The Monthly Theme Essays are a collection of essays written each month on a predetermined theme. These essays are always published during the last week of the month. To submit a Monthly Theme Essay check out our upcoming themes.
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Dear 18 -Year-Old Lizzy,
It’s me, Liz. Liz who? It’s Liz-Your-Future-Self coming at you from the not-so-distant future of 2016. Yes, I officially go by Liz now, and most people are cool with that (except sometimes your family, as you’ll always be their Lizzy/Lizardbreath/Bohunkis-Face, sorry girl).
Read MoreAt seventeen, I was unsure of myself as a young woman who had just graduated high school, realizing that it was time to be a grown up and to add insult to injury, becoming a mother in a time when the internet was just jumping on the chastise-mothers-for-everything bandwagon.
Read MoreWhen I became a mom I became many things -protector, guide, teacher, and emotional support, to name a few. I am also slowly becoming someone I don't recognize or like. As a mother I have transformed in ways more powerful than I ever imagined. Including transforming me into someone I didn't think I would become.
Read MoreIt’s just a shame that some women choose to formula feed.
Everyone knows breast milk is best for babies! They are smarter and healthier-
Less likely to be obese!
I can always tell the difference between babies who are breastfed and formula fed-
They stop suddenly as I walk through the door, unsure whether or not I, the as-far-as-I-know-it only mom who formula feeds her baby, had overheard their conversation.
Read More"I'm so excited mama!" Exclaims my 3 year old son, after an exhausting day of shopping. "I'm so excited for Christmas."
These words bring a flood of thoughts to my mind. Being a Muslim American, this is the first time I will have to explain to him the Muslim perspective on the most prominent display of religion in the U.S., Christmas.
Read MoreI remember lying under the church pew as a child.
“How much longer?” I would loudly whisper to my mother, my 7-year-old self never knowing how to wait.
“Not long,” she would answer, her faithful, copper brown eyes never losing focus. Her attention was glued to the altar. She was an Episcopalian to the core. And, meanwhile, I couldn’t even pronounce the word.
Read MoreWhen I was young, I used to make these yarn dolls for our Christmas tree.
I’m not sure where I learned how to make them, but I used to wrap red and green yarn around my paperback copy of Little House on the Prairie. There was no significance to that book; it was just the right size.
Read MoreMy Holiday story is not much of a story, but rather a reflection. There has been so much happening in the world this holiday season that I’ve gotten preoccupied. I’ve been busy with a new job, distracted with freelance work, and worse, I can’t seem to stop worrying about the world. I don’t go to church much but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t say that because I studied theology or because I have a startling amount of pastor friends. I say it because there have been very few times that I have felt whole and alive and connected in church. It usually happens somewhere else. Usually in a lecture, or in a verse of poetry. There is a moment where I feel wholly alive and the world seems bright, and hopeful. Once or twice that has happened in the dark sweet stillness of a church, as well. But normally—usually—I feel the most connected when I am going about my daily life.
Read MoreMy feelings towards the Holidays have morphed dramatically over the years. Like most people, I often feel a whirlwind of shifting emotions sometimes in a matter of minutes. The holidays can trigger anxiety and fear, love and joy, even pain, grief, and guilt.
Read MoreI LOVE the season of Advent. Always have. There is something exciting and hopeful about looking forward to replaying Christ’s birth in the Christian liturgical year. I like it so much more than the season of Lent, which anticipates the Easter narrative of Christ’s death and resurrection. To me, all the violence and death is not much to look forward to. Plus we deal with those realities in life everyday so I just don’t care as much about Easter or find Christ’s death and resurrection as helpful as I do God’s incarnation in the Christmas story. Some Christians may think I’m off my rocker for claiming that the incarnation is more meaningful or helpful than the death/resurrection but hear me out.
Read MoreAs I’ve grown, so has my desire to see, taste, and experience the world. An unquenchable thirst for encountering newness, you could say.
I’ve become a travelling woman.
Not that I often traverse great distances or see far-off places or spend much money to do so. On the contrary, my glorious little life has led me to find ways of travelling right where I am.
Read MoreBecause of threats and incidents of terrorism, few Americans were traveling in Europe during the summer of 1986. In spite of that, for reasons not relevant here, my husband and I decided to take a trip to Turkey by way of train from Vienna to Istanbul.
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The beauty of traveling is that eventually we no longer need to go anywhere to get the experience that traveling once afforded us. Traveling is just a path or a launching pad to show us what's possible. It's the first glimpse of what it's like to truly "wake up".
Read MoreI didn’t grow up with a family that had much interest in extensive traveling. My mom says its because we’re farmers, and all we know is to stay in one place. She took me and my brother to Disneyland in California when I was in sixth grade, and we’ve talked about going to Ireland one day since it’s where our ancestors originated, but there just hasn’t been a good time so far. My dad’s side was a little more restless, but it was mostly repeated trips with my grandparents to Pigeon Forge or to a beach in Florida or South Carolina. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining; I’m extremely grateful for those trips and the time I got to spend with my family, but at the same time, I ached to experience something beyond the sand.
Read MoreI asked the question confidently, my tone disguising the butterflies already gathering in my stomach.
“Why don’t I go?” I said, letting my editor know I was ready for my first on-the-ground assignment.
Read MoreIt was a quaint little place, one room in the front of a house, lined with old shelves in chipping paint, books squeezed in wherever there was space. In the corner stood a tiny wooden table with a few flowers in a small vase, sitting atop a stack of novels and old Turkish newspapers.
Read MoreI walked for an hour with no destination in mind. I stood atop the grassy dam that holds the sea back from flooding the small town of Den Helder, Holland. I was nearing the end of a two-month solo backpacking trip around Europe in 2010. I decided to go as far north as I could on the train and the train brought me to Den Helder.
Read MoreThe phrase, “frozen with fear” keeps running through my brain, like those tickers on Wall Street. You know the ones, the red and green ones that tell all the stock brokers how much the economy is tanking? Those ones. Only this one, the one in my brain, is saying “frozen with fear.”
Over and over again.
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When I think about my life and the things that are most important I automatically want to begin with my family, especially my sisters and brothers. I am the oldest of four (now five) children and I feel that my place as the eldest child has had a great impact on my personality, causing me to be mature and well organized from a young age. Additionally, I attribute much of my maternal characteristics to the fact that I helped my mother with my siblings as a child. My mom’s reliance upon me for help made me feel older than I was, and important. I liked feeling needed and I liked knowing that she could depend on me. This responsibility for my siblings made me feel good about myself, and I think that much of my personality and self-worth is wrapped up in my status as the oldest child. However, this responsibility to care for my siblings was beyond my years and had negative effects on me as an adult, namely anger, anxiety and guilt. From an early age I rejected the Victorian model of marriage and gender dynamics that was presented to me.
Read MoreWhat does an unmarried woman in her forties who has no children look like?
Let me guess the picture in your head: A woman sitting at home on a Saturday night, drowning in cats as she eats leftover Chinese food straight from the box and growls bitterly at the romantic comedy feature on cable.
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