Somewhere in my garage there is a bin of all the tiny rubber boots my children used to wear. By Kim June Johnson
mothers and daughters
I know our relationship—which has always been very close and strong—will never be the same again. By Carol Ewig
The loss of my breasts made one thing clear. I had wasted so much time hating my perfectly good functioning body. By Jenny Leon
As I open my fifth holiday season as a single woman and a mother of three, I watch the butter and sugar vanish into one another again. By Samantha Shanley
My son loves to eat at Grandma’s house, he gets real cream and real sugar. Unlike the dishes I cook, which are vegetarian or Paleo or Whole30. By Elizabeth Newdom
I ignored her recipe for many years as a way to avoid the loss. By Marcia Kester Doyle
“No offense Mom,” my oldest said to me a few years ago. “But you could have been so much more.” By Laura Pochintesta
She slid into anorexia at 16. She stopped smiling. She ignored her friends. She counted almonds.
By Amy Rumizen
For black women, wearing our hair in its natural state was—and still is, to some extent—considered defiant.
By Margaret Auguste
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
What grooming habits is my daughter going to learn from me, and what will I say to her about why she might be expected to shave her legs but her brothers won’t be?
By Lauren Apfel