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Cancer Changed My Breasts, Not My Sexuality


When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in May 2014, I was 28 years old, in grad school, living paycheck to paycheck as a part-time sexuality educator, and planning my wedding. I had lost my mom to breast cancer when I was 13, so I had a hunch it was coming for me, but the timing was not ideal—not that it ever is. The universe continues to remind me that life is just going to show up and it’s up to me how I respond.

That statement rang true over and over again: When I decided to cut off my dreadlocs before chemotherapy so I wouldn’t have to wake up and find them loose in my bed; during my wedding dress fitting, as the seamstress situated my gown around surgical drains hanging from each breast; and right before I was put under anesthesia for my double mastectomy that June, when I blurted enthusiastically to the nurses, “I’m having a boob job!” even though I was trying not to cry. I seemed functional to those around me, but I had been grappling for some control over the chaos in my life.

As a black, queer femme, adversity exists for me as normal; breast cancer, hard as it was, wasn’t my first hardship. My family history is rich with a long lineage of black women who’ve not been granted time to heal or address their personal wounds. We are just supposed to do, and when we are unable, hold back tears to appear useful in our stillness. I learned about this secret-keeping from my mom.

I found some lube in my her closet once. It was after my parents had separated a couple of years after her diagnosis, and she was dating again. I was young and didn’t know what it was exactly, but I could piece the clues together—it was suggestively shaped, like a Coke bottle, and had “sex” written on the label. My mom had had a lumpectomy which took a nipple with it, and she never related this as a loss in her sexual self. If anything, being newly single and finished with chemo, baby hairs and all, had her feeling ready to date.

It’s funny how the universe does what it wants regardless of if you are ready or not, and also how it repeats itself.

A year and a half after being married, my wife and I divorced. It wasn’t my breast cancer that undid us, but rather the opportunity of stillness in our relationship. I experienced a great deal of fatigue, so what I preferred to do most of the time was to be still. The adventures that we would take or plan were put on hold, while any arguments we had pushed under the rug had to be buried even farther—and in this stillness they all came tumbling out.

What I found when I began dating again was that something had been missing from “us,” not from me.

The absence of sex created more of a strain. My body was in recovery for most of our marriage. After my double mastectomy, I could not lift my arms above my head for several weeks and needed assistance getting in and out of bed. I suffered painful vaginal dryness and a lowered libido, which I hadn’t known could be side effects of chemo until I went to my doctor wondering if something was wrong with me. I at least knew I didn’t want to be touched, not then.

I had become protective over my body. I wanted to know people’s intentions for coming close—and loving me was not sufficient. With the endless amount of hands on me on a regular basis, my body became a site of constant undesired touch. A year and a half had passed by in my marriage and we had barely grazed one another. I was becoming completely content sleeping with our 40-pound pit bull wedged between us. I thought my illness was wedged between us, too, but what I found when I began dating again was that something had been missing from “us,” not from me.

PHOTO: Nema Etebar

If it’s warm out, I’m contemplating if I can wear a sheer shirt. On this day, it wasn’t warm (hence the coat), but I went for it anyway.

When I moved out, I was thrust into the alien world of online dating. I started with Tinder. Should I add photos of my double mastectomy, so they know what they are signing up for? I wondered. And, Should I include “breast cancer survivor” in the bio?

I went with, “Ericka Hart, M.Ed – Black, queer, Sagittarius, and breast cancer survivor.” I uploaded a picture of myself wearing a head wrap and a T-shirt, at a high enough angle to capture my cheekbones—I didn’t show my body at all, letting the bio be enough of a heads up. I was self-conscious, sure, but my desire to be intimate overrode my nerves. So I hit “save,” and my profile went live.

I started going on dates pretty quickly (like I said, Sagittarius), but being a queer non-binary pansexual femme in New York City meant limited choices (and I live in Brooklyn, I wasn’t about to travel Uptown). But the messages came in, and it wasn’t long before I had my first coy request for nudes. I nearly fell off my bed. Yes, it says “breast cancer survivor” right there on my profile, but that can look so many ways. Who knows what this person might be expecting to receive in a quick sext.

For me, after a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgeries, here’s what it looks like: I still have breast mounds (thanks to silicone implants), but they’re more rectangular shaped than cupped, and there are horizontal scars striped across the center of each one where my nipples used to be. I still felt sexy—and sexual—in my body, but receiving that message, I was confronted with fears that others may not see it that way. Perhaps this person glossed over the “cancer” part of my bio entirely, or assumed the illness was merely a part of my past and not written permanently across my body.

My mind raced for a minute too long for texting etiquette, and I was met with an urgent-feeling, “You still there?”

And so I went for it: I lifted up my shirt, curved my body in a way that I hoped would distract from my breasts to maybe my hips, and hit send.

After a “goodnight” text, I never heard from that person again.

I want to say I was hurt from this experience, but it honestly felt familiar. I’m no stranger to comparison and holding myself up against others who are more often admired for their looks—light-skinned black girls and white girls, for instance. Not being pursued because of my looks was not uncomfortable or weird, it was pretty normal.

Just over a month later, I swiped right on a beautiful person from California visiting Brooklyn for a month. We had a two-hour date which felt like we were just catching up on missed time, and two days later he wrote a poem describing the way that I walk. Perhaps for the first time, my whole self was being worshipped. I had been jumping over hurdles when I was married and then dating. At each intersection of my identity there would be the heavy lift of explaining who I am, the struggle of internalizing some expectation of how the world painted me, and then, after all that, a rejection.

Two years later in a madly juicy off-the-walls love with that poet from California, my double mastectomy scars are not treated as a separate or a confusing part of me. My entire existence is elevated and supported daily, just for its mere presence, not for what it can or can not do. Not for what it’s missing—which, if you ask me, is not a damn thing.



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Real Women on How Their Lives—And Their Workplaces—Have Changed Since Trump's Election


On the one-year anniversary of the Women’s March, the march’s founders put together an impressive program to galvanize the resistance heading into year two of the Trump presidency. Set in Las Vegas—Nevada being a critical battleground state in the midterm elections—the Women’s March: #PowertothePolls event brought women from all over the country together to launch a national voter registration tour to “channel the energy and activism of the Women’s March into tangible strategies and concrete wins in 2018.”

Here, 10 women at the event tell us how they’re feeling about the movement now, and everything that’s happened (or not happened) over the past year.

