Joni Edelman

“I don’t even know what to say, Joni. Your baby isn’t alive.”

I didn't get a lot of mothering as a child, but when I did, it was from her. She taught me how to sew, how to crochet. She taught me how to stand up for myself, to be tough. She taught me how to make fried chicken and fried okra, which I will never make, because it's fucking gross.

"Food isn't the enemy –– calling it the enemy is the enemy."

Psychiatric illness is still stigmatized. And that’s hard when you have a psychiatric illness.

No, Bill Cosby isn't my dad. But he was like one to me growing up.

By baby three, well let’s just say things are a little anticlimactic, at least where furnishings are concerned. Hand me down crib. Check.

Having kids doesn't have to mean the death of your sex life.

My husband and I recently traveled together without our kids for the first time . . . in a while. And it was a brand-new ball game.

I am tired of taking medication. I am tired of relying on the manufactured versions of the chemicals and hormones my body could — should? — make for itself.

Good god, where will I ever find someone who will love me in such a pitiful condition?