What She’s Taught Me: A Thank-You Note On Motherhood

What She’s Taught Me: A Thank-You Note On Motherhood

Community Love Motivation + Inspiration


I’m sure you’ve heard it before. Maybe a little, maybe a lot. Maybe it’s been forced or routine.

But this is a different kind of thank you.

An honest thank you, to all mothers, biological AND emotional, a thank you for everything you teach to those around you on a daily basis…whether you realize it or not.


me + my mom on my wedding day, 2017


Everyone speaks of the sacrifices of motherhood, but in my eyes I have only seen freedom. Well, a different kind of freedom. Maybe not the freedom to jet off for a spontaneous weekend or sleep in ’til however long you’d like on the weekends, but an awareness and a courageousness that comes with being a mom – and that represents an incredibly unique type of freedom. Freedom of the heart to love as hard as it pleases, freedom of the spirit to dive into the kinds of big decisions that most only dip their toes into. It’s a kind of freedom that’s not often talked about amidst the hardships and challenges and struggles of motherhood, but it is a freedom that sets an example for the rest of us, a crash course in how to own your own unique brand of leadership. It’s a freedom to allow yourself to start with a fresh slate, to scrap everything you thought you knew, over and over again.

From the time you “get the news” all the way past when your grandchild is born, being a mother means being able to start over with renewed confidence and focus time and again. Most people stay in their bubble of comfort for far longer than it serves them, afraid to begin anew or open themselves up to life’s many shifts. While I’m not saying you’re never afraid (you’re only human!), you feel the fear and do it anyway. Thank you for constantly moving forward. Thank you for showing the rest of us what a different kind of freedom looks like.




Thank you for showing me what motherhood looks like from all angles. From you, I’ve learned that one style does not fit all, that there is really no “technique” that is fool-proof and no way that’s the right way. In observing you approach motherhood from your own angle, I’ve learned something way beyond what it means to be a mother – something bigger. I’ve learned what it means to attack life without being a carbon copy, about how to navigate life on your own terms.

I look upon you with awe as you make decisions for your family and yourself with such confidence, with such assuredness, because there are more important things that must be done than let uncertainty rule your day. I can sometimes sense a slight fear of not knowing what’s right, and when I’m lucky, you let me behind the curtain and share your uncertainties with us. Please know I will always, always listen. You consistently show me that the only “right” choices are those you make from your heart. Thank you for letting me in on your journey.

While not all of us will have children in this lifetime, we will always have the women who came before us and walk alongside us who help model what it is to MOTHER: who teach us how to lead, how to love, how to embrace the freedom… Click To Tweet


The thank-yous could pile up if I let them. Thank you for encouraging my creativity, thank you for being an open book, thank you for driving me around and reading to me from four books every night. But if I could thank you for one thing only, I would thank you for teaching me how to be a leader, both personally and professionally. You realize that relationships, just like anything else worthwhile, are work – and you put the care and effort in every single time. In your friendships, you’re happy going out on the town yet equally happy to sit on the couch with a glass of wine and storytelling. You’re one of those women that was born to be a mother, born to be a shoulder for everyone you love to lean on. And yet you never forget to take care of yourself. You’re not a pushover in the least, you’re not a people-pleaser. And yet you somehow know how to take care of everyone at once, including yourself. You know that you cannot love anyone else unless you love yourself first. Yes, there are times you complain about the lines around your eyes or the rogue grays at your roots, but every step you take is that of a woman who at her core absolutely loves who she is. You’re a presence – even when you’re not trying to be. Thank you for teaching me how to walk with that kind of confidence.

I’ve also learned about myself, my uniqueness, and in trying to emulate you in so many ways I’ve learned who it is I really am. I am silly, sometimes in the same way you are, sometimes in a way that’s completely my own. While you are the life of the party, I’m the person who sticks with one or two conversations all night. I laugh like you, I think, at the same things and with the same reckless abandon. I cry when I laugh, every time, which I know I inherited from you too (thank you for laughing so much). I’ve learned that although we joke and claim otherwise, you don’t know everything, and that you’re just as often wrong as you are right.

