Cooking without meat has forced me to be creative in the kitchen and expanded the confines of my world.
My two years of sobriety were gone in less than the length of a song.
For a long time, I believed you had to keep these records. I knew so little about who I was and what I wanted.
Just as I was reaching the peak of my abilities—and as the pandemic began—I left professional ballet behind, before ever giving my dreams a proper try.
The email some anonymous stranger had sent to my boss was an agonizing reminder of how I lived, the choices I made, and the priorities I held close.
Their judgment is clear every time, and my aunt is the only one who is bold enough to say it with her chest: I am a bad mom.
The past two years have solidified my view that America may never change enough for me.
I stopped wearing pants in the name of physical comfort, with the emotionally uncomfortable result that I now present as a woman who wears dresses all the time.
I was agitated by the sensation that saying yes to everything and no to nothing, rising to the occasion, going above and beyond, was supposed to be the worthiest thing about me.