Photos and reporting by Chona Kasinger



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This Fitness Trainer Explains How She Changed Her Body Image and Stopped Comparing Herself to Other Women


Hi. I’m Lindsey. I’m a fitness trainer and one half of the Brave Body Project, an online community I started with my best friend Amber Rees to inspire women to feel strong and powerful in their bodies and unite through health and fitness. This is the story of how I changed my own body image and learned to feel good in my own skin.

Before getting into fitness, I was a professional dancer. From the time I was three years old, my entire life revolved around dance. I wasn’t a ballerina—I was more of an athletic jazz dancer—so I didn’t ever fall into the trap that many ballerinas do of feeling the need to be super thin in order to “look the part.” I’ve had a strong, solid body my whole life. Honestly, I never really had body image issues or questioned my look or size growing up. I knew my body was meant to move and that was all I cared about.

When I was 18, I went on my first Broadway national tour with the show Grease. While on tour, we were required to do weekly weigh-ins with the costume department to make sure we didn’t gain weight. Gaining weight meant alterations—it was literally in our contract that we couldn’t lose or gain weight within five pounds of what we weighed when we were hired. That was the first time I felt like my weight even mattered. But suddenly it mattered a lot: there were going to be consequences for gaining weight.

Then, when I was 20, I was cast as the lead role in another national tour, for Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. A few months before we were set to go to our first city, we took some promotional photos for the show. The day after the shoot, I got a call from the choreographer. She said I had gained weight since I was hired and both she and the director wanted me to lose 20 pounds before we started rehearsals in two months for the tour. I was devastated. I didn’t ever think of myself as overweight. But from one phone call, the way I thought about my body changed forever. I became extremely insecure. I started spending two hours a day in the gym and barely eating. I did lose the 20 pounds they asked me to by the time we started rehearsals. But I also lost my confidence. I was constantly comparing myself to the other women in the show, I felt ashamed of my body and I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin.

For years, this was my life. I would audition all day, obsessing over the other women in the room, and at night I would bartend to pay my bills, working until 3 or 4 in the morning. Between the brutal schedule and the way my self-esteem had changed, I was miserable. Then one day a friend asked me to come to a class with her at Barry’s Bootcamp. I loved it so much I was hooked after one class. I started going every single day. I soon realized teaching fitness was something I might be good at. I decided to get my group fitness certification so I could teach on the side while I was auditioning. I started teaching at a small fitness studio in downtown New York. I quickly moved up the ranks and became their head trainer. Before I knew it, I was skipping out on auditions to spend more time at the studio and spending all my free time learning about fitness and exercise science. After a few months, I realized I loved fitness and I wanted to be completely immersed in it. I decided to step away from theatre and pursue fitness full time.

Working at this studio, we had to physically do the classes with the clients so I was working out about four to six hours a day. I was definitely working out way too much, but I saw insane results. I had a six-pack. My legs looked amazing. My arms were toned. I was also tired all the time. I stopped getting my period. I was severely dehydrated. So, while my body changed and it looked “amazing,” it was totally breaking down and falling apart.

As my fitness career began, I still struggled with my habit of comparing myself other women, because the industry at that time was all about how you looked. Your body was your business card. That was hard for me, because even though I loved fitness I really was a normal girl who also liked pizza and booze and living life. Back then it didn’t feel like you could have both. Things were less about working out to feel good and more about working out to look good. “Summer body,” “bikini body,” and “skinny” were words that were tossed around all the time. Looking back, I don’t think I even did feel good. The sacrifice that goes into looking like that is pretty intense and, like I said, I like to enjoy life! If you’re always fighting for that end goal but not enjoying your day to day, what’s the point?

Luckily, things have changed—both for me and in the industry. Three years ago I had begun training for my first fitness competition when I fell and tore my ACL. It was one of the hardest times in my life. I had to have full reconstructive knee surgery and was in a brace for almost six months. I couldn’t run for nine months. It was so hard to have fitness taken away from me. I got depressed and lethargic. I basically lost hope during that time.

When I was finally cleared to run and move like I used to, it was so emotional. I remember crying on the treadmill the first time I was allowed to jog. We take our bodies for granted and we focus on how our body parts look more than what they can do. Going through that time made me so grateful for my body.

I wouldn’t wish that injury on anyone but it truly changed my life for the better. Brave Body Project came out of the ashes of my injury and an equally tough time for my best friend (and now business partner) Amber. We both wanted to shed a different light on the fitness/health/wellness scene and empower women by creating a support system where women could come to us to feel strong and inspired. I am truly grateful to have Amber as my best friend because she’s always there to lift each other me up and I can count on her for anything. Our passion lies in helping others feel strong and fit while learning to love the process and appreciate the beautiful body they have, and it’s done the same for us. I hope every woman finds a friend like her.

This year (particularly in the last six months!) has been a breakthrough time for me in terms of learning to love my body. I started thinking of myself as an athlete and it became a lot easier be happy in my skin. I ran in nine races this year, and next year I’m running the New York City Marathon. I’m so proud of my body and what it can do and it’s just such a waste of time to compare or get down on myself. I’ve vowed not to waste another second poking, weighing, or comparing. I tell my clients the same thing— if you’re focused solely on superficial things like having abs or looking good in a bikini, I think you’re missing the point. Once you retrain your brain to think of fitness and working out as something that will make you feel happy, strong, empowered, and alive, that’s when your confidence and beauty will truly shine through.

Now, when I have a negative thought about my body, I remind myself that this body has done so many incredible things. I remind myself that one time I couldn’t move at all and that could be taken away in an instant. Life is too short to hate yourself. I work out six days a week, I have a healthy relationship with food and I’m strong AF. If I feel bloated or “fat” one day, who cares. That’s life. I think I love being in fitness more than ever because when I decided to stop comparing my body to other women and use my voice to share what I thought being healthy meant—when I decided to be authentically me—that’s when everything came together for me. Amber and I have worked hard to show women that they can lift each other up and still succeed. And we’re going to keep building this tribe of boss babes who love their bodies and support each other.



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How Learning to Code as a Woman Changed My Life


Last weekend, I, along with more than 2,500 other women, attended a conference breaking down the importance of self actualization. The conference was led by one of those popular, female-empowerment gurus, a high-energy motivationalist who talked unironically about mastering our own destiny, building our best lives, and learning to “embrace our inner radiance.”

Prior to all that destiny mastering and best-life building, the guru invited us to share the experiences that had led us there that day. One by one, brave women stood up and told different versions of the same sad story: tales of professional hopelessness, personal tragedy, of circumstances so dire they now believed their last and only recourse was to embark upon a weekend of empowerment with this self-proclaimed “revolution.”