Because of that I’ve learned it’s okay not to have all the answers.

I’ve learned that there are lessons I am yet to learn, ones you’ve known for your whole life – and similarly, there are lessons I’ve got under my belt that you’re still figuring out. I don’t fault you for it, I love you more for it. I’m more like you, mom, than I’d sometimes like to admit – and less like you, mom, than you’d sometimes like to admit. It’s that fine balance of similarities and differences that is at the core of our relationship.


I cannot say this any better than my mentor-from-afar Glennon Doyle:

“The old definition of mother: a woman who gives birth to a child, adopts a child or marries into a family – doesn’t ring true enough. I have stopped thinking of MOTHER as a fixed identity- something you are or you are not and more of an energy all of us have inside of us – that we are either unleashing or not.

Because don’t we all know mothers who have given birth to babies but never unleashed nurturing energy even for a moment? And don’t we know men and women and non-binary folks who have never given birth and who spend every single day unleashing creative nurturing energy that gives birth to beautiful new things and nurtures existing things? It strikes me that an out of proportion number of women who are mothering the world in HUMUNGOUS ways (Liz [Gilbert] and Oprah come to mind right away) are women who chose not to raise children on their own. Because they had wider mothering to do: they knew they were born to use their mothering energy less like a laser and more like a floodlight.

In Sue Monk Kidd’s breathtaking new book: The Book of Longings she suggests that maybe the question is not whether not you are a mother but WHAT WILL I MOTHER INTO THIS WORLD?

Watch her whole Morning Meeting on mothering here:


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A post shared by Glennon Doyle (@glennondoyle) on


We all have something to love, whether it be a child or pet or even a vase filled with flowers picked by hand at the Farmer’s Market.

While not all of us will have children in this lifetime, we will always have the women who came before us and walk alongside us who help model what it is to MOTHER: who teach us how to lead, how to love, how to embrace the freedom you feel when you make a decision and stick with it.

And one day, we can get to be that person for someone else, too. Maybe we are right now.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you who possess and demonstrate motherhood on a daily basis – in your family and beyond. The kind of motherhood that knows no  the one that protects and loves in a way that’s uniquely your own, and teaches us all to do the same.


all wedding photos by krista ashley.

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a version of this originally appeared on the chalkboard mag.

On Sameness + Perfection.

On Sameness + Perfection.

Body Love Motivation + Inspiration

WHEN I WAS 12, I read the book The Giver by Lois Lowry. A sort of Brave New World for the tween set, it’s about a confined society in which everything is Just So all the time. It’s a society that’s been converted to “sameness” – a plan that has eradicated pain and strife. Everyone is identical. No one feels. No one judges. No one’s flawed. No experience, no emotion, no hunger for life. Just…predictability.

I think that most of my classmates empathized with the times the main character, Jonas, felt weird for being different (how much more tweeny can you get?). I, however, empathized with how angry Jonah felt when he started to see – really see – how phoney Sameness really was.


Perfection is a hoax. The allure of being perfect is the greatest con, the greatest scheme ever devised. Forget about the Photoshop, the glossy pages, the television even. Perfection is a stagnant ideal and a consummation of all we find unsatisfactory. It’s an artifice to fool ourselves into believing that there’s an excuse or that we’re failing. That is perfect, They are perfect is internalized and morphs into This is not perfect. I am not perfect.
Perfection is conditional love. It’s an invisible benchmark and a thick glass ceiling. It’s the expectation and the idealization of the absolutely monotonous. It’s a lonely, one-dimensional load of crap we think we need in order to feel special.

Perfection is a pile of you-know-what from both ends of the spectrum; doesn’t matter how you look at it. We live in a world where the sweetest apples are discarded for a touch of brown, where we inject plastic into the lines we’ve earned from reading novels late into the night, where we over-sterilize and under-appreciate.

