We pull ornaments from boxes labeled in my mother’s loopy cursive, giving our tree the same homespun look hers always had. By Mary Janevic
“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
Cell phones do not work here, and on a good day it takes only ten minutes to open email. By Mindy R. Roll
My mom took off her scarf and revealed her bald head. We all braced ourselves, but the woman at the shop didn’t flinch. By Kandace Chapple
These words by Joan Didion summed up my twenties, but they also capture the predicament of my current midlife crisis. By Elizabeth Newdom
As parents sometimes it’s a struggle to carve out even a few minutes to breathe. By Steph Auteri
One day infants and diaper bags and hemorrhoids and boobs won’t be hanging off of your person like you’re a cross between a human mobile and a Sherpa. By Catherine Newman
After we gave it all to Goodwill, I lived in fear every day that I would see somebody else wearing my mom’s clothes. By Kandace Chapple
I told Mama to stop taking me to doctors when I was twelve. I didn’t want to be a burden. By SaraGrace Griffin
In a quiet, distant voice I tell my husband that I want to die. Not exactly dead, I clarify, but not this. By Laura G. Owens
Fourteen teenagers and three teachers are dead who were not dead a few of weeks ago, and my house is falling apart, and my children are at school. By Brianne DeRosa
You’re there because some nights she gets lost in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. You’re there because she has lost herself. By Amie McGraham
Nobody will send flowers. You don’t even have a face to conjure when you think of this child. By Maggie Downs
To throw away the cigarettes, and choose to run instead. To stop running when my hips hurt, and walk instead. By Kathleen Harris
I’m not sure when doing nothing after school fell out of favor. As a kid, I was a pro at nothing. We all were. By Francie Arenson Dickman
For what seems like a single frame of the video, I see my child silhouetted in the lights of the oncoming car. By Ian Smith
I held his illness deep inside me the way I would hold shame. In the dark, it rotted and grew. By Laura Leffler
We trot her out into the world, trying to help her gain confidence through exposure. But it only lasts for so long.
By Linda Pressman
So why is it you want a baby, my therapist asks. Love, I answer.
By Bethany Marcel
Sorry, can’t make it to the sorority reunion. My thermometer says I’m ovulating!
By Amy Klein