Kelly Burch

Posting about my miscarriage on Facebook was the most cathartic thing I could have done for myself. It allowed me to validate my feelings.

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.

“You have nine new messages.”

Can you name an elite female athlete? If you asked me to name someone other than Venus or Serena Williams I’d have a tough time.

Any woman living in the United States can submit a campaign for consideration. The team reviews the application and works with the campaign creator to put her story forward in the most compelling way.

Issues like climate change, energy poverty and social justice causes that intersect with environmentalism can be sometimes feel daunting. However, there are plenty of ways you can make a small difference today. Here are a few.

I’ve been waiting years to celebrate my undying love of all things Christmas with my child, but now that my toddler is old enough to understand the joys of the holiday season I’ve realized that there are some things about the holidays that only a parent can understand.

There’s something fascinating about a date that you only get during one-quarter of your years on the planet — an extra, bonus day, that’s a bit outside the norm. According to English tradition, Leap Day is the one day when women can propose to men, the idea being that a day that falls outside the normal social bounds is perfect for breaking convention. You don’t have to propose to your love today (although if you plan to, be sure to share the story with us!), but I challenge you to break with the tradition of self-sacrifice, and take some time on this bonus day to put yourself first.

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

As we made our way to the back of the plane, the baby apologizing the whole way, passengers were giving us a certain look, one to which I had become accustomed to receiving when with my daughter. The one that says, How cute. I, however, was shaken. Had I really taught my daughter, all of 1½ years old, that she needs to apologize for herself? That because she was noticed — rather than slipping quietly through a space — she needed to say “I'm sorry”?