And then there are the people who seem to be constantly extolled for their beauty, their wisdom, or their achievements. Their existence is idolized, their lives an exercise in perfection maintenance. And that…that is a huge burden to carry, too. It’s immense, unreasonable pressure to stay at a certain age, look, job and caliber indefinitely. Because what if – no, when – we don’t? What happens when we falter – or maybe just aren’t astonishingly mind-blowing every single second?

Will we still be loved?


The word “perfect” has haunted me my entire life. When I was in middle school, I would be called perfect as a taunt. I didn’t have braces. I liked to color-coordinate. I got good grades. My awkward stage was mild. Sounds great, huh? Yeah. Not really. I felt detached and alone. I felt I could not be myself; God forbid I spoke out of turn or mismatched a sock. Just like Jonas in The Giver, I saw how fabricated the idea of perfection was, but didn’t know how to convince people otherwise. There was an immense discomfort in knowing I was looked at as someone who had everything together, and that that was both desired AND detested. Trying to convince people I wasn’t always backfired, since perfection was so ingrained in my identity to others. It was weird for me to be perfect but wrong for me to be flawed.

But the most uncomfortable thing for me was that my biggest taunts were also my highest praise. I was told I was pretty, I was told I was smart, I was told I was sweet, and I was told I was talented. I wasn’t ever forced to be those things – no stage parents in my household – but it was obvious the value they had. Plus, the alternative was scary. When you grow up in a culture that puts people down for fun and thrives off of casual negativity to get through the day, how does anything but perfect seem like a viable option? There was currency in perfection…as well as immunity. I felt that.

Balance was virtually impossible.


How was it that the very thing I equated with love and worth from my family and mentors was the thing I equated with loneliness and weirdness when it came to my friends and peers?


Some would have rebelled. But no – I didn’t want to rebel. I just wanted to relate. So I downplayed my assets and kept them locked away. At the root of it, I feared loss. I wanted to guarantee love, but at the same time wanted to be the full range of myself – which included the dark and messy parts. Please let me be normal, I’d silently beg. Do not love me for my light, because it sometimes gets dark in here and I can’t bear the loss when you realize that.

What was the most interesting is when I started to focus on feeling special instead of focusing on the whether or not others THOUGHT I was special. I let my guard down in front of people. I took myself very seriously but took the world a whole lot less so. I cried over boys and told people who hurt me the way that I felt. I opened up about being melancholy for what seemed like no reason and realized there were way more people like me than there were not. My dark and messy wasn’t all so dark and messy after all. I was just, as Glennon Doyle says, “a feely person in a messy world.” I began to realize that only I could determine my value, and only I could know what was my rightest right. I stopped using the word “perfect” to describe people and things and started to call them “perfect-for-me.” I stopped feeding off “perfect” and living on purpose.

You are not a mess. You are a feely person in a messy world. - @glennondoyle Click To Tweet

I am wary of perfection. The ones who make it their life’s mission to be perfect, I’m onto them. There is something deeper there, there is something hiding and some voice inside that once told them that the only way to be is to be flawless. Because big voices and unique souls and feely people are risky to a messy world that likes to put things in cramped little boxes that are easy to define and file away. Nothing is intriguing when you fit into Sameness.

Whenever I see these people, I want to take them aside and hug them and tell them just to Be. Just BE. Be on purpose. Be a contradiction. Be extreme! Whatever you are and whoever you are, be extremely YOU. At the end of the day, what else is there left? The people who know how to live are absolutely flawless in their quirks and extremes. They’re certainly not afraid to mismatch their socks or disagree with the world.

The idea that perfection gets you a prize is a big fat lie, and the thing is that we ALL KNOW IT deep down. Because those beautiful on-purpose souls, who are extremely and unquestionably themselves, those are the people we’re all ultimately drawn to in the long run. Not the ones who homogenize their lives to be Just So. Because this is not sameness. This is life. In all its extremities and nuances.

What makes you special isn’t someone else’s declaration that you’re special. What makes you special are the exact things that end up making you feel as if you’re living with the entirety of yourself. Find those tiny details and idiosyncrasies that make you you, and use them to support and enhance the extreme You-ness of the way you Be. It isn’t about “perfection” or “flawed” or whatever’s the opposite. It’s about being unquestionably yourself.

