You’ll Be Team Meghan & Harry Forever After Watching This Horrific Oprah Interview

Meghan Markle and Prince Harry dropped some major truths during their much-anticipated interview with Oprah Winfrey

To say that Meghan Markle and Prince Harry’s interview with Oprah Winfrey was shocking is the understatement of the century. The pair shared a number of stunning and heartbreaking revelations that will no doubt leave the Royal Family — and the world — reeling for years to come.

Let’s dive right in to the biggest bombshells to come out of the couple’s sit-down interview with Winfrey.

The Palace had “concerns” over how dark Archie’s skin might be.

Meghan revealed that the Palace had “concerns and conversations about how dark his skin might be when he’s born. … and what that would mean or look like.” She declined to reveal who specifically had that conversation with Harry saying it would be “too damaging” to them. “I think that would be very damaging to them,” adding, “That was relayed to me from Harry. Those were conversations that the family had with him.” When Harry joined the second half of the interview, he also declined to reveal further details about what was said — or who said it.

Kate Middleton made Meghan cry, not the other way around.

Before the big wedding, there was a story at the time that Meghan made Kate Middleton cry during the planning of the ceremony.

“The reverse happened,” Meghan says when Oprah asked about the tabloid claims that the future sisters-in-law got into a fight that resulted in tears by Kate.

“And I don’t say that to be disparaging to anyone, because it was a really hard week of the wedding. And she was upset about something, but she owned it, and she apologized. And she brought me flowers and a note, apologizing. And she did what I would do if I knew that I hurt someone, right, to just take accountability for it,” she says.

Harry and Meghan secretly got married 3 days before the royal wedding ceremony.

“Three days before our wedding, we got married,” Meghan tells Oprah, revealing the ceremony took place in their own backyard three days before the official May 2018 ceremony.

Meghan reveals she had thoughts of suicide during her first pregnancy.

Amid negative and racist British press coverage, Meghan felt helpless while pregnant with Archie. “I just didn’t see a solution. I would sit up at night, and I was just, like, I don’t understand how all of this is being churned out,” she told Oprah. “I realized that it was all happening just because I was breathing. I was really ashamed to say it at the time and ashamed to have to admit it to Harry, especially, because I know how much loss he’s suffered. But I knew that if I didn’t say it, that I would do it. I just didn’t want to be alive anymore. And that was a very clear and real and frightening constant thought.”

Meghan says she “didn’t know who to even turn to” and reveals that one of the people she reached out to was one of Diana’s best friends. “Who else could understand what it’s actually like on the inside?” says Meghan.

Meghan tried getting help from the Institution but they denied her. “I went to one of the most senior people to get help. I share this because there are so many people who… are afraid to voice that they need help, and I know personally how hard it is to not just voice it, but when you voice it say no,” she says.

“[Going to a hospital] is what I was asking to do,” she says. “You can’t just do that, I couldn’t call an Uber to the palace, you couldn’t just go. You have to understand…that was the last time I saw my passport, my drivers license, my keys. All that gets turned over.”

Their baby is a girl, due in the summer time.

The couple revealed that their second baby is a girl and she’s coming later this summer. They also shared that “two is it” and they don’t plan on having more children. “To have a boy then a girl — what more can you ask for?” Harry said.

Meghan and Queen Elizabeth get along very well.

Meghan shares that her relationship with Queen Elizabeth has always been “warm and welcoming” with the Queen gifting her special jewelry.

Meghan feels she was a victim of “character assassination.”

The ruthless British tabloids and the desire of the Institution to control the way it’s perceived in the media more than anything else meant Meghan wasn’t defended by her new family. “They were willing to lie to protect other members of the family, but they weren’t willing to lie to protect me and my husband,” she said.

Meghan and Harry leaving wasn’t “a bombshell” to the Queen as tabloids claimed.

The couple said they were discussing stepping back for two years, despite reports that the Queen was blindsided by the news.

Harry shares that he had three conversations on the matter with Queen and two with his father, Prince Charles, “before he stopped taking my calls.” Harry explains that in the end, he took matters into his own hands to take care of his family and their mental health. “I could see where this was headed,” he says.

