Kelly Burch

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

In order to connect with other men and women living with a terminal diagnosis, LoRe founded Hope and Friendship Metastatic Breast Cancer Foundation, which provides a support group in northern Massachusetts, where she lives. Through the support group LoRe has seen the devastating effects of breast cancer, which too often go unnoticed amid early detection and awareness campaigns.

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

A family's day of celebration became a nation's day of mourning.

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

As my own home ownership dreams were delayed, I was able to look back on my parents’ decision to rent with a lot more understanding. My parents sometimes struggled to keep the electricity on, but they always made sure that the rent was paid, and that my siblings and me had a wonderful home, no matter whose name was on the deed.

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.

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

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.

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.