Two weeks after my book came out, I could tell my obsessive stat checking was unhealthy. A deep part of myself wanted to know: did that story matter?

I can figure out how to be here for myself, and care for myself even when my partners are in distress and I don’t know what to do.

I’ve been listening to this voice because I’ve been so afraid that it’s the one that is most right in me. But it finally hit me this voice is getting me nowhere.

“So how long do we think it will take before they start plunking out babies? Who wants to make bets?”

If she goes down there, she will lie, and it will break her heart. Or she will say something true and stupid, and her heart will break all the same.

Before I thought about the words, I heard myself saying out loud, “I love you. I promise I will always protect you.”

I can trust my body to lead me where I need to go.

Writing my memoir showed me all the tactics I use to lie to myself.

Check out the first chapter of Please Make Me Love Me

Baking soda and water might neutralize the sting; I’m hoping chemistry can fix the feelings.

“Go put some color on. You look dead.”

“Being on your period doesn’t give you license to be—”