Harry and William aren’t super close at the moment.

“The relationship is space,” Harry tells Oprah. “At the moment. And you know time heals all things. Hopefully.”

Meghan shared her big regret.

“Believing them when they said I would be protected,” was Meghan’s reply when Oprah asked if she had any regrets.

The couple wrapped the interview sharing that they’re now very happy in their new home with their son and a baby girl on the way. God knows they deserve it after everything they’ve been through.

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I Cut My Mom Out Of My Life, And Every Day I Strive To Be The Mom She Wasn’t

To say I have mommy issues is an understatement. I grew up in a home with a mother whose mood swings were extremely unpredictable. I later found out that alcoholism played a part. She was very resistant to go to therapy — giving it a shot only a few times and either hating the therapist or telling me that the therapist found nothing wrong with her (this is not how therapy works). I have spent my whole childhood parented by a woman who didn’t make safe and sound decisions for me. She manipulated events, memories and facts to fit her narrative in which she was always a victim.

I grew up with a woman who drank way too much and too often. I didn’t see this clearly until I was older, married with kids of my own. At that time, her problems intensified. I saw her spiral. I saw her body shut down. I saw her continue to deny and deflect even when things got so bad that she almost lost her life to her addictions.

Years ago, I made a decision to cut my mom out of my life. This was the hardest and healthiest decision I’ve ever made for myself and my family. No one in my close Greek family had ever done this and I suppose I was the first to attempt breaking the generational curse that pulled me into its grasp. As I went to therapy, I continued to unlock memories that, up until now, seemed innocent enough. Decisions my mom had made for me, that I wouldn’t have thought twice about before I started analyzing my childhood and became a mother myself, were clearly dangerous and problematic. Did my mom give me food and shelter? Yes. Did she physically abuse me? No. Did she always try to make our life look happier to the outside world than what it was? Yes. The mental abuse ran rampant. Her lack of support, understanding and love are now obvious. Her lack of good judgement throughout my entire life has marked me.

But now, as I speak with her only during medical emergencies on her end, I find myself constantly missing the mother that never was, the mother that never could be. I hold my babies close and wish my mom held me, loved me, valued me, would die for me like I would for them. I wish my mom could have been more present and supportive. I long for parents that are capable of being my support system like my husband’s parents so effortlessly are. I can’t wait to be this for my own children — to be the person they call night or day for any reason.

I will be there for my babies in the big moments and the small moments. When they need me, my children will not have to worry if I’m too drunk to help them. They will not have to think that they can’t call me because I can’t handle such excitement — that I’ll make this moment about me.

A few years ago, before my estrangement with my mother, a friend of mine died. We found out late one snowy night, and I posted about this loss on Facebook. At midnight, I received a call from my mom. I ignored it. Then I picked up the next call from my dad, who was slurring his words asking what happened — my mom screaming and crying in the background as if she experienced a major loss herself. This moment was about a million things for my parents, but my grief was not one of them. My kids will never know that selfishness from my husband or I. They will be able to rely on me, trust me and lean on me like I will always wish I could do with my own mom.

I’m not sure that this longing for a mom that will never be can ever really subside. It makes me sad, but I try to pull myself out of that place of self-pity when I find myself there. I dust off, look around and know that this is where it ends. I am the change that so many generations of this family have been waiting for. I am far from perfect, but I know I can be better than what came before me. I am the mother that never was.

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Breastfeeding Killed My Sex Drive, But I’m Back, Baby

Sex has never been a source of stress or contention in my marriage. I often see partners complaining about mismatched sex drives, especially in relationships between a man and woman. None of those stereotypes apply to us. We both want to do it almost every day, so that’s what we do. We’ve been doing it for almost twenty years, and that’s just our pattern. It’s not better or worse than anyone else’s; it’s just what works for us. Unless I’m breastfeeding a new baby.


We’ve had three of them now, and OH. MY. GOD. Breastfeeding literally turns my sex drive off. My libido leaves the building. Milk-making kills my lady boner, and it lasts pretty much the entire time I nurse my kids.

Breastfeeding kills my desire to get naked which sucks enough. But more annoyingly, it makes orgasms next to impossible. Even if my husband busts out his best moves and gets me in the mood, it takes close to an hour and an act of god to have one little disappointing blip of an O.

