Viewing the show together became a rite of passage for both of us. By Lori Tucker-Sullivan
daughters
It’s your vagina, you’re allowed to love it all you want. By Ellen Hagan
The loss of my breasts made one thing clear. I had wasted so much time hating my perfectly good functioning body. By Jenny Leon
During my treatment, and in the months after, my daughters watched me closely. By Jessica Wahlstrom
I never tell my children what’s real or what to believe, I simply lend definitions. By Katherine Sargent
On their first day of homeschooling a punch was thrown over whose turn it was to use the laptop. By Sylvia Carr Clebsch
I’ve raised my daughter to believe that a preoccupation with one’s appearance is trivial, but I’m a traitor to the cause. By Rebecca Knight
What would I have done if her shorts got shorter, tops dipped lower? If she learned to sharpen her body like a tool? By Rica Keenum
When I ask if they’re hungry, the girls are silent at first. Then each looks to a friend’s face to discover the answer. By Glennon Doyle
“No skinny pants” was a rule we could not and did not obey. Instead, we pulled our children out of the school. By Jennie Burke
“Why is she like that?” my son asks. I hesitate. There’s no denying my mother’s passive aggressive disdain towards me. By Elizabeth Maria Naranjo
It’s not that my boys don’t need motivation. It’s that for their gender, empowerment is always readily available. By Annie D. Stutley
I now hear regularly about girls who are so fearful of disappointing their teachers that they skip sleep to do extra-credit work for points they don’t need. By Lisa Damour
“Oh, relax,” he says, ruffling my daughter’s wispy blonde hair. “We’re just playing.” By Lisa Norgren
I am ashamed to admit I believed you were a good man who deserved to be forgiven. By Jo Hall
I want my nine-year-old to carry herself without shame. By Daisy Alpert Florin
I don’t care for any “sexy” clothing on little girls. By Sharon Holbrook
Perhaps by allowing my daughter to experiment with her appearance and create her own reality, I can put the power back in her hands. By Erin Ott
We are forever snarled in each other’s hair, my daughter and I, invested in the consistency of the people we know best and need most. By Leslie Kendall Dye
Maybe she will meet the “right” guy or girl. Maybe she will never be interested in sex.
By Melanie Lopez
Mothers are not static entities. We evolve in this role, as in any other.
By Lauren Apfel
There’s so much against you: the world’s cruel prejudices, its judgment.
By April Vázquez
For black women, wearing our hair in its natural state was—and still is, to some extent—considered defiant.
By Margaret Auguste
Is my daughter a “tomboy” or a “girly girl”? She is neither and she is both.
By Lauren Apfel
We will fight, my daughters and I. In our black stretch pants and pink pussy hats, we will take our stand.
By Francie Arenson Dickman