The Problem with Perfect

I’m nine years old, it’s late summer, and I’m playing tag and roughhousing with a group of boys in the churchyard. My mother is standing on the church steps with the other adults, talking and smoking cigarettes, stretching out the fabric of the evening until the stars are visible. Occasional shrieks of laughter punctuate the… Continue reading The Problem with Perfect


The Woman in the Mirror

I was asked one of the toughest questions ever this week by a friend and fellow writer:  How do I love the part of me that I hate?  It’s the sort of question that lands like a concrete block—heavy and quite easy to stumble over—but it deserves an answer. First, I think hate is a… Continue reading The Woman in the Mirror