After hearing our collective tales of woe, the guru assuaged our fears and desperation with “inspirational” tales of women who had previously attended the conference, women just like us who learned—gasp!— to believe in themselves and then suddenly, like magic, their whole lives were changed for the better. They opened up their dream yoga studio! They started to love their bodies! They banged that hot, young neighbor! (High bar, yes, I know.)

Hearing these success stories, many of my fellow women cooed. They applauded, they cheered. Meanwhile, I stewed.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m on board the manifestation train. My Instagram is a vision board of inspirational quotes and affirmations. I’ve read every book I could find on creating wealth and personal happiness. And not to toot my own metaphysical horn, but I, myself, am a quasi poster child for manifestation magic. Once, before a big interview, I maxed out a credit card on a pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps that obliterated my impostor syndrome and made me feel every inch the powerful, warrior queen I am. My thinking was that if I showed up truly believing I was a boss bitch then they would believe it, too (they did and hired me).

But telling groups of marginalized peoples (like women and especially women of color), against whom the societal cards are already very much stacked, that simply “believing in themselves” is the secret to getting what they want out of life is not only preposterous, it’s disingenuous, it’s poisonous—you could go so far as to call it traitorous. This type of thinking implies that the problem lies within us, the marginalized, the oppressed, within our attitudes, and not the fault of the inherently sexist, racist, and classist society we must struggle to thrive within.

Telling groups of marginalized women that simply “believing in themselves” is the secret to getting what they want out of life is not only preposterous, it’s poisonous.

It’s the same faulty logic that supposes “poor people are too lazy to work hard.” That says “Black Americans living in the lower class don’t have the motivation or willpower to pull themselves out of poverty,” (a belief still openly held by 45% of white Americans as of 2012). And worse: that kind of oppressive mindset is ubiquitous, it’s systematic, it can’t be voided by good vibes or a morning pep-talk.

Look. I’m not saying you shouldn’t believe in yourself. Please do. If I could you tell one thing, it’s that you’re strong and capable. You’re in possession of worldviews and experiences that no one else has and that alone has immense, precious value. That makes you special and unique.

But you need more than your inherent wonderfulness to achieve the life you want and deserve.

You need a map, a map with options, with multiple pathways and routes; you need a map with information on where you can go to make that life happen.

For me that map was coding.

I grew up in a trailer. In Missouri. As a kid, no one ever mentioned software engineering as a career option. I was vaguely aware that programming existed, but I didn’t know how anyone did it, who those people might be, or that I could someday be one of them. My high school didn’t offer coding classes. What I knew about programmers I gleaned from TV and media, where coders were presented as genius-level, unshaven, hoodie-wearing dudes—certainly not for a creative-minded lady like myself.

This lack of information (or misinformation) would have completely blocked my current career were it not for a few happy accidents that shifted my occupational trajectory (details I’ll save if only because a map should consist of reliable directions, not timing or circumstance.) And as I sat in that conference for two whole days listening to speeches on “pussy power,” all I could think about was that same information that had been kept from me was also barring these women from lives they might want to live.

No one had told them—no one was telling them—that coding is one of the few careers that can take you truly extraordinary places without extraordinary experience.

That it is one of the few highly prestigious and well-paid careers that you can teach yourself entirely online and with nearly no financial resources.

That you can be a programmer without a college degree and you can start learning to code when you’re 5 or 25 or 75—there is never a time that’s too early or too late.

That you do NOT have to be a whiz in math and science to be a coder. There are different types of programming. Some of it involves complex problem-solving that, yeah, it would probably be good if you were decent at math. But other types are artistic and creative. And that all of it boils down to just the ability to think about and solve problems and the ability to remember some commands to type into files that eventually become websites or apps.

Is coding difficult? Yes, god yes. Life as a developer takes serious willpower, discipline, and resiliency. You must have not only a stomach for failure, but also an appetite for it. Because no matter how much you learn, you will never feel truly settled in; you will have to learn something new every single day to stay relevant and you will need to kill off most of your ego and accept that you will never know everything there is to know.

Coding is one of the few careers that can take you truly extraordinary places without extraordinary experience.

But luckily the qualities required to succeed aren’t lacking in our underserved communities. What marginalized groups lack are resources and opportunities. More importantly, what they lack is exposure to the fact that this path, this map, actually exists. That they have more options than a just few desperate hours with a life coach. That YOU have more options.

I briefly mentioned my upbringing and early childhood circumstance not as a “look at me, look how far I’ve come” but to highlight that a career as a coder is possible for anyone, from any background. And thanks to coding, at 28, now I do have the life I always wanted. I spend my day doing work I love, surrounded by wonderful people, for a company that, as a poor kid from Missouri, I could only have dreamed of.

Now, I’ll be honest, by pitching coding as a career path, I am somewhat putting forward my own agenda, my own want. Because the truth is I want more women in tech. We need more women in tech (and, let’s face it, everywhere). Empowered women come from empowered women, and more of you having tech careers doesn’t just build you up, it builds me up.

And to any of the 2,500 women who sat by as some self-appointed oracle preached to them the ultimate value of a positive mindset, who suggested we dismantle the patriarchy by simply adjusting our attitude, please, if you’re considering a career change, if you want a new path or new opportunity, consider coding. I swear, by virtue of what it takes to simply exist as a woman in today’s society, you have everything you need to succeed. And once you have you won’t need the retreat, the guru, or the affirmations. You’ll be living your best life; your affirmation will be the world laid out at your feet.

This would all be noise without some useful resources. There are SO many different platforms available to wade through, but here are some of my favorites. I recommend trying out a few different ones to see what speaks to you.

Online Learning Platforms

These are the online equivalent of classrooms, where skills are taught that build upon one another over time. Each platform has different strengths and weaknesses, so while you’ll only start with one, you might find as you begin to develop your skillset that you want to dabble in different ones for different topics.
Also remember repetition is key! You aren’t going to hear one explanation of something and immediately get it. So don’t be afraid to do an intro to web on one platform and then do an intro to web on a second platform. It’s helpful the second time to see what you remember, what you need to re-visit and what makes way more sense the second time!

Treehouse

This is where I built my first website! I followed the “Front End Web Development” track and then jumped into the “Beginner JavaScript” track. They do a good job of keeping the videos concise and digestible, plus the things you build are quite beautiful, so it’s motivating to keep going. I’ve found this is one of the best platforms to start out as a true beginner, but that the more intermediate and advanced topics are less thorough than I needed.

