Your name is Emily. You are loved. Fiercely. You complete our family, and it is hard to imagine being without you. But you don’t exist. You never did. And you never will.
My hair became impossibly thick. I started getting teased in grade school as the adorable curls morphed into some curls, some shag carpeting.
My son ate peanut butter all day every day during the summer, but now that he’s back to school in a nut-free environment, he has given up his beloved peanut butter for 6.5 hours a day, and the world has continued to spin.
“Come,” the face said. “Let me help you break free of this average life. Let me help you find your joy by throwing away half your stuff.”
Sometimes it feels like all they do is fight, but sometimes it gets quiet. And when they aren’t fighting, my children are pretty amazing.
I never imagined how amazing having an older child would be. I’m in the sweet spot. Maturity and innocence wrapped into one. And I am loving it.
I did nothing today. I had plans. I had responsibilities. I have articles to write, and things to clean. I have lists and chores and things to get to. But I did none of them.
I’d love to go for a work out, but you see, it seems getting out of bed is going to require all of my energy today. Depression is hard.
If doing anything “regular” people do while fat is brave, then that means there is something shameful about being fat.
