I used to pity my divorced teacher with her mid-year name change. At 35, I became her. Here's why I wouldn't trade this broken, beautiful journey for the fearless girl I used to be.
aging gracefully
When the Scale Says You’re Not Who You Used to Be
At thirty-three, I don't look like the woman in my mind's eye. Here's what my students' prom, a heartbreak playlist, and my azalea bushes taught me about moving on from time itself.
Writer's Growth 