CodeAcademy

CodeAcademy offers focus on web development, data science and language-specific tracks. I recommend starting with their web development intensive programs (like “Building Websites from Scratch,” a 10 week introduction) before checking out their other offerings. CodeAcademy is my go-to for intermediate and advanced topics.

The Odin Project

This platform is community-curated, so they pull in the best resources from around the web and construct it into a singular curriculum. I love this because there are a variety of different ways to learn a topic (readings, video tutorials and practice). For anyone who just wants to understand what the heck the Internet even is, their “How Does the Web Work?” intro is fantastic.

Books

For me, the web isn’t enough—my learning is deeper when I can read something in black and white, markup margins and highlight the crap out of a book. Unfortunately books get out of date quite quickly, so be sure you are buying up-to-date versions.

HTML & CSS

Jon Duckett
For absolute beginners, this book is a great place to start to understand what the web is made up of.

Tubes: A Journey to the Center of the Internet

Andrew Blum
An enjoyable read on how the Internet is pieced together and the people who keep it running.

Programming Pearls

Job Bentley
An introduction to the basics of solving problems and working through problems on your own. This is a good reflection of the ways you will flex your brain while programming (though don’t be worried if as you work through the book, it starts to get overwhelming; expect to go back and re-read this one a year from now and some of the more advanced bits will make more sense).

Other Resources

Swift Playgrounds

iPad app available on the App Store
This is a great “extra” thing to add to your learning curriculum, though won’t replace it. It’s an iPad app that has fun, guided lessons that teach you some of the basics of coding.

Meetups

A lot of cities have local meetups for absolute beginner programmers. Start to meet people, participate in group learning and talk to people about programming. It will seem less scary when you realize that everyone has similar struggles in the learning process.

Stack Overflow

This is where working developers spend 95% of our time. It is a community-supported Q&A environment where you can find answers to questions that have already been asked (most questions) and you can also ask new questions. Sign up for an account and ask away! Just be sure to read and be cognizant of the guidelines for posting, as the community does put a lot of energy into keeping the platform organized and accessible and other members will call you out for not following the rules.

Bootcamps

If you want to consolidate the timeline of learning to code, coding bootcamps are a good option. While not completely free, they are significantly cheaper than a formal education. Each of these has different potential benefits you’ll want to research: some offer evening and weekend courses; some have tracks in a huge variety of jobs (especially useful if you’re interested in working tech, but don’t necessarily want to be coding); some you don’t pay for up front, but promise a percentage of your salary from your first year of work; some have scholarships. I didn’t take this route to coding, but know a ton of people who did and have been hugely successful. Be diligent about researching your different options and push admissions teams for concrete numbers on job placements from the most recent class (along with their salaries)—don’t accept the numbers from their marketing materials at face value.



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How Our Conversations Around Pregnancy and Motherhood Changed in 2017


Pregnancy and motherhood has often been a secretive, shrouded club that women only gained access to when they had babies of their own. But while plenty of things about this year were terrible, there were some really great things to happen in 2017 too, and one of them was that we started to break down the walls around pregnancy/motherhood and let every woman in. We stood up for each other, we listened to each other and we learned from each other—whether we had kids or we didn’t—and that’s worth celebrating. Here are some of the biggest milestones:

PHOTO: NurPhoto

1. Women (and men!) all over the country fought for Planned Parenthood

Over five million people worldwide attended various Women’s Marches that took place after President Donald Trump was inaugurated in January. Women (and men! And kids!) participated in order to show unity in the notion that women’s rights are human rights—not only for reproductive health of course, but that was a huge focus of the signs and slogans shouted at those events. Part of the conversation around pregnancy involves understanding that being pregnant is a choice that a woman has to be comfortable with, and these rallies were a huge show of support for that idea.

PHOTO: Hungry Man Productions

2. Melissa Rauch beautifully captured the heartbreaking reality of miscarriage so others would feel less alone

The Big Bang Theory‘s Melissa Rauch penned an extremely honest open letter detailing what the miscarriage she and her husband experienced with their first pregnancy was really like. “The miscarriage I experienced was one of the most profound sorrows I have ever felt in my life,” she wrote. “It kick-started a primal depression that lingered in me. The image of our baby on the ultrasound monitor—without movement, without a heartbeat—after we had seen that same little heart healthy and flickering just two weeks prior completely blindsided us and haunts me to this day.” Rauch urged any woman who had experienced this loss to know they weren’t alone, and eventually, other celebrities joined her in a powerful PSA video to reiterate that message.

2017 MTV Video Music Awards

PHOTO: Getty Images

3. Pink joined the movement to normalize breastfeeding with a photo on her Instagram

Breastfeeding is natural, normal and great for many moms. If you didn’t already know that, singer Pink made sure you did when she shared a photo of herself getting her hair and makeup done while feeding her son. The photo proves that not only can she multitask as a new mom, but that breastfeeding is a run-of-the-mill activity and that the stigma surrounding it is outdated and should stop. Sure, this wasn’t the first time Pink (or another celebrity) shared photos of themselves while feeding their babies, but each time someone does it’s one more chip in the stigma.

John Legend Chrissy teigen

PHOTO: Greg Doherty

4. Chrissy Teigen demystified the IVF process when she announced her second pregnancy thanks to her last frozen embryo

Chrissy Teigen has been extremely honest about her fertility struggles since day one. She got pregnant with daughter Luna using IVF, and for that process she had 20 embryos from her fertility treatments. Many people don’t realize that not every embryo is viable, and Teigen and her husband John Legend soon found out they had only three healthy and useable ones. Teigen explained that, “the first little girl didn’t work, and then the second is Luna.” Now she and John are pregnant with their second baby after using their final frozen embryo. It was a long shot, but it worked, and we’re happy for her (and that she was able to squeeze in an IVF lesson for us in the process).

PHOTO: Getty Images

5. Kim Kardashian said that surrogacy is much harder for her than being pregnant

This was a controversial claim, but part of 2017’s brave new world is understanding what’s true for one mom might not be true for the next and being OK with that. Kim Kardashian, for her part, had two very uncomfortable and complicated pregnancies, which is why she opted for surrogacy for her third baby. However, she revealed that having a surrogate has been a lot harder than she anticipated. “Anyone that says or thinks it is just the easy way out is just completely wrong,” she said. “I think it is so much harder to go through it this way, because you are not really in control. And, you know, obviously you pick someone that you completely trust and that you have a good bond and relationship with, but it is still…knowing that I was able to carry my first two babies and not, you know, my baby now, it’s hard for me.” When it comes to babies there really is no easy way out.

jessica alba

PHOTO: Matt Winkelmeyer/Getty Images for Baby2Baby

6. Jessica Alba explained what many pregnant women know all too well: you really don’t feel like yourself when you’re pregnant

Celebrities might appear to be radiant and happy throughout their entire pregnancies, but pictures don’t tell the whole story. And nobody is immune to feeling uncomfortable, either physically or psychologically, especially in a changing body. Alba gets it: “I don’t feel glamorous at all when I’m pregnant,” she admitted. “I usually feel sort of like Humpty Dumpty, slothing around and hormonal, and nothing fits the same.” Stars really are just like us!

