I’d like to talk about one of the worst days of my life. Seven people died on that day, but I didn’t know any of them. Yes, it was a day that affected millions of people. It happened back in the days before the Internet and cellphones, so most of the country heard about ...
You don’t care about my metabolism. Specifically, you don’t care about the grinding halt to which it came, and then turned around and spit in my face and kicked me in an ever-expanding middle. I won’t bore you telling you how much time I spend deeply mourning my once slim and fit body. I try ...
I don’t remember my wedding. I don’t remember college. I’ve been to Brazil, apparently. I’ve seen Bruce Springsteen on Broadway, sat in middle of the first row. (First row!) But I don’t remember.
Reading is really hard now. If I see too much text at once it gets overwhelming. (Plea to ...
So, how often do you think about who you are? Every day? No? Then it’s time to start! It’s not a self-involved question for egomaniacs. It’s a necessary inquiry for people who want to live with clarity and intention. To know who you are is essential for those who want to grow, to be their ...
Everyone knows there are things you do not say when people tell you they were sexually molested as children -- things like:
Well, what were you wearing?
That explains a lot.
Big whoop.
Cool!
But there are others, too.
Twice in my life I brought up to my father that I’d been ...
Did you ever read the story "Flowers for Algernon"? (It was also a movie called Charly.) Here's the story:
Charly is an adult man with an IQ of 68, but after receiving an experimental surgery, his intelligence doubles. Algernon was the mouse upon whom the surgery was first successfully ...
Hello, my name is Dixie, and I’m a shopaholic. (Hi, Dixie.) I’m not your credit card debt, hoards bags and bags from TJ Maxx kind of shopper. I’m more in the keep-getting-stuff-I-already-have category. For example, I have a lot of Isabel Marant black t-shirts. Like, over a dozen a lot. But I ...
Last week I opened up about my broken brain. I keeping with my pledge to make a new confession each week, this post deals with something about which I am very ashamed. I'm fat.
I don't like my body anymore. I don't feel okay with my weight gain. I don't feel comfortable in my own skin. I ...
Maybe folks will look at this headline and think, “Big whoop” or less charitably, "Duh." Actually, as a relentless over-sharer, my adding another confession to my list of not-so-secret-secrets will most likely have folks saying, “Please, stop.”
What makes this not-so-secret secret different ...
There are lots of great women who have goals their busy lives keep them from pursuing. They want to work on that novel, get started on that business, lose weight, or just get sh*t done.
(I am one of them, and I bet you are too.)
I decided to start a “mastermind group”, a supportive space ...
The word "fuck "makes me feel good. I love to say it, wear it, think it. I am a fan of all its permutations: fuck, fucking, and fucker. I like fucked -- as in with I am not to be. (I love good grammar too.)
I don't mean I like the word in its sexual connotation (though that's fine too). I ...
You take it for granted. Knowing where you came from, how you came to be in the world, where you got that laugh or why your legs are so hairy. Maybe it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but for me and lots of other adoptees, not knowing who and where you came from is a phantom limb that aches. You ...