The good news is, I didn’t marry an asshole, so he’s cool with all of it. He doesn’t whine about it. We made the kid together, and we are in it together. Sure, it’s my body acting differently, but it’s not MY sex life that changes; it’s OURS.

It makes perfect sense to him. When I’m breastfeeding, I spend a lot of my life feeling totally touched out to begin with. There are about seven minutes a day when a small child isn’t touching me, and I just don’t want to spend those minutes with a person IN ME most of the time.

Breastfeeding babies are relentless! They’re all like, “Hungry? I want a boob. Tired? Gimme that knocker. Scared? No cure for this but a jug or two of boob milk. Something made me laugh? Super! Let’s celebrate at the titty bar.”

But there’s a light at the end of this boring sex tunnel, because right around the time each of my kids turns a year old, my body starts to act like its old self again.

I’m one hundred percent sure other factors are involved, but part of it is that all three of my kids dropped most of their nursing sessions around their first birthday, slowing down to two or three times a day.

My last baby turned a year old a couple of months ago. She’s only on the boob a couple times a day now, and let me tell you something: I’m rested, my formerly-gnawed-upon nipples are back to normal, and I’m back, baby! (Forever! Thank you, tubal ligation!)

About two weeks ago, my sweet, conscientious husband was tiptoeing around our room trying not to wake me while he got ready for work. I opened my eyes and saw him standing there, wet and glistening from the shower. Suddenly, I was completely wide awake. Mind and BODY. The clock told me he needed to be out the door in less than five minutes, and I shoved my face into the pillow in frustration.

I couldn’t get him out of my head all morning. I texted him something during his lunch break that I will not repeat here, and he made it home after work that day in record time. My mission in life that day was to ensure that all of the kids were happy and busy or sleeping when he walked through the door. I told them that I had to work on my computer, and Daddy needed to take a shower. We instructed them to only bother us if there was an emergency.

I’ve never seen a man get naked so fast. For the first time in over a year, my body responded to my husband like it usually does. It didn’t take an hour, it wasn’t a lot of work, and when it was over, he looked at me, smirked, and muttered, “Welcome back.”

That first time was such a relief after this last baby because I’m not as young as I once was. I’m in my late thirties now, and I was starting to worry that maybe my shit was just broken. Maybe my body was never going to recover from my decision to geriatrically birth three children in quick succession instead of procreating in my early twenties like the rest of the good Southern girls I grew up with.

I’ve never been so damn excited to be wrong.

Since that afternoon, I’ve been “working on my computer while my husband takes a shower” A LOT.

Once, I even “worked on my computer” before my husband went to work in the morning despite my utter disdain for any hour before seven a.m. Apparently, I love sex more than I hate mornings for the time being. I can only assume it will wear off, but for now, I’m going with it.

All this sex has made me feel like myself again. I’m less grouchy, and I even feel some of the weight of my anxiety disorder lifting. Everything feels less stressful and overwhelming when you’ve got orgasm endorphins pumping through your veins. My mental illness is easier for me to manage when I feel more at home in my body.

But the very best part of this return to sexiness is that watching the way my body progresses from birth to feeling normal again makes me feel really healthy and strong. My body did an amazing thing creating a human being. It took a while to work through the mental, emotional and physical effects of that beautiful process. That’s awesome.

There’s nothing wrong with me because I’d rather watch TV than ride the D for a long while while I’m all postpartum and breastfeeding and exhausted. Nothing is weird about preferring an afternoon nap to afternoon delight when you were up 17 times with a screaming baby sucking on your titty all night. It’s NORMAL.

And there’s no timeline for “bouncing back.” Some people are ready as soon as the doctor clears them for takeoff. It takes me about a year to get back in the groove with my loving, patient, supportive partner. If he was hounding me for sex every five minutes, it would take me a lot longer to want to get back to it. There are a million ways a baby can change your sex life.

If you’re having a tough time feeling like a sexy, delicious lover since your baby was born, don’t be like me and start mourning your youth. One of these days, you’re going to find yourself lying on your back, breathless and satisfied, relieved that having a kid didn’t mean never enjoying the kind of sex you had before you were a parent.