Forget about the Sameness, forget about utopia. There is no better person to be, no better place to live, than Oh-So-On-Purpose.


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Party Of One: Why You Should Embrace The Single State Of Mind

Party Of One: Why You Should Embrace The Single State Of Mind

Community Love

For most of my partnered-up adult life, Valentine’s Day was a bit like prom: lots of hype, tons of expectation, and kind of a let down once it happened. They felt extravagant or forced, like some sort of obligation I was supposed to be totally into but was only kind-of-sort-of invested in. Basically, the exact opposite of what all those cards and Sex & The City episodes told me February 14th should be like.

In contrast, my single-gal Valentine’s Days were a blast and a half. In high school I spent my freshman and sophomore years with red on my lips and hearts drawn on my fingernails (in black polish, but I digress), passing out glittery stickers and love notes to my friends between classes. My freshman year of college, my mom sent a basket of cookies and mini-muffins to my dorm, and later that evening we all went out to dinner at a janky strip-mall sushi place where the lighting was harsh and the laughter was plenty. As relationships came and went, a small part of me felt a little bit bummed that my Valentine’s Days had fallen prey to romantic involvement instead of a fun time with my single friends and family.

But wait…that’s backwards, right?

Shouldn’t the expression of love be about the fun, about the feeling and, most certainly, about doing things your own way?

This lesson, of course, is one I hadn’t learned yet.


We give a big heap of power to romantic relationships in our culture. So much power, in fact, that many times it can seem like our romantic relationships shouldn’t just dictate our overall happiness, but dictate our sense of self-worth. “Are you seeing anyone?” has become an oft-used tentpole in the basecamp of banal conversation, and way too often a single gal (or guy, because the urge to matchmake transcends gender) is viewed as ripe to be paired off. Even when we’re in relationships, the question isn’t so much about the whos and whys but the whats and whens. We’re told by pop songs, movies, TV shows, and magazines that being coupled is a means to an end, and there’s always a new end to strive toward.

Being single isn’t about not having a partner – it’s about being your own best teammate. Click To Tweet

We’ve all heard the cliché that “you need to love yourself before you can love others.” But it’s also true that loving yourself should never, ever, ever be about laying the groundwork for someone else to come and swoop in. Being single isn’t about not having a partner – it’s about being your own best teammate. It’s about reclaiming the word “single” and redefining it not as something negative or lacking, but as a state-of-mind you carry with you, whether you’re in a relationship or not. Just like being “taken” doesn’t mean you’re someone else’s property, being single doesn’t mean you’re up for grabs. The difference involves another person, but the common commitment should always involve the one you have to yourself.

Little disclaimer: I know couples who have been together since they were 16. My grandparents, aka living breathing heart-eye emojis, were high school sweethearts (granted, they each got married, then divorced, then found each other again later in life – so technically, they had a big old break in the middle of their romance, but still). There are a good number of couples out there who found their “person” early on in life and have created loving, open, equal partnership that’s lasted them a lifetime. And that’s beautiful.

But for most of us, that’s not the case. We experience a multitude of romantic relationships in our lives – both brief and prolonged – and therefore have a plethora of opportunities to check in and evaluate who we are when we’re going solo. Not all of us take these opportunities, but they are always there.

Without prolonged periods of time to ourselves – whether that be months or years – how can we ever develop that deep sense of self-knowledge that fuels our dreams? How can we hone the craft of fine-tuning our intuition and gut feelings so that no matter who or what comes along, we’re able to stay true to who we are at our core? By casting aside those moments, we’re sending ourselves the subconscious message that who we are alone is not enough.

Being single isn’t a relationship status, it’s a mindset. We each get to choose what that mindset means to us.

Think about it: What kind of stuff does the word “single” bring up for you? Is it along the lines of unlovable, incomplete, alone? Or rather, is it a sense of freedom, bravery, and fearless independence? The way we view our single self is ultimately how we will view our coupled self – in both our highest highs and our lowest lows. What a blessing it is to be able to experience both of these emotional extremes on our own, so that when another person comes along (if we should be open to them coming along, of course), we know for a fact that our love comes from a place of want, not need. We know that we want their love in order to enhance our life… not that we need their love in order to define it.

