Suzannah Weiss

One day, when you’re twice your age, you’ll write a letter to yourself with all the things no one taught you about your period

"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.

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

If they could go back, a lot of women in their 30s would reassure their 20-something selves that they really don’t need to worry. “No one has it all figured out yet. You're going to be fine."

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

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.

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.

When the police arrested Wendy Barnes's pimp, it appeared as if she were free at last, she recalls during our phone interview. “Maybe this nightmare ends,” she thought. But that's when they handcuffed her, brought her to the station, and charged her with the exact same crime: prostitution.

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

I have pressured people into sex. I have had partners say they weren’t in the mood and tried to change their minds. I have sulked when they didn’t. And I did this for years without realizing it was wrong. Why? Because I’m a straight woman.