Sure, the soundtrack of your afternoon quickie might be the musical stylings of Pinkfong blaring from the next room. You’ll learn to tune that out and do-do-do-do-do your partner like you used to before you ever knew who Baby Shark was.

I can almost guarantee it.

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Moms Confess About Catching Lying Husbands And Yikes

Liar, liar, pants on fire…these husbands have some explaining to do!

Everyone lies. It’s just part of human nature. Now, lying about who ate the last cupcake is a hell of a lot different than lying about flirting with a co-worker. Little white lies, like “Of course not” when your spouse asks you if their outfit looks bad, are harmless (and sometimes even helpful).

But the big lies, the real humdingers, the ones that make you gasp while your eyeballs gouge out of your head…well, those are a different breed altogether. And big or small, often or rarely, harmless or harmful, these moms are absolutely not here for any of it.

The thing about lying is, once you start, it’s hard to stop. Some men lie because they’re insecure or impulsive. Some lie because they’re trying to cover up something huge and disastrous. Some lie about whether they actually did their household tasks or not.

A lot of them, at least according to our Confessional, lie about cheating.

Having your trust betrayed is so, so difficult to come back from. When someone lies to you over and over again, it can seriously impact your self-worth even if you know the lying has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the lying liar.

Even when a lie isn’t intended to hurt another person, the impact of that lie typically results in hurt feelings regardless. While everyone is hard-wired to lie on occasion, it doesn’t justify trying to save yourself from the consequences of your own actions or to get something you want at the expense of your significant other.

Spouses who have been lied to may be unable to cope with their reactions or the emotions they’re feeling. It’s extremely difficult to try and get past the feelings of betrayal and the affair itself. In this case, it may be time to reach out for guidance from a marriage therapist or counselor.

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Ask Scary Mommy: My Parents Suck At Being Grandparents

Ask Scary Mommy is Scary Mommy’s advice column, where our team of “experts” answers all the questions you have about life, love, body image, friends, parenting, and anything else that’s confusing you.

This week: How do you cope when your parents, who have every reason in the world to love being grandparents just…don’t? Have your own questions? Email

Dear Scary Mommy,

My parents are in their late fifties, live nearby, and I’ve always had a decent relationship with them. Or so I thought, because they find new ways to show me they don’t care about being grandparents. When they come over, which isn’t often, they don’t stay very long. They don’t ask my kids about their lives. They don’t want to come to their extracurricular activities, and they certainly haven’t ever offered a helping hand so my husband and I could have an evening out (pre-pandemic, anyway) or brought over a pizza when I was struggling with a newborn and two toddlers at the same time. They weren’t like this as parents, so what gives? Why do they suck so badly?

You know, I’ve often heard friends and acquaintances complain about their parents/in-laws being “bad” grandparents, but their definition of “bad” is that their kids’ grandmas and grandpas aren’t willing to be on-call, 24/7 babysitters. I usually roll my eyes, bite my tongue, and wish other parents my age realized that adults over 50 still have full lives of their own and can be good grandparents without being unpaid servants.

That is not the case here. At all.

You haven’t said whether you’ve talked to them about it, so let’s start there. The next time you invite them over or to attend your kid’s T-ball game and they decline, you could test the waters and say something like, “Oh, that’s too bad. It would really mean a lot to Timmy to see his grandma and grandpa in the stands with us.”

This allows you to broach the subject without being aggressive, which you don’t want to do if you’ve never brought it up before. Gauge their reaction. If they pause, consider your words, and change their mind or plan to attend in the future — that’s a good first step. If they continue hemming and hawing and still decline, press the matter further.

“Oh, do you guys have plans? If so, can we count on you next week?” If that doesn’t give the desired outcome, I’d plan on having an honest, forthright conversation with them as soon as possible. Tell them that it hurts that they miss these precious moments of their grandchildren’s lives. Reiterate how much it would mean to your kids. Remind them that you’re not expecting them to drop everything they have going on in their lives to become nannies, you just know how valuable it is to have supportive grandparents.

