I took Brené Brown and Ashley C. Ford with me on my run today. As I bounced over the rocky path, trying not to take a header directly into the roots seemingly strewn about at random, I heard Ashley C. …

My kid was in diapers the first time some well-meaning human warned me of what was to come when she reached the dreaded tween years. I wonder now: did they think they were being helpful? If so, how exactly? Is it ever a good idea to dread some far-off stage…

Short Form

Write Here — Flash Fiction For real. Everything was a hot mess from the minute I woke up. Including my hair. I’d watched a YouTube tutorial on how to get the perfect beachy waves. Don’t ask me why I need beachy waves when I live in severely landlocked Atlanta, Georgia…

One feminist’s perspective on mastectomy and reconstruction — I’ve been thinking about my boobs a lot lately. I suppose that’s sort of the way things go, if you find yourself at 46 years old undergoing a double mastectomy (with reconstruction!). You think about your relationship to your boobs. You ponder about what they mean–or don’t–to your womanhood. You…

Around this time of year, melancholy sets in. For a long time, I dreaded the onset of Christmas music and twinkly lights like most folks dread the first symptoms of the flu. In the weeks after Thanksgiving, as the atmosphere got more festive, my interior world dimmed. …

I promised myself, when I got this dog, that she’d be incredibly well-trained. (She is not.) I told myself she’d learn to walk in heel. That she’d come every time she was called. (She does neither.) I just knew she wouldn’t bark, not unless absolutely necessary. (She barks at everything that moves. Even leaves blowing through the yard.) I promised I’d teach her to be gentle and loving. That I’d love her to the moon and back. She would be mine & I would be hers.

I want to be a productive and contributing Medium member. So I clap a lot (but only when I’m willing to actually read the article). And I try to make thoughtful, insightful comments on (at least some of) the articles I read. …

My grandmama had that syrupy Southern accent, so sweet it’d make your teeth hurt. She put up peas and canned tomato chow-chow. She had homemade vegetable soup on the table when we’d roll up into their driveway after the 7 hour drive from South Florida (often made even longer by…