How can I sit here and encourage other women to talk about their mental health when I can’t even be honest about mine?
“Toothpaste, coffee filters, a vibrator…” Grocery lists are about to look really different.
Despite our strides toward gender equality, it seems menstruation is still shameful, and must, at all costs, be hidden.
Splitting up doesn’t have to mean failure.
My name is Elizabeth, and I’m mentally ill.
I’m not particularly interested in looking for a romantic relationship.
Sometimes the hardest place to be is inside your own head.
I wasn’t raised to hide mental illness, even during times of crisis.
‘Tampons? What are those. We don’t say those words out loud.’
Because there shouldn’t be anything shameful about it.