Maybe they believe that this time in their lives is for them now that you’re grown up and they’re in the autumn of their life. And that’s not a bad thing! But it certainly doesn’t mean they can’t be involved in your family’s life.

You’ll never know the answer unless you ask the question. I hope you’re able to have a good discussion that breeds a positive outcome for all. If your parents are hell-bent on being selfish assholes who can’t even show up for a ballet recital, here’s a good book for you that will help you figure out some boundaries.

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Only One Child Has Died From The Flu This Season

Last year, nearly 200 children died from the flu

Over the past year, we’ve strapped on face masks and practiced social distancing in an attempt to slow the spread of the novel coronavirus. And while we’ve tragically lost nearly 525,000 Americans to COVID-19, we’ve considerably lowered the number of flu-related cases and deaths, especially among children. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), just one child has died of the flu this season in the U.S. In previous years, hundreds of children have died of the flu.

“No new influenza-associated pediatric deaths were reported to CDC during week 8. The total for the 2020-21 season is one,” the CDC’s weekly report states.

During the 2019-20 flu season, 195 children died of the flu, according to the CDC. But due to the mask-wearing among adults and children this past year, the influenza virus is infecting fewer people. According to Lynnette Brammer, lead of the CDC domestic influenza surveillance team, only 0.1 percent of flu tests are coming back positive this season; whereas at this time in past years, 20 to 30 percent typically come back positive.

“I think that that obliteration of the flu epidemic, which was seen globally, tells us that the way that influenza is transmitted from one person to another might really have been impacted by the use of masks, more than anything else,” Flor Munoz, a member of the American Academy of Pediatrics’ infectious-diseases committee, tells The Washington Post.

For comparison, the 2018-19 season saw 144 pediatric flu deaths and 188 during the 2017-18 season.

CDC/The Washington Post

Adults are also experiencing a plummet in influenza deaths this season, with about 450 so far this season versus roughly 22,000 last year.

“I think this has clearly shown that masking, distancing, hand-washing — all these things clearly work,” Aaron Milstone, an epidemiologist and professor of pediatrics at Johns Hopkins University, tells the Washington Post. “So, I think the question will be, how much appetite do people have for all that to prevent influenza, instead of just Covid?”

Experts warn, however, that the next flu season may be worse, as scientists have had a difficult time determining which strain is most dominant this year, in turn making it hard to predict which strains to develop vaccines for next year.

“They may not guess the right strains to make the vaccine against,” says Andrea Kovacs, chief of the division of pediatric infectious diseases at the University of Southern California.

Kovac adds that it isn’t too late for the flu to surge this season, especially if coronavirus restrictions are relaxed across the country.

“We could have a maybe small, but late, flu season,” Kovac says. “Just really hard to say.”

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I’m Finally Stronger Than My Disordered Eating

If only you knew.

How deep my need to be skinny really went.

How I struggled, trying desperately to play off my obsession to be thin and perfect.

How awful the conversations in my mind were, and sometimes still are.

Staring at the photoshopped pictures in magazines wondering how I could achieve the perfection in these photos was a constant for me.

These bodies were the ideal bodies that I wanted so badly.

The ideal bodies I knew weren’t real, yet still dreamed about.

In 2006, I was twenty-seven, living on the other side of the country, and I was down to my lowest weight.

In all honesty, I was the happiest I’ve ever been with the way my body looked.

If only he knew.

I had only met my boyfriend — now husband — seven months prior, and I was already at a low weight. There was no way he could know the lie I was living, and I wasn’t about to tell him the truth.

But the truth was, I was not naturally this skinny.

I was average sized, with hips and curves in all the right places.

But I was not having it.

I was not loving it.

And I was certainly not looking at my body with pride and confidence.

To me, my body was a vessel that wasn’t perfect and I needed it to be.

It wasn’t slender like a straight rod. It was bumpy like hills in the countryside.

It needed to be smaller. Skinnier. Prettier. Better.

If only you knew.

Being skinny has been a goal of mine since the time I remember ever making goals. It was always an obsession. It was always on my mind.

“If only my ribcage didn’t stick out so much”

“If only my hips weren’t so wide”

“If only my butt was smaller”

When I started going through puberty, I thought that I could squeeze my separating hips back to those pre-pubescent days. I thought if I wished hard enough while pushing my hips inwards, someone in the clouds would hear my call and I’d be magically “cured.”

