Plenty of them, including her beloved sorors, were the kind of blinkered, privileged, entitled assholes who’d go sailing through life, assuming that their hard work, not their privilege, was what ensu...
Drawing of a boy with brown hair and
People say I'm not good at writing about men. My dad left when I was 16. Give me a break. I'm doing the best I can.
As long as people can still surprise you, it means you’re not dead.
Someone had come in and mopped the floor, and the disinfectant smell was
But I'll tell you a secret. You know what boys like? A woman who's happy with herself. Who's not making herself miserable with the Jane Fonda videotapes and complaining all the time about whether this...
There are two kinds of houses in the neighborhood where I grew up-the ones where the parents stayed married, and the ones where they didn’t.
I decided.. that I could go on being scared forever, that I could keep walking, that I could carry my rage around, hot and heavy in my chest forever. But maybe there was another way. You have everythi...
The first time around, she’d done the surgeries, the radiation, the chemotherapy. She’d lost her hair, lost her appetite and her energy, lost her left breast and six months of her life.
Baby, groaned the guy-Ted? Tad?-something like that-and crushed his lips against the side of her neck, shoving her face against the wall of the toilet stall.
This is motherhood for you, said my own mother. Going through life with your heart outside your body.
She’d lost her taste for fiction. Sometimes she thought it was because spending even a few hours in an imaginary world would make it too tempting for her to consider other versions of her own story, o...
There would be menus, offered today by a girl
The problem was, he’d never told me what he wanted, which meant I never got to think about whether it was what I wanted, too.
My chest. All I’d wanted was for someone to be happy for me—happy with me, straight-up happy, not happy with questions, or happy with reservations, or happy but confused, or not happy at all . . . and...
If there had been an exercise I'd liked, would I have gotten this big in the first place?
Mooo, she said... I mean mmmm, she moaned. Louder this time. Goddamn Dr. Seuss is ruining my sex life.
Fluttered
Inadequacy and impostor syndrome are painful. They’re also great motivators.
Love, I said, is the rug they pull out from under you. Love is Lucy always lifting the football at the last second so that Charlie Brown falls on his ass. Love is something that every time you believe...
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