So, spoiler alert… I’m not single any more. And I haven’t been for a few years now. Bigger spoiler, I’m engaged. I know, I know… what kind of business do I have writing about singledom, then? Well – a lot. Because even though my fiancé most certainly has helped me open more windows and doors and sunroofs to my truest self than I can even express, he is NOT my crutch. Because I had a long (long) time before he came along to solidify my relationship with myself, so everything he has to offer is the best-ever cherry on top. Because honestly, the way I feel right now as my best self (in both my high and my lows) is almost exactly the same as when I was single. It was in that period of time that I committed over and over again to the most important relationship in my life – my relationship with myself.

These last few years have been the first time I’ve actually enjoyed Valentines Days in a long while – and it’s not because I’ve found “my person.” It’s because my Valentine’s Days have morphed back into what they were in the past: a day to celebrate love of all kinds. I wear red lipstick because I want to, I spend time with my friends because I love to, I call my mom and pass out stickers because it makes me happy. Sometimes I go out to a fancy dinner with my fiancé, sometimes we watch Friends reruns in our pajamas at 5 p.m. But no matter what, I make sure to reflect on how wonderful it feels to live my life on my own terms, and how grateful I am for that time I had sans partnership to figure out what those terms actually meant to me without the influence of someone else.

The times we have to ourselves are precious. We have our entire lives to be surrounded by other people in whatever capacity we choose, whether a lasting romance or a fleeting fling. If you’re single or recovering from a broken heart this Valentine’s Day, use this weekend to shower the people you love with love. Use this time to hone your single-gal mindset for the better. Friends and lovers will come and go. It’s a liberating feeling when you realize that the one constant in your life – yourself – is someone you’ve grown to love more than you though was possible. And that that person is not going away no matter what.

being single


On Loneliness.

On Loneliness.

Community Love Most Popular Posts Motivation + Inspiration

Lonely hits at the most unexpected times – in line at the bank, driving your car out of your garage into the sunshine of a Sunday morning. Propped up on your elbow on a half-made bed, listening to new music at 2 a.m. It comes when it’s quiet and you are not, or maybe when everything around you is vibrant and you tiptoe in, or when you look in your refrigerator and realize you need to buy something other than condiments and wine. Lonely is a disconnect, a conscious choice or an unexpected wave.

Lonely hits you when you look in the mirror and don’t recognize yourself like you used to. You’re a real live adult – when did that happen? Your hair does this wavy thing it never did before. There is something different in your eyes; what is it? Oh that’s it – it’s clarity, it’s vision, they are the eyes strained from holding themselves so wide open. It’s the look of time passed and dreams in flux and the realization that everything you want is not necessarily everything you need. It’s the body that’s changed shape by the day, week, year, decade, and the idea that even our own selves are not a constant.

Lonely is not a relationship status; lonely isn’t crowded or alone. Lonely is the aching for wide-open exchange, and no matter how many friends you have or how great your love life is or how perfect your job is, lonely is the confusion that sets in when you wonder, when you hold back, or when the external becomes a guise or overcompensation.

We can feel more lonely surrounded by others than when we’re in a room alone. The blocked energy and the questions, they suffocate and they hurt. Usually when we’re feeling lonely, we’re asking questions or holding back. Or holding out, really, because so much of our loneliness is based in the responses we’re hoping to get outside of ourselves.

And the tricky part is that lonely cannot be solved by being social, by going out, or by striking up a conversation. Lonely is vague. Lonely is living hazily, living in parentheticals and footnotes and swift asides and question marks lined up like window decorations. Lonely is what happens when you question the way you give. Lonely is love with nowhere to go.