If only you knew.

My thoughts were rampant.

Weight defined me. It said who I was.

My worth was dependent on how small I could become.

And small is what I became.

Confidence grew in me like a plague every time I saw a rib jutting out.

Pride foolishly fulfilled me every time I measured my arms.

I was doing it! I was becoming as skinny as I could be and I relished in it.

But my soul was hurting.

It was hungry.

It didn’t want to fight with me anymore.

It took a while, but I slowly regained the weight, and then some.

I felt like I was being punished for my bad choices by gaining more.

I felt like I didn’t deserve the body I so badly wanted.

Eventually, with the support and love from my friends and family, my body — the body I had before I started abusing it — slowly returned to me.

But it’s not the end.

The thoughts are alive and well in my mind; I think they always will be.

I get some reprieve, but they always find their way back to me, like a pathetic stalker of sorts.

There are good days and bad days.

But the difference now is that I have perspective.

I have awareness.

I’m stronger than my body dysmorphia.

I’m stronger than my disordered eating.

I am stronger than I ever gave myself credit for.

And I’m beautiful the way I am.

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I Gave Up Trying To Keep Things ‘Normal’ For My Kids Right Now

My teenage daughter stayed up until after midnight watching “Ginny and Georgia” last night and she’s still asleep even though it’s going on 11 a.m. She doesn’t have a Zoom call for another half hour so I’ll let her sleep.

My kids’ rooms look like  a cyclone made its way through each one of them, and my son is going on day three wearing the same thing. I’m pretty sure they are still brushing their teeth at least once a day, but I wouldn’t put money on it.

A year ago when we first got slammed into this pandemic I thought it would blow over in a few weeks, just like so many other folks.

Then when I got my head out of the sand and they started virtual learning, I tried to keep things as normal as I could for my kids. I did it for them and also did it for me.

I needed to stay on schedule, to stay on task. I wanted to be focused and not lose ground in my parenting, or my life. I kept the bedtimes the same. I wanted them to get up a reasonable hour and eat. I kept making family dinners and tried to walk around as if everything was normal when in reality I was scared shitless inside.

I didn’t want to let things go. Not the laundry, not the meal prep, not my kids’ hygiene or screen time.

I fizzled fast. Then, I had no choice but to not only let things go — things slid out of control and I let them fall where they may. 

The household chores didn’t get done. I got lax about bedtimes and let my kids have their phones and laptops in their rooms until the wee hours of the night.

I think that’s what happens when you try to paint a pretty picture by keeping things buttoned up and forcing normal when nothing is normal — everything comes undone. And it usually doesn’t come with slight changes here and there. It’s a big boom. I have no problem saying my big boom felt damn good.

As parents, trying to keep things status quo for our kids right now is an impossible feat. They aren’t in school full time — or at all, for Christ’s sake. They are isolated and not able to partake in so many of the activities they used to. And parents are expected to pick up the slack, carry it around, and make sure everyone stays on target with it all.


That’s a huge ask to do for yourself, much less trying to do it for your kid’s too.

The New York Times article about how our kids are watching a lot more television since the pandemic and it’s causing concern among addiction specialists and pediatricians is something we didn’t ask for. 

It wasn’t taken well by parents (fucking surprise!) who are doing everything they can to keep their chins above water for their children.

I’m a parent to three teenagers and if anyone tries to shame me for anything right now, you’ll get the middle finger.

USA Today spoke with some experts who gave parents some good advice about dealing with this pandemic: Be there for your kids and support them. Period.

Mary Dozier is a psychology professor at the University of Delaware who studies children who have gone through tough times and tells USA Today, “Children can go through divorce, they can go through death, they can go through just an amazing array of things and come out looking pretty good, if they’ve got somebody who can support them.”

I can do this — I can. I can support my kids. But I absolutely cannot hold myself to the unattainable standard that it’s my job to keep things normal for my kids and I need to make sure they are eating all the right things and not on their devices too much.

