My family and I don't always see eye-to-eye, and I don't think we're unique in that. I have the variety of family members that regularly go to church but stay out of politics and social issues in the public space, and I also have family members that never talk about their church community but sure as hell talk about the lack of God in this county. (And by "talk about," I mean that they share memes, quotes, and articles that are kitschy clickbait at their best and downright lies at their worst.)

“It’s because you took birth control,” said my husband’s good friend.
“It’s because you have bitterness in your heart,” said the founder of a women’s magazine.
“It’s because your daughter needs you more,” said a well-meaning acquaintance.
“It’s because I’m not a good enough mother,” said my inner voice.

I wake up each morning with the luxury of a roof over my head, food in my refrigerator, and a shower with warm water. I walk to campus, where I take classes in the departments of English and Women and Gender Studies. I have the good fortune to be studying what I am passionate about, instead of working for a degree that I hate but one that will earn me the most money down the road.

The last time I saw my mother, I received the gift of some powerful clarity about something, and it's something I need reminding of every day.

She saw herself, and thus this world and me, through a filter where all she saw was weight. It truly was ALL SHE SAW when she looked at me. Or at anyone.

Once a year at the place I work we have this training. It starts off like most trainings you’d have at your work. Everyone comes together, complaining that they have better things to do than be here at this. You find your friends and sit together and talk about your day so far. We have an expert come in and talk to us, and then we do some group work on the topic and call it a day. It’s a workplace training that myself and the people I work with are used to. It’s a training for what to do if there an active shooter in my building. My building is an elementary school that is filled with 800 children everyday. The active shooter training is the one we dread the most. We are educators, not police or military. We are experts in reading, and math, not barricading and disarming. Yet, there we are. Learning how to do those very things from some very brave police officers.