Joni Edelman

It's always so good to know the folks doing the work you're doing.

Welcome to #RavsWriters, an opportunity for you to get to know some of the outstanding human beings who fervently type to make Ravishly the aw

So you fed your baby some formula instead of breast milk. His future is not shot. Really. It's not—and The Guilt serves no one.

I'll never forget the day I discovered the name for my mental illness.

With the help of the midwife—and immense effort on my part—Ella finally slid out into the water. But she was limp, pale. It was scary.

[CN: suicide, overdose] Gratitude stops me from ending my life, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to end my life. Even the fierce love I have for my family doesn’t mean I don’t feel utterly hopeless sometimes.

Brangelina are splitting up. A sad day for them, a joyful day for single ladies everywhere.

You can work your butt off and still be left with a tummy. Bummer.

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

It's #STDAwareness week here at Ravishly. We're kicking it off with this handy chart!