Kelly Burch

“Her face is beautiful. Beautiful,” Tiegs said.

Parenting my daughter through toddlerhood is sometimes amazingly rewarding. Her personality is emerging and I see the conversation and friendship that will hopefully fill our lives when she says things like, “I’m really proud of you, Mommy,” or “You’re my best friend.” Other times, when she blatantly refuses to obey, I seethe.

I clearly remember the first time that I was forced to accept that something was wrong.

My husband brought home his first gun while I was at work. When I came in he pointed to it proudly, while I stood firmly on the other side of the room, looking at the firearm like it was an unpredictable animal that could spring up to bite me at any moment.

My toddler was twirling in her tutu bathing suit while I shimmied into my plus-sized polka dot bikini.

I’m one of those bigger girls that confuses the medical community by being entirely healthy. My doctor body shamed me and lied to me about tests she ran.

I certainly still have moments of self-doubt, but I make a conscious effort to change my internal monologue at those times. Instead of saying, "If only you were good enough to write a book," I tell myself "You're doing great accomplishing small steps to get there." Instead of berating myself for always splitting my attention between my daughter and my work, I congratulate myself for juggling writing and motherhood.

Just like kids who kick the seat in front of them and middle-aged women who get drunk and chatty on long flights, crying babies are a fact of life.

Someone yelled out a racist comment, and Trump said, “Hey, I can’t say it, but he can.”

By introducing my father’s illness as a fact during a time when his mental health had no negative effects on my life, my parents enabled me to live without stigma, which in turn empowered me to advocate for my father’s treatment when his health took a turn for the worse my freshmen year of college.