7. Serena Williams’ open letter to her mother proves we don’t realize how hard this mom thing is until we try it ourselves

Even Serena Williams, the best athlete in the world, has doubts about her abilities as a mother. And after the birth of her daughter earlier this year, she penned an open letter to her mom, thanking her for everything she has taught her, and was honest about her insecurities. She wrote, “Thank you for being the role model I needed to endure all the hardships that I now regard as a challenges—ones that I enjoy. I hope to teach my baby Alexis Olympia the same, and have the same fortitude you have had,” she wrote. “Promise me, Mom, that you will continue to help. I’m not sure if I am as meek and strong as you are yet. I hope to get there one day. I love you dearly.”



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A Year in Trumpland: 8 Women on How Their Lives Have Drastically Changed


There’s one thing—maybe only one thing—every single person in America can agree on right now: Exactly one year ago today, we woke up surprised. Maybe, the day before, you pulled the lever for now-President Donald Trump and thought, with one eye on the polls predicting Hillary Clinton‘s win, Oh, well, I said my piece. Maybe you stayed up late after voting for Clinton, watching that empty stage with its lonely blue H on TV, and felt ever more nauseous as midnight approached. Maybe you went to bed early because you hadn’t voted at all, sure that it didn’t matter. After all, nothing ever changes.

Except that by morning, everything had. And the drama hasn’t stopped since.

The next year unfolded in the kind of news gush the human brain isn’t built to handle. Women marched by the millions. Congress has tried and failed, tried again and failed again to repeal Obamacare. Details of Russian election interference that invaded even your Facebook feed continue to surface. At a more rapid clip than ever before, places became instant shorthand for tragedy and loss. Charlottesville. Las Vegas. Puerto Rico. The imminence of nuclear war is now something I check in on casually, right before I glance at the weather to see if I need a jacket.

Those are the big things, the things that used to steamroll us with their momentousness before we learned to digest them on a daily basis. But suddenly, it’s been a year, and we can see all the smaller, realer ways the election changed our lives and jobs and relationships. Almost everyone can name some parts of their day to day that look different in 2017 than they did in 2016. Here, I’ll go first: To manage my permanently ratcheted stress level, I’m working out more than ever before. I’ve gotten involved in local politics, managing a Women’s March huddle and pitching in on a city council campaign. And I’ve stopped putting up with the kind of casual prejudice that makes the cashier at my grocery store assume that because I’m white, too, she’s safe to tell me, in a mournful tone, “But oh, that neighborhood where my grandparents lived—it’s all black and Hispanic now.”

“You know what?” I responded, as she dragged my broccoli across the scanner. “I bet that’s exactly how people used to talk about your grandparents when they moved there.”

She stared at me, a little thrown. “There’s a lot of crime,” she said.

“And good people, too,” I replied. Get comfortable on that hook, lady, I was thinking. I didn’t come to let you off it.

PHOTO: Stocksy

I’ll be honest: Especially during the past year, I haven’t always been that calm or that neutral in my rhetoric. I’ve been guilty of generalizing and villainizing the people who think differently from me, and I still have many moments in which I can’t understand them at all. Reporting this piece—literally getting paid to listen to people, instead of just waiting for them to take a breath so I could cut in—helped and was humbling. (I wish I could have talked, specifically, to more women who voted for Trump. From the friends and acquaintances who lit up my social media with MAGA stuff a year ago, to professional Trump media surrogates, to women who work for Trump and Ivanka Trump brands, I got nos across the board. Hell, I couldn’t even get a response from the group called Women for Trump.)

But I’m not sure anyone else who falls on the other side of the aisle would have said something that affected me as much as what 21-year-old Abigail Bennett, whose story you’ll find below, shared at the end of our interview. I was impressed by the young College Republicans officer; I told her, when we talked about Charlottesville, that she did a far stronger job of denouncing what went on there than our president did. Before we hung up, I asked her if she wanted to run for office in the future.

She paused. “Only if the political climate becomes a little less negative,” she said finally. “I don’t want to put myself into a position where I’m miserable and nothing can get done because there’s so much hostility.”

I’m a registered Democrat; the chances of me ever voting for Abigail Bennett in the future are slim. It took a professional assignment for me to even hear her. But when she responded that way, it hit me: If the culture stays this toxic, principled and compassionate people on both sides will stand down. They’ll leave the ballot open for the sort of candidate who swims easy laps in this ugliness, who considers hate a platform and oppression a strategy. Bennett’s words are still haunting me, which I guess means that this year hasn’t finished changing my life, a little at a time, each day.

Here are more American women, in their own words, on how their lives have changed during the last year, too.

The Press Room Vet

The Press Room Vet

April Ryan, 50

White House correspondent and D.C. bureau chief, American Urban Radio Networks | Baltimore, MD

As a reporter for over two decades, April Ryan has had a chair with her name on it in the White House briefing room for a long time. But she’s had more dramatic moments during her last year of work than the last three administrations combined. (See: Former press secretary Sean Spicer admonishing Ryan to stop shaking her head, President Trump asking her, when Ryan questioned him on plans to meet with the Congressional Black Caucus, “Do you want to set up the meeting? Are they friends of yours?”) Ryan, author of At Mama’s Knee and The Presidency in Black and White, looked back on her year as a face of “fake news.”

Election night, when I saw the results, I said, “OK. Attacks will happen because he doesn’t like the press.” I didn’t know the attacks would be on me. It’s like going up against a pumice stone every day—there’s an abrasiveness, and you’re constantly feeling beaten down.
At first, I thought about leaving—but then I said no. This isn’t personal; it’s not about me. I’m a big girl, and I can handle it. I’m not going to let anyone take clothes off my kids’ backs.

This place will pull so much out of you, but I’ve learned to leave it there now. Early on, I couldn’t sleep—I was having a problem. Now, I’m doing more with friends, engaging more with people who mean well to me. When I get home, I don’t talk shop, and when people bring up the news or politics, I’m like, “Don’t talk to me about this.” It can be all-consuming, and I have a life beyond this.