Lonely is what happens when you ache to uplift; lonely is the first guest to arrive and the lingering last guest to leave. Lonely is the self-aware, the uncharacteristically quiet, the first two layers unpeeled instead of the whole dissected onion. Lonely is the song you try to sing; it’s wishing to sing and not getting the chance. It’s all of the trying and wishing, really. It’s missing your friend because you both evolved in different ways and just don’t relate any more, or it’s getting a solution instead of a shoulder. Lonely is that necklace that you wore so well, that’s now neglected because you just can’t get the tangles out – it’s the change that comes with time and the transience of life in general.

Healing from loneliness is…well, it’s tough. It requires immense courage, unabashed honesty, and a strong cocktail of selflessness and trust.

The opposite of loneliness isn’t just togetherness. It’s connection.

It’s care.

It’s love.

The opposite of loneliness isn’t just togetherness. It’s connection. Click To Tweet

We’re fighting loneliness when we ask the teller at the bank, with genuine interest, “How is your day going?” We’re fighting loneliness when we are feeling disconnected from our family or friends or significant other but tell them we love them anyway, without caring about the response or aching for reciprocity. We’re fighting loneliness when we take a lunch break and bring our coworker coffee just the way she likes it. We fight loneliness with little acts throughout the day of thoughtfulness and intimate authenticity.

When I start to feel lonely, different, sequestered in my own personal black hole, I have trained myself to become just a tad bit more expressive. Because that is the answer to a much bigger question than how to fight the temporary feeling of lonely: the question of what my soul really, truly wants and desires.

The one common thread between all of us is that we want to feel loved. So to battle my own loneliness, I shift gears and do what I can to make someone else feel loved. It makes me feel like my heart is in use; because lonely is my heart feeling stagnant. This is my way of courageously and effectively going about my quest for fulfillment, wholeness and connection on a soul level.

So go ahead, give your love somewhere to go. No alternate agenda or quest for reciprocity. Just a simple moment of care and connection; a fleeting one, even. Delete your footnotes and erase your parentheses. Show your care, own the person who is so uniquely you. Let it fill your heart as you fill the hearts of others. Trust it will. Heal your loneliness by reminding someone “You’re not alone. We’re connected. Let’s do this together.”

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a version of this was originally published in 2015 and has been edited throughout

I Love You And I Like You: The Ebbs And Flows Of Body Image

I Love You And I Like You: The Ebbs And Flows Of Body Image

Body Love Most Popular Posts Motivation + Inspiration

Quick poll: who has ever been frustrated with someone they love?

::raises hand::

Think about your lasting, enduring relationships. They can be with friends, family members, or significant others. There are definitely times you don’t like them, like what they have to say, or like what they’re doing. That’s life. 

With vulnerability and intimacy comes the universal truth that we don’t always like what we see. Because that’s what a real relationship does: it creates a safe space to explore what we like and don’t like so we can learn more about ourselves and move forward on our own journey.

So why should it be ANY different with our bodies?

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Yeah, the ideal is to love it and like it. But as with the nature of any relationship, that’s not always the case.


What holds us back from true body love – and, therefore, self-love – is this idea that we are supposed to LIKE our body 100% of the time.

But chances are, if you’re a living, breathing human being, that’s just not going to be the case. Like, ever.

What ends up happening is that we confuse LIKING our body with LOVING our body, insinuating that what we don’t LIKE in the moment must be an indication that we don’t LOVE ourselves fully and completely.

Since the word “love,” like the h-word and the f-word, is an emotionally heavy word, it’s what both the media and everyday people use the most often. It’s easy to cling onto. It’s easy to empathize with. There’s a lot more tied to the word love, so it’s become our natural default – making us all believe that we can only love or loathe ourselves. The “love” language we use toward our bodies basically assumes the role of “like” language as well. 

In reality, it’s so much more complex than that. To say we like or don’t “like” something usually begs for more justification, especially if you’re a solution-oriented person (like you probably are if you’re reading this). It requires us to actually think and hone in instead of rest on a general feeling/emotion. “Like” has more nuance to it. What do you like or not like? Why “like” and not “love?” If you don’t like something, then what do you like?