They need some comfort too. Their phones are their only source to reaching out to other people besides their family members. Food is comforting right now and if my son wants to eat three bowls of Cocoa Puffs and nothing else and never wear shoes (even outside in the snow), I am going to let him do it.

We all need support and comfort. What we don’t need is to be criticized because we aren’t able to keep things normal for our family during a very abnormal time.

If that means I don’t make dinner and I let my kids play video games for hours after their school work is done, so be it.

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Four Years After My Divorce, I’m Ready To Tell You What Happened

“Do you mind if I ask…what happened?” Her face showed genuine concern as she asked a question I wasn’t sure I could answer for myself, let alone to a mom of one of my daughter’s friends on a school playground while we stood under our children on the monkey bars.

Six months after my divorce I started to realize no one else was going to tell people for me that I had gotten a divorce. No one else would provide excuses for my children’s age appropriate behavior for what was happening in their world. No one else was going to shield questions as to why I changed my last name on Facebook. No one was going to step in when someone who didn’t know that I didn’t have a husband asked me how my husband was doing or where he was working. It is not their fault for asking, and in most cases their concern was genuine. They loved and cared about me, and they were concerned for me. But they were also worried about themselves.

It was after a long conversation with a loved one that followed their question of me “Do you think you got a divorce because some of your best friends got a divorce?” that I realized many times, their concern for me was compacted by their fear for themselves and their own marriages.

They wanted to make sure I was okay. And they wanted to make sure what happened to me wouldn’t happen to them. I get it. If you’ve been following me for anytime, I’ve never sugar coated how hard my life is. But few things worth having come easy, and my life is more than worth having.

So, four years after my divorce, I thought I’d share: what happened. Grab the popcorn and pour yourself a glass of wine (it’s 5 o’clock on the East Coast as I write this).

What happened was I came of age during a time period that the heroin chic look was hot, and the only time sex was talked about was in the toxic umbrella of purity culture. What happened was I saw commercials and magazines where hip bones stuck out, and I went on my first diet when I was 12. I remember it vividly: I was standing on my bed in the middle of my navy blue bedspread (sorry, mom!) and holding a dial phone with a curly cord while saying aloud to a friend of mine “I am 88 pounds! That is disgusting! You have to help me go on a diet. We can do it together.”

What happened was the only time my youth group talked about sex, they had a guest speaker talk to us about being pure. I remember a brave teenager suggesting that perhaps a person might like to figure out what they like sexually before getting married and that they were shamed and the answer *by a peer* to their concern was “There’s something special about learning what you like with the other person.” What happened was I signed a “purity pledge” in a book given to me by an older friend, and reminded myself anytime I looked at that little card, that I would have nothing to offer a male except my body. And my body was bad. Every magazine, TV show, dressing room, and poster told me so.

What happened was when I stopped eating, boys started paying attention.

What happened was, the more boys who paid attention, the more boys who paid attention. What happened was I had options, and if the only thing I was good for was my body offering to my future husband, I needed options.

What happened was I was told “boys will be boys.” What happened was I was told I was “too much” – my hair was big, my belly was big, my laugh was loud, my passion was overwhelming, my jokes hit too hard and I spoke the truth when others didn’t. What happened was I was told I needed to shrink to be loved and I was finally shrinking and the boys were paying attention so it must all be true.

What happened was when I was a teenager and we told adults we trusted and respected we didn’t like an older man in our lives, they told us we were being too difficult. What happened was when he rubbed my shoulders in a public space, when he rubbed another girl’s feet, when he pressed his knees into mine behind his closed office door, no one said a word to the 40 year old man touching the 16 year old girl, and it was up to me to turn around and yell at him that if he ever touched me again, my lawyer father would sue him.

What happened was when my periods were debilitating, I was told birth control was only for girls having sex.

What happened was I was told that boys would want to have sex, but girls would not. What happened was I thought something was wrong with me for wanting to have sex. What happened was I visited extended family who weren’t allowed to wear their size jeans but a size bigger because the male brain operates in such a way that fitted jeans would put us in an unsafe position.

What happened was I was told to hold my keys between my fingers when I walked to my car and to never put my drink down at a party. Because that was the only way a rape would happen – if it was a “preventable” attack. What happened was no one talked about assault in the way it happens 95% of the time, that it’s very rarely random and it starts with teenage girls not being advocated for in public places.