PHOTO: Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

I’ve gotten several death threats this year—once when I was shaking my head and Sean took me to task. If people don’t like me acting precious, whatever. Some people just don’t want me in the room. But on Twitter, I get people saying, “Auntie April, you’re great.” They ask me, “How do you take it? I would have—” But no, you wouldn’t have cussed out Sean or Sarah Huckabee Sanders or the president. This is the White House. This is my job.

There’s crazy everywhere we turn, but I’ve learned, this year, to put it in its place. I used to think I was thin-skinned, but my skin is tougher than I thought.

The Social Media Crusader

The Social Media Crusader

Jen Statsky, 31

Writer and producer | Los Angeles, CA

There was a time when Jen Statsky was as well-known for her biting Twitter jokes as she was for her work on shows like Broad City and The Good Place. Then came Donald Trump. Since his campaign started seeming like a real thing, Statsky has been using her platform—which currently has 120,000 followers—almost exclusively as a resistance bullhorn. Statsky reflected on her year trading punchlines for punches.

I didn’t make a calculated decision to stop writing jokes on Twitter and start making my tweets about this—it’s just that my Twitter now is a genuine reaction and representation of what I’m thinking about. I didn’t know I was capable of maintaining this level of anger. When I see a tweet about something that isn’t the news now, it’s like, “Oh, right. That’s what we used to use this app for. It wasn’t a daily rage factory.”

I recently had a tweet picked up by a right-leaning website, and the trolls came out. Nine times out of ten, they go right for your appearance. There’s no way you can read it all, because there’s just so much, and at a certain point it’s like, “Alright, I get the gist. I’m an ugly cunt.” It doesn’t affect my self-esteem, but I do feel this overwhelming sadness that these are real people. These people exist, and this is what they actually think. And this idiot [President Trump], every time he tweets or talks, is mobilizing armies of trolls. The way he spoke about Hillary, people were learning: “OK, that’s how we talk about women. Got it.” I feel like the Internet is truth serum that he reveals how people still think about women—that we’re invaluable, that you can use us sexually.

I’ve had the argument with people of “What’s the point? Twitter’s an echo chamber.” Maybe that’s true, but if you have a platform at all, it’s a way to spread information. And I do try to still be one percent funny in the tweets. Though some are just me, straight serious, telling someone to fuck off.

The DACA Mom

The DACA Mom

Angelica Villalobos, 32

Immigration rights advocate | Oklahoma City, OK

Angelica Villalobos came from Mexico to Oklahoma at 11 years old. She didn’t know she was undocumented until she was 18 and asked her parents for her birth certificate, so she could get her driver’s license. The years that followed her revelation were marked by pain and fear becoming routine. Villalobos was pregnant with her third daughter when, in 2007, a debate over whether to let undocumented people into hospitals cropped up in Oklahoma. Her oldest daughter’s ADHD medication—a legally controlled substance—would go lapsed for days while Villalobos tried to find someone with a driver’s license to go with her to the pharmacy. “You feel powerless,” Villalobos said. When President Obama signed Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals legislation into law in 2012, she applied and was approved immediately. Villalobos, now an immigration rights advocate, breathed a sigh of relief. But since President Trump was elected—and since White House has announced plans to end the DACA program—she’s been holding it again.

What was really hard for me, going back to the campaign, was politicians like Sessions saying that [undocumented immigrants] are job-stealers and that we take benefits and social security—we don’t qualify for any of that. I’ve been paying taxes towards Medicare and Social Security since I was 18—before DACA, I had a ITIN number—and I don’t get any of that. I’m not complaining; what I’m saying is: President Trump didn’t just end the DACA program. He made us feel like criminals and terrorists. When you tell people to be afraid of others, it’s a very dangerous weapon. I took my 13-year-old daughter to a Bernie Sanders rally with me back before the election, and when she went to the 7-11 next door a group of white men started to harass her. They told her to go back to her country. She was born here. She’s a U.S. citizen.
My husband and I are both Dreamers. We’ve been together for 18 years. We have four daughters. The morning after the election, my 10-year-old was crying, saying, “Are we gonna have to go back to Mexico?” I tried to make it funny and said, “Well, you’ve never been to Mexico!” But inside, I had no idea what was going to happen.

PHOTO: VIEW press

I still don’t know. I don’t want my oldest daughter to have to worry about me and my husband. I want her to focus on her education. But we have talked with her about becoming her younger siblings’ guardian when she turns 18. She plans to go to college, and we’ve had to talk about having her stay in-state.

I’m afraid. I think it’s OK to be afraid sometimes. It forces you to look at your life differently, to come up with ideas to prepare for what’s coming. But I don’t want my daughters to be afraid. My youngest was always afraid of storms—she’d ask to sleep with us. Now, she’s OK with rain and thunder—but there’s this.

The Millennial-Republican Rep

The Millennial-Republican Rep

Abigail Bennett, 21

Student, University of Maine and Secretary, National Committee of the College Republicans | Oxford, ME

As an officer of the national committee of the College Republicans and the daughter of Richard Bennett, former chair of the Republican Party, University of Maine student Abby Bennett is essentially the face of young conservatives. But this administration has challenged her straight-ticket loyalty—she did not support President Trump in the election, and continues to find him problematic at best. Bennett opened up about what she’s learned this year—about herself, her peers, and the future of her party.

Politics are in my family. My dad was the chairman of the Republican party, and he’s my biggest role model. I started getting involved in high school with a Republican youth organization called Gen 207, and as soon as I got to college, I said, “Where’s the Young Republicans?” Later, I became secretary of the national committee. I’ve worked for Senator Collins—I love Senator Collins—and I really look up to Carly Fiorina, whom I thought was very outspoken and articulate during her campaign. I believe in freer markets and lower taxes. I believe that the government isn’t the solution for most problems in society.

We Republicans are the minority on campus right now. It’s difficult to put yourself out there, to sit at a table getting signatures. We face adversity all the time. Most people aren’t rude, but you have the people who want to go after you—the discourse has gotten really aggressive. But I also have people who come up to me and whisper, “I love your laptop stickers!” It’s almost like there’s a group of closeted Republicans on campus right now. They don’t want to announce who they are because of the atmosphere.

