My dad died on Valentine’s Day from a cancer in his brain that he fought for a year and a half. I’ll talk about that more one day, but what I want to say now comes from the buildup and the fallout. What I want to say is not about the suffering and turmoil that I watched my dad and my family experience for that year and a half, or the milestones we hit every day that I never mentioned, like the last day he had ice cream or went outside. I want to talk about him and I will. But today, I want to talk about the aftermath. People don’t know what to say about death and dying. They tell you they’re sorry and they could never do what you’re doing, they tell you how strong you are and graceful you’re being, admire how you’re “back to work” or “still able to have fun”. Grievers are told time and time again, nobody knows what the right thing to say is. And we have grace. Giggle it off and nod our heads, tell them thank you and it’s okay. Because it is okay. They aren’t doing anything wrong t...
I think I was like - the last of my friend group to figure out about being self conscious about my body. Every thirteen year old it seems has this moment of like “oh my god, I’m supposed to hate being chubby?” Well imagine me, a baby-faced ninth grader, finding out I’m supposed to be kinda hot now instead of cute. There were so many feelings that came with that. Because I had friends with long hair and straight teeth, and my braces were still months away from coming off, and because I wasn’t ready to give up heaping servings of spaghetti. I could not, at the time, come to terms with the fact that I was supposed to desire skinniness. In fact, I never even thought I was ‘big’ in the first place. Then that pivotal moment happened. I think I was 14. We were getting ready for a party and trading clothes, how girls do, and someone quietly noted how they could never fit into my clothes because they were ‘way too big.’ Ugh. My heart still breaks for the me who heard that. I never thought ...