What happened was I was told I could do nothing without a college degree, but that the college degree that interested me only gave me a piece of paper and a whole lot of debt. What happened was when I was diagnosed with PCOS at 19 and handed a pack of birth control pills like candy, I started gaining weight. What happened was I started to make more choices out of fear.

What happened was I knew that Amy Grant wasn’t a “real” Christian singer because she’d gotten a divorce. What happened was real, strong people “stick it out.” What happened was I was told “vows mean something.” What happened was a single woman, or a divorced woman, became my worst fear.

What happened was the church, the patriarchy, the media, purity culture, and diet culture created the perfect storm for a passionate, worthy, beautiful, smart girl to feel none of those things and to make choices out of fear. And I am not talking about the choice to leave.

So, what happened? That girl grew up. She had babies and realized how she wanted them to grow up. That girl had friends grow up and recognize their own worth around the same time. Purity and diet culture harmed more than just me. So, did I get a divorce because some of my best friends did? Maybe. Freedom and peace are contagious. And thank God for it.

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Dwayne Johnson Shares One Of His Sweet ‘Lil Quiet Moments’ With Daughter, Tiana

Hold on to your ovaries, the cuteness dial is set to maximum

Name one thing cuter than a parent bonding with their child. We’ll wait. Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson displayed his mad parenting skills Thursday when he uploaded a cute video of playtime with his 2-½-year-old daughter, Tiana Gia.

In the video, the jacked star can be seen sitting with his legs crossed as his daughter gives him a make-believe Hawaiian shaved ice.

The proud papa asks his daughter what flavors Tina has available, with Johnson requesting peanut butter and pancake flavors, then asking if she has “schnozberry flavor.” The young girl says she has the flavor, and Johnson grins.

“Willy Wonka will be proud,” Johnson says.

As the clip continues, Johnson echoes tired parents everywhere when he tells his daughter that his legs are getting tired from the posture he’s in. In true toddler fashion, Tiana disregards his discomfort and keeps serving him pretend Hawaiian Ice.

“When it’s time to go to bed these babies do everything they can to stay up longer — so this means daddy you have to sit criss cross apple sauce and not move while I serve you Hawaiian Shave Ice. For 20min,” Johnson wrote alongside the video.

“Life is so busy. Pulls at us from every angle. Nonstop.” the caption continues. “These lil quiet moments, with my babies — man I need these.”

The actor and his wife, Lauren Hashian, are also parents to 5-year-old daughter, Jasmine.

Johnson features his children on Instagram often, with totes adorbs anecdotes that give fans a glimpse inside his life. A prime example? This two-photo gallery capturing a moment of good-natured fun between papa and daughter.


“1st pic is lil’ Tia’s deep fascination with daddy’s callouses and how they feel and what they mean?” Johnson wrote. “2nd pic is the look when I tell her ‘it means that Daddy’s actually a dinosaur who’s 250 million years old’.”

Another photo shows the tenderness and vulnerability that being a dad to daughters has brought out in the actor.

“Every man wants a son, but every man needs a daughter,” the caption reads. “All my girls have become the great equalizers in my life — I’m surrounded by estrogen and wouldn’t have it any other way. And man I hope she never gets tired of holding these big ol’ dinosaur hands, though I suspect one day she will.”

In a separate post that parents will instantly understand, Johnson shared how his little one needed to go to the bathroom — five minutes ago.

“Baby Tia said she had to pee pee, so we said no problem honey you have a diaper on,” Johnson wrote. “Pee and I’ll change it after. She refused to go in her diaper (I don’t blame her:) and asked if she could pee on the grass. Sure, we’re on private property, so daddy takes her to pee pee on the grass.”

“But then she decides to renegotiate (again, I don’t blame her;) and demands daddy pick her up because doesn’t want to ‘stand on the Lava Monster,’ so I have to hold her while she pees….. all over my new white sneakers,” he continued. “And if I ever find this ‘Lava Monster’ fella I’m whipping it’s ass (hell, I’ll take this precious memory over my sneakers any day).”

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