I understood why some people supported President Trump. He’s transparent, and he’s brought new conversations to the table, like the negative consequences of globalization. But when those Access Hollywood tapes got released, with him talking about women that way—I couldn’t come to terms with that. It’s just locker room talk? No. He’s running for the highest office in the land. He should be held to a higher standard. With older people, [my decision not to support Trump] was a point of contention—“if you didn’t, you’re not a true Republican.” But a lot of younger Republicans didn’t support him. People got really upset online when I condemned his comments about women on Facebook. My dad tells me not to respond to online comments, but I get really worked up about it sometimes. I don’t post as much about politics anymore on social media; I stick to positive things and nice pictures.

I think the administration has done some good things—he’s reduced regulatory costs, he’s given a voice to the manufacturing industry—and I like his authenticity. I think his lack of political correctness is a game-changer and will change how campaigns are run, hopefully for the better. But he makes sweeping generalizations about people, and he acts rude and childish. Twitter has given him a platform to be immature. I wasn’t very happy with the way he handled Charlottesville. We’ve had different people coming to our group this year, but we’re not going to accept people who are racists, who are just so far behind in our civilization. This faction is trying to become part of our party, and I will continue to make sure that they don’t. They are not welcome here.

The Mom Demanding Justice

The Mom Demanding Justice

Sheila MacLean, age withheld

Technical recruiter | Bethlehem, PA

Sheila MacLean and her husband brought their family from Austin, Texas to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania in 2013 and enrolled their two sons in the Saucon Valley School District, which is 87 percent white. Almost immediately, both boys, who are biracial and were 11 and 13 at the time, began experiencing regular racial harassment. In October 2016, just a month before the presidential election, the MacLeans’ older son punched another student—a student who had filmed him eating chicken and added racist commentary.

The district later cracked down, and the student who made the video was eventually charged with cyber harassment, but the racist behavior, MacLean says, persists. Earlier this year, the district held a meeting to discuss banning the Confederate flag on school premises. MacLean spoke at the meeting and was there to hear one board member pontificate, “You can’t handle the day-to-day bigotry, then it’s your problem…what you teach your kids is to hang in there and deal with it.” MacLean opened up about her anguished quest to make school safe for her sons.

The harassment started right away, as soon as we moved here. My sons were called the n-word in the hallway. One of them had a Confederate flag thrown over him one day. The kids told him to “wear it with pride.” My oldest son dealt with it by getting headphones to wear in the hallway, so he wouldn’t have to hear the epithets. For my job, I commute into Philadelphia or New York, and I had to stop because I would frequently be getting calls and texts from my sons saying, “Come pick me up.”

PHOTO: Stocksy

We reported these things, but there was always an atmosphere of disbelief [from the administration] and maybe even suspicion. Finally, the superintendent, whom I thank God for, got involved when someone got ahold of a note my oldest son had written on his PSSA exam, on the paper where they have to show their math work: “Please help us. They’re harassing my brother and me.” Whenever I think of that, it brings me to my knees crying. I feel like we failed our sons. We have always told them—someone bothers you, we’ll take care of it. We tried to do what was right and work within the system, but the system is not designed to help them.

Leading up to the election, I had an idea of the ramifications [of Trump winning]. But because of what my family was already going through, it just seemed so far away. Now, a year in, I jokingly say that whereas people were more circumspect before, now they’re letting their freak flags fly. Racism seems like something to be celebrated, touted as patriotism. But we’ve also been blessed to have people rally around us. Our church and our neighbors have been huge supports. I had another mom from school call me out of the blue to say, “I just heard what happened, and I am so sorry. What can I do to help?” After we were on the local news, a little old white lady at the grocery store came up to me and said, “I am so sorry. I just want you to know that we don’t all feel this way.” I don’t ever want to give the impression that everyone is like this, or even the majority, because they are not. It’s the minority, but they can be impactful.

My older son still wears his headphones in the hallways at school. My husband and I have discussed moving. But we look around right now and think, The way everything is going, where would we go?

The First-Time Candidate

The First-Time Candidate

Amy Zanelli, 36

Realtor and Candidate, County Commissioner | Lehigh County, PA

Amy Zanelli had been active in politics and community issues her whole life, stepping back only when her children were born and she stayed home to raise them. But President Trump had her concerned for the future, and all the talk around a need for more female leaders had her inspired. When the call came—literally—she answered it.

Once 45 won the primary, I started to get very nervous—and when he won, it felt like everything came crashing down. My daughters were in tears, my wife was in tears. Earlier that day, we had all been in our pantsuits with our little “nasty” name tags on. Not even 24 hours later, we saw swastikas [on the news]. For us, a lesbian Jewish family, that’s a little nerve-wracking.

I started to get very involved. I was rallying activist groups in my area and helping with the Hamilton Electors movement. My wife and I had to drag our two older daughters to the Women’s March—they didn’t get it until they got there. But after the march, they kept saying, “Mommy, are you going to run?”

I thought, “OK, I’ll run for school board.” Then the chairman of the local Democratic committee called and said she had asked some people from groups in the area whom she should recruit to run for this commissioner post, and they kept saying me.

This hasn’t been my campaign—it’s our campaign, my whole family. My daughters have been the most amazing little campaigners. My middle daughter, Maya, who’s nine, has gone out with people to teach them how to knock doors because she’s so good at it. The little one tells everyone she meets, “Vote Zanelli!” Our lives have become much more busy, but I’m still the class mom for all three of them. Sometimes I get flack [for doing parenting things when I could be campaigning], but I’m not going to ditch my kids for this office. I have to maintain a balance—I can’t just tell them they can have it all without showing them.

The hardest part of the last year has been the scrutiny. I went from this sheltered stay-at-home mom life, where I got to control almost all of the elements of my day, to being in the public spotlight. I can’t just throw my hair up in a bun and run to the supermarket anymore. But there are good parts of the spotlight, too. One of the best moments I had was when I was working a table for a local activist group at a festival. I wasn’t campaigning, but I had my button on. A group of young girls came up and one of them said, “Oh, I love Amy Zanelli!” She looked at me and said, “Wait, oh my God, are you Amy Zanelli?” She and her friends squealed like I was Taylor Swift. My daughters were there, and I’m so happy they saw that. I don’t want them to be passive observers of their world. I want them to reach out and shape it.

The Washington Insider Who Feels Like an Outsider

The Washington Insider Who Feels Like an Outsider

Rachel Bovard, 33

Senior Director of Policy, Conservative Partnership Institute | Washington, D.C.

For her entire career, Rochester native and policy analyst Rachel Bovard had been working on policy that, under a Democratic administration, was unlikely to ever become law. When last year’s election night rolled around, she didn’t expect anything to change. Then the evening wore on—and everything did.

