimate parent also serves to silence any discussion of mixed feelings.

She will deal with the repercussions of other people’s dysfunctional relationship with guns, whether she chooses to or not.

People talk about skin care like it’s fun — a way to relax. But for me, the very idea opens onto a black hole of self-loathing.

I just tell my daughter the truth about my period: I have PMS, my back is killing me, and we’re going to eat a lot of chocolate.

The fact is that trans-exclusionary feminists and misogynists are, despite some trivial differences, basically on the same side.