Sandy Jorgenson

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Sitting now on the cusp of my 35th birthday, I find myself taking stock of my life thus far, shoving my youth under a microscope while I ask myself this one thing: Am I careening full-tilt toward my final days on this earth, or am I only just getting started here?

...[O]ur very responsibility is to equip them with everything they need before we shove them out of the nest and watch their wings spread far and wide... But what, then, is left for us?

When a bereaved mother is left alone, how deep into the recesses of her mind does she wander? Does she surface for air? Does she want to come out at all?

You’d have a hell of a time if you ever dared to crawl through the recesses of a first-time mother’s brain.

The tumult that’s been rippling through our country has me begging the question: what do we do when we feel the defeat of a woman and the rise of a monster bearing down on us?

Death, we know because it’s drilled into us from an early age, is a natural part of life.

Griping about adulting is a fun thing that we like to do, I know.

I didn’t start out as a particularly easygoing person.