What I eat does not define me. It does not make me "good" or "bad." We're selling ourselves short to think otherwise.
Let's just say that, after our Thanksgiving convo mishap this morning, I am VERY thankful that successful parenting doesn't hinge on ONE conversation. Especially if it takes place in carline before I've had enough coffee.
I wish I'd known, from the time I was a little girl, that my worth was not defined by my relationship to boys--not whether I liked a boy, was desired by a boy, or whether or not a boy had ever stuck his dick in me.
Through quick glances in my rearview mirror, I watched my sweet 6-year-old sob on the way home from the grocery store yesterday. I wish it was because I wouldn't buy her something in the checkout line. Or because she'd gotten in trouble AGAIN for her reckless driving of the shopping cart. But it was much more complicated--and painful--than that.