Chelsea Cristene

Chipping away at the problem of bisexual erasure starts with living truth out loud.

Anyone who has been a victim of abuse will tell you that the burden of emotional labor is enormous, and that it’s amplified by the pressure to keep quiet.

I see no such kerfuffle over straight men at gay bars, so it appears that this brand of exclusivity is Dicks Only.

Illness is intensely personal, but it never affects the person diagnosed alone.

Thank you, Isolde, for making me pause, for encouraging me to ditch the pocket computer for conversation with someone new.

That’s the thing about perfectionism. When you chase something unattainable, you complete a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Knowing a few compulsive liars over the course of my life has taught me some things. Living during Trump’s presidency has reinforced them.

The first rule: Unrequited love sucks. The second rule took regrettably longer for me to get a handle on: My unilateral crush was not this guy’s problem.

I reject the insistence that a woman can’t choose what makes her feel beautiful without regard for the judgement of others.