Elizabeth Broadbent

They call us bitches. We're too forward, or too loud. They say we're not ladylike. That we should shut up and sit down. And we should be content with what we've got — what else do we want, anyway? They say we're trying to be men. They say we hate men. But we say we're strong women, and they can go to hell. The internet glorifies strong women while slut-shaming out the other side of its mouth.

There’s good evidence the anti-vaccine movement is growing.

Hillary Clinton claims that "middle class" means people who make less than $250,000 a year. That's wildly out of touch, according to the US census, which pegs the median American income at $53,657. Making $250,000 puts you slap in the top five percent of American wage-earners.

Let’s just all as a human race hold hands, sing kumbaya, and admit that ultrasound pics look like something out of Dia de Los Muertos rather than an actual human baby.

My weight doesn’t make me something less, but something more: a beautiful woman.

It’s a trend in the photography business, along with bestie shoots and cake smash pics: boudoir photos.

I didn’t trumpet these views to my mommy groups, of course. I wasn’t crass. But when a girl let her daughter cry it out, I decided the tot seemed a tad withdrawn. When a mom told me all her sons were cut, I nodded politely while thinking, she is so deluded. She made up a medical excuse for a pass on child mutilation. When I saw mothers in the grocery store, carseats in tow, I paraded by, baby in wrap, nose in the air. At least those moms could see another option.

My ex-boyfriend was a groomsman at my wedding. Not just any ex-boyfriend, either –– the last one before I met my husband-to-be. My last fling was in the audience, too, and I didn't start to cry until I walked down the aisle and saw the tears standing in his eyes. He's not a crier, either.

Zoloft's long been known as the safest antidepressant to take during pregnancy. Most psychiatrists consider that if the patient needs drugs, Zoloft should be the first line of attack. And yet, some risks exist — some risks always exist.

Like so many women, I never know what I’ll see in the mirror. Sometimes I catch sight of myself in a window and cringe, appalled at my own body.