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Real talk: I don’t like my body all day, every day. Let me tell you, when I’m in the first 24 hours of my period and it feels like my whole lower half has started its own Fight Club, I do not like the way my body feels. When I’ve had a few too many drinks or a little too much processed food and my organs are responding with superpowered inflammation, I do not like the way my body looks. When I haven’t exercised or done yoga in a while and it would basically take an act of god to get me to even touch my toes, I definitely don’t like the way my body moves around in space.

But none of that – NONE of that – speaks to how I really feel about my body. I love my body despite those things, and I love my body for those things. I love my body for telling me what’s up, for waking me up to parts of myself that need some TLC. Sure we fight sometimes, but my body and I know how to fight fair. We know how to keep respect at the core, use “I feel” instead of “You are” turns of phrase, and we are always, always solution-oriented.

It’s highly unrealistic for us to think we can mantra our way to 24/7 body “like.” Love, maybe. But the idea that disliking our body every now and again is a sin is utter bs. It’s shoving issues under the rug. It’s igorning things that need to be discussed. And if you’ve ever been in a relationship where issues are pushed aside and things are ignored…you KNOW that leads to nowhere good.

When you’re trying to express how you feel on a bad body day, put “like” and “right now” back into your vocabulary. Instead of using the h-word, confront your body on what’s coming up for you in the moment. Play fair, play respectfully, and play to find solutions. Play by reminding your body you love it unconditionally, but right now it’s a little hard to like it.

Seems like such a small, inconsequential shift, but it really makes the world of a difference. Because what “I don’t like when/how you [fill in blank] right now” does is separate WHO your body inherently is from HOW your body is choosing to respond to a given situation in the moment. The love is there. The love will always be there. But right now, it’s a little rough to get on the same page with that one glorious body you love.

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There’s a lot of buzz around the body-positive movement right now, which is phenomenal and something I am so proud to (hopefully) be contributing to. Yet if we only focus on the black-and-whites of love and loathing, we’re missing a whole gray scale in the middle that is desperately seeking attention. Because no matter how deep you have to dig and how without basis it seems on the surface, we never dislike something “just because.” Politics, people, parts of ourselves. Maybe it’s because of deep-seated beliefs or temporary sensations. Maybe it’s because it triggers something unrelated. Or maybe, it’s just because we know we can do better. We never dislike without good reason, whether we want to admit it or not.

Fight for what you ultimately love, not against what you temporarily loathe. Click To Tweet

Recognizing what you love and what you’re fighting for is the first step toward any real, lasting change. And part of that means pinpointing those small-but-sometimes-huge things that can be better. It’s all in the language you use: Hate breeds hate, fear breeds fear. The sometimes becomes the always, and the reactions become deafening battle cries. But working on those things you don’t like in the midst of unconditional love is the essence of being proactive, not reactive. You’re fighting for what you ultimately love, not against what you temporarily loathe.

It’s okay to not like everything all the time. I’d even go so far as to say it’s healthy to not like everything all the time. Because even though things sometimes get rough and we don’t agree all the time, our body always wants to kiss and make up. It always wants you to listen. We just can’t be too stubborn to shut it out.


Do you relate? Do you find yourself saying the dreaded h-word when what you really mean is you don’t “like X right now?” Tell me below. What’s something you can “fight fair” with your body on next time you’re feeling less-than-stellar? Or on the flipside, what do you love AND like about your body today, in this very second?

photo credit: Vulture

Hope Was The Chant.

Hope Was The Chant.

Community Motivation + Inspiration WANT Women

I am not a political person.

I don’t talk politics, I don’t converse about foreign policy. I don’t follow as much as I probably should, and I don’t state opinions because I don’t like pretending I know what I’m talking about.

But this election is making me surprisingly emotional, and it’s getting harder and harder to stay silent.


You can tell a lot about someone’s impact by the way their followers respond. We’re part of an energetic call-and-response with each person that affects us, and the response isn’t always an echo of the call.

I’m just going to say it from the get-go: I am a Hillary supporter. I have been since she was our First Lady (okay, I was ten, but still), I have been since my grandmother worked on her campaign the first go-’round in her home state of Oregon. I’m not-now-not-ever anti-Bernie. I agree with a lot of his ideals (and so does Hillz, btw). 

