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.

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.

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

We’re always hardest on people who give into our own worst impulses, and I see my own shadow in those parents. I’m an over-sharer too.

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.