Election night, I was at the Heritage Foundation [where Bovard worked at the time]. We had a big party. Everybody was like, “It’s gonna be another Dem. I’ll have a drink and leave.” Around 9 p.m., I saw Florida was in play. Then I saw Wisconsin and Michigan, and I was like, “Holy shit. This is real.” I’ve been working in the minority a long time, so it’s a little different for me—it was a feeling of “Oh my gosh, we’re going to have unified control of the government. This is amazing. All these policy things we’ve been toiling on in the wilderness, we’re actually going to be able to do.” That was my first thought.

I have worked around politics for a long time, and I’ve always had this detachment; it’s my job. I have a ton of friends who are progressives, and it’s been just fine until this year. Now, for the first time ever, I feel dismissed by them. They’re disgusted. I’ve lost friends I’ve known since college. Good friends, ones I want to share my life with. These people think I’m a horrible human being. I think my parents have been very hesitant to talk about what I do or share my work, and I don’t even send my brothers, who are super liberal, stuff that I write anymore. It’s super lonely that way.

PHOTO: Getty Images

People take the basest elements of Trump and use them to define everyone who supports him: “You’re a sexist. You’re a racist.” The left looks at the right and says, “You hate people. You want all brown people to die.” The right says, “No, we do care, but the rule of law matters.” We want to fix the system.

I’m not waving the flag for Trump, but I’m probably more of a Trump supporter than anyone I know. I appreciate that he’s upended this stratified, elite view of Washington. I think he’s a small and petty person, but that doesn’t matter to me. The policy matters to me. I think the shit about Charlottesville’s awful, but I don’t look at my president as a [moral] leader. I just don’t. I don’t know if that comes from my Catholicism or what, but I don’t expect him to be the North Star. You have these face-palm moments, like, “Are you kidding me? You couldn’t just handle it and not tweet that?” But I also don’t agree with the hysteria on the left. I don’t think he’s ruining our country.

I’ve never been this stressed before. I’ve done muay thai for years, and I’ve started doing that more. I started going back to my therapist. I’m sad about the world. I’m sad that we all hate each other this much.

The Former Hillary Staffer

The Former Hillary Staffer

Mary Jennings, 33

Surrogate Communications Manager, Hillary Clinton for President | Washington, D.C.

Lawyer turned communications expert Mary Jennings wasn’t looking to get into politics. But when a friend invited her in 2013 to come to a meeting about Correct the Record, an early Hillary Clinton SuperPAC, she decided to check it out. Fast forward to 2016 and Jennings was living in a Brooklyn one-bedroom with two other campaign staffers, helping to run communications for the Clinton campaign. “It wasn’t a lifestyle I wanted to sign up for,” Jennings says. “But she was that candidate for me. I’ve always admired her.” On election night, Jennings watched Clinton fall short. Thus began a year of eating, healing, and starting over. Nearly a year after that fateful night, Jennings looks back—and forward.

My day-to-day on the campaign involved writing talking points and preparing people who were going on TV that day, talking about campaign issues. It was really fun and super fast-paced. It was always a special day when Hillary came into the office. By the end of the campaign, our headquarters had something like 800 people, and she would shake every single person’s hand. It would take hours, and I felt so sorry for her, but it was really important to her.

I never had time to think about election day until it arrived. We never felt like the inevitable campaign—we were working our asses off, doing 18-20 hour days. We knew what was at stake. While the country not might have been paying full attention to how insane Donald Trump was during the campaign, we were watching it all. Every day. And we were terrified. We knew how he ran his businesses. We knew how he treated women. We knew his decades-long history of racism. Every day, we thought: “Oh my God. What if?”

My job on election night was to escort people to the suite level at the Javits center. I was running all night long—a toenail finally fell off in February because idiot me wore wedges that night. I barely looked at a TV all night long. At one point, my boss pulled me aside and said, “Hey, stay here, walk around and cheer people up. The vibe is getting down.” I was like, “Why? It’s still early. It’s going to be fine.” I don’t know what time it was—maybe 11—when my husband, who was there for support, called me and said, “Go find an empty room, Mary. She’s going to lose.” My sweet husband came into this room with more vodka drinks than I’ve ever seen one person carry. I collapsed on the floor and sobbed.

We had to be at the office the next morning because we had a week to close up this office that some people had been working in for years. There was a lot of crying that first day, but our operations team was so amazing—it seemed like something was brought in every hour. Ice cream! Donuts! Tacos! Bloody mary bar! Eat and drink to cope—that has been my 2017 mantra. Oh, and lots of HGTV.

PHOTO: Drew Angerer/Getty Images

I never went through that phase of feeling sad for myself. I felt sad for Hillary, even though she of course was holding it together, trying to make us feel better. She’s the strongest human being on the planet, in my humble opinion. To be honest, I was all right at the end of the year. It was about to be the holidays, and I hadn’t seen my family and my dogs in forever. I’d been living apart from my husband for a year. During the holidays, I watched a ton of crazy dark movies like The Revenant, Cold Mountain. I was like, “If Leo can handle being eaten by that bear, we’ll be fine! We literally had a Civil War, and look—it’s OK now.”

But come January, when the man started to govern, I hit a majorly dark depression. The first six months of the year, I was depressed. I did some work on the Supreme Court fight, consulting for a coalition that opposed Judge Gorsuch’s nomination, which also ended in a depressing outcome. I was eating and drinking way too much. Eating has been a theme; I feel like every time there’s a news alert, I’m running to the fridge. During Charlottesville, when [Trump] basically said, “Oh, it’s OK that white supremacists are marching in the streets,” I ordered edible cookie dough from Postmates. We’re living under a nuclear threat and he keeps poking [Kim Jong Un]? Now I need mac and cheese. I’ve gained the Trump 20—it’s like the freshman 15, but a lot less fun.

In the summer, things started to look a little brighter. My husband and I traveled and spent a lot of time outside. We bought bikes. Now I’m finally looking for jobs, and I feel like my life is getting on track. But things that depress me still happen all the time, like the announcement on DACA or birth control. It’s like, why?

I want to take a break from politics [professionally], but I will continue to support my progressive friends and our causes with all my heart and pocketbook. We’ve learned this year that calling your Congressman and protesting works. We’ve seen millennial and female candidates stepping up. We’re not just piling on Trump—we’re doing something about him. To see that has been uplifting. There’s still a lot of hope.

Profile images courtesy of subjects. Header: Getty Images





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