Sandy Jorgenson

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?

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

My daughter was just reaching her first birthday before the dense fog of postpartum depression started to lift off of me. I didn’t realize it right away, though – and I certainly hadn’t even realized I was suffering from PPD 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.

Whoever is responsible for coining the term “terrible twos” and leaving the entirety of the threes out of the equation is sitting at the very top of my sh*t list. Because a little warning would’ve been nice.

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

Everybody who’s a parent can attest to the fact that the lives they once knew are far behind them.

But what can be said for the day upon which I am no longer enough? I dread that day.

So, women, I’m talking to you — give yourself permission to love every inch of you. Honor your body, and meet it where it is. To those of you who’ve given birth: you’re forever changed. Relinquish the idea that you need to get your body back to looking the way it did before your baby was born.