Suzannah Weiss

"Hey, you're a feminist. What do you think of that?" If we feminists got a dollar every time someone at a party asked us this question, we just might close the wage gap.

I was six the first time I remember sucking in my stomach.

I’ve never been able to embrace the life of no regrets. Regrets are stubborn seeds that plant themselves in my mind, refusing to leave until something grows from them. I water them by reliving my past until I figure out what I would do differently if I could go back. Eventually, I do go back, even if the situation is slightly different.

“Don’t make yourself feel good by calling us survivors.”

When speaking with eating disorder victims, what not to say is as important as what to say.

“Some of the smartest thinkers . . . are university professors, but most of them just don’t matter in today’s great debates”—or do they?

Ever since I was a kid myself, I’ve held the conviction that I didn’t want kids. I found baby dolls creepy and real-life babies irritating. Whenever I told my parents this, they’d say, “You’ll change your mind.” But at age 25, I still haven’t.

Women — and everyone, for that matter — I invite you to join me in a new game. Instead of stooping down to sympathize when someone strays from societal body ideals, and instead of bringing others down with us when we're struggling with body image ourselves, let's all lift one another up by declaring that there's nothing wrong with what we've just eaten, how we look in a bathing suit, or what size pants we’re wearing.

When I was first diagnosed with anorexia ten years ago, I vaguely knew that eating disorders were a feminist issue.

Those who know and love people with depression usually want nothing other than to help. But during the times I've been depressed, even the most well-intentioned efforts to help often backfired.