Michaela Mitchell

During the darkest moments after my split with my husband and then divorce, when I thought life would never get better, and I kicked myself for thinking I could be on my own, it was music that got me through.

I can't decide which school of thought is more annoying. “Lose weight, get healthy, don't be a drain on society, and finally have the best, most perfect life once you're skinny!” or “Screw what people think! Be comfortable in your own skin! Don't ever change because change equals conformity!”

Several months ago I read a piece from a mother who was so over people comparing raising kids to taking care of their “furbabies.” The annoyance and eye rolls practically leapt off the page.

My journey to acknowledging my guilt and privilege while embracing my feminist view on the world has been a slow, winding trip — with no end in sight.

God forbid a single group, like fast-food workers, attempt to unite and fight for a better living wage. The moment they do, stories about more deserving groups who don't complain about their income are thrown about.

In my family, it's not a matter of if cancer will affect one of us, but when. Right now, breast cancer has center stage in our lives.

I make no secret that I prefer older men. The way they handle themselves in a relationship is important, but there are things older men do better in bed!

I don't exactly advocate divorce for anyone with a gripe about his or her spouse. Whatever I think of my own divorce, it's not something to take lightly. Divorce is serious. It's the death of a relationship, the end of something that was supposed to last forever. It must be grieved.

I have a completely common and certainly not surprising confession to make. Turning 30 freaked me out.