This isn’t about them. Hell, this isn’t even about her. This is about us.

It’s the anger that gets me.

We live in a world in which extremes are indulgent. Extreme diets, extreme workouts, extreme poses and extreme viewpoints. We watch people argue on reality tv shows for entertainment and read US Weekly for the latest judgement calls. We say we “hate” our bodies, we say we “hate” our neighbors. We say clothes that are not like ours are “weird” and that food that doesn’t fit our taste is “gross.” Extremes are easy to define and easy to get behind. There’s no gray area. It’s why some people rush into marriage before they’re ready and why comments sections so often get nasty. Extremes are addicting. They give us clear, unmuddled definitions in a world where we are searching to be defined by something.

The anger game is a smart one to play, politically speaking. We’re human. We love extremes. We love to be angry, especially for a cause. 

As a woman, Hillary cannot play that game. I mean, she can – but for many, many reasons (whether they be personal or political or a mash-up of both) – but to be considered a viable option as leader of our country, there is no way in hell she can. She’s got to play the other game. She’s got to keep her hair perfectly coiffed. She’s got to wear the pantsuit (thank goodness we finally stopped with the fcking pantsuit). She’s a woman. As good of a strategy it is, anger is not a hand she can play. Others can. Including us.
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But we can do better. When it comes to change, I think we can do way more than be angry together. The world – and country – I want to live in is one that is proactive, not reactive. One whose emotion is not fighting against the problem, but fighting for the solution. The difference between the two? The former fixates on the problem. The latter FINDS A WAY FORWARD.

Like I said earlier, many of my ideals are pretty closely aligned with other Democratic nominees (and like I said earlier, so are many of Hillary’s btw). Yet I cannot help but pause at anyone who inspires anger out of their followers…instead of cool, calm, collected determination.

We can feel strongly without anger. We can push for change without violent emotions. No matter how you side politically and whether you agree with it or not, it’s fact that we’ve been there. We did it eight years ago. We can do it again.

Hope was the chant. Hope has a lightness. Hope has an energy to it that burns steady and strong, not incinerates and obliterates.

Hope has an energy to it that burns steady and strong, not incinerates and obliterates. Click To Tweet

I am not a political person. But what I am is an emotional person. An emotional pro, dare I say it. And no matter what anyone says, I firmly believe that for anything to resonate in this world, it must have an intentional emotional undertone. It’s not what it looks like – it’s what it feels like that counts. Just like with food and exercise and job-hunting and relationship-getting and self talk, negativity breeds stress in the body which puts up barriers to change. It’s why doing exercise that you loathe isn’t going to get you the body you love or going out with the wrong type of person over and over isn’t going to magically manifest Mr./Ms. Right. We need to do the work to find the type of exercise we enjoy in order to see changes in our body; we need to do the work within ourselves and step out of our comfort zones in order to meet our match.
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And in politics, I have a feeling that when we do the positive emotional work, the positive political change takes place. That is the force I want representing the United States. That is the world I am fighting for. That is the country I am ready to live in.



*For people who know a lot more about politics than I do (and make them easier to understand for people like me), visit NPR, tune into your local NPR station, or listen to the NPR Politics Podcast, which is basically a jam sesh between political reporters. We all don’t have to be experts, but we do all need to be civil and respectful of each other’s viewpoints. NPR helps me do this. So thanks, Steve Inskeep, Morning Edition, and all the other segments that help me know more things about the country (and world) we live in.

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**2020 EDIT: I am, and always have been, a political person. Stating here that I was not is super cringey to read in hindsight, knowing exactly why I was saying it (a whole slew of fears around not wanting to get into arguments with people, being trolled online, etc etc etc – all self-serving reasons disguised as “boundary setting”). I AM a political person. And guess what? YOU are too. Yes, even if you don’t particularly LIKE “talking politics.” As many have said more eloquently than I’m about to, I now know that to state you’re “not a political person” just means you have the luxury of staying disengaged. And as the great Desmond Tutu said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”

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