I find a measure of compassion for her that I’ve never been able to apply to myself.
I just tell my daughter the truth.
Our world is filled with so much more than a list of possible outcomes handed to us at diagnosis.
I can tell her what’s happened, but I can’t tell her why, because I don’t understand why.
This birthday party reminds me that someone is missing. She would have been seven today too.
My anxiety doesn’t mean I can’t be a good parent. In fact, it makes me a better one.
Maybe it’s time we all came clean.
You can do this, even when you don’t think you can.
“Parenting” has become a competitive sport. But it’s kids who are losing.
It was a rainy Saturday evening when my husband uttered the words that shattered my life plans.
But damned if I’ll stop trying.
Please, keep your opinions to yourself.
Your daughter is NOT obligated to promise you anything about her body.