xojane

I read the infamous xoJane essay "My Former Friend's Death Was a Blessing" with a different variety of stunned than most others probably did. You see, "Leah" was my best friend. Saying that "Leah's" death wasn't a tragedy sounds horrible to say because it is horrible to say. And it's wrong.
Like all women I know who do watch the show and read the books, I entered the fanbase by recommendation from a man already watching the show, AKA the only Game of Thrones point of entry for women.
I learned a lot by having Löfgren syndrome. It taught me how strong and resilient people with disabilities can be, but more importantly, it taught me that people with disabilities don't want my pity -- they want respect and solidarity, just like any other person does.
Pressing delete certainly didn't rid the real issues that I have been working through year after year. What pressing delete did do was give me back my power from a man who depleted it years ago.
I'm not that 9-year-old little girl praying silently each day on the way to school that the bullies would pick on someone else that day. But I am that 25-year-old woman who still has feelings and expects more from humanity.
I'm pretty sure more than one person has thought that, with our similar hair, skin and eye colors, that we were either brother and really older sister or mom and son, but the pros far outweigh the cons in our relationship.
Positioning men as the saviors of oppressed women isn't productive, and devalues the work that feminists have been doing for decades.
I live on what we New Zealanders call a "lifestyle block." This means I have enough land to get out in the garden and get
When I got home from the studio that day, I ate a gluten-free cracker and cried bitter tears. Yoga had always been a safe
I'm not sure what you thought you saw in my eyes, but, believe me, I don't resent your body or your whiteness for a very simple reason. I don't envy them.
Because I was directly in front of her, I had no choice but to twerk in her face. Over the course of the next hour, I felt her despair turn into resentment and then contempt. I just knew for sure that it was directed toward me and my booty.
As a plus size woman of color, people are constantly "telling on themselves" in regards to how they see me. It could be as simple as calling me "girl" instead of my name or it could be something as nuanced as mentioning their own appearance in contrast to mine.
My mother told me she found me outside, left for dead, and when she heard me trying to get to the door, she thought it was
Victorian-era tradition dictated that a lady's name should only appear in the newspaper three times: upon her birth, marriage and death. I can only assume that having a blog plus a Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and Pinterest account would have been frowned upon.
I didn't realize how fully girly an adult I am until I started working at my current job, a site for adult women where we
I know I'm old because lately I find myself saying, "what is wrong with the kids today?!" a lot. I use the word "old" in the most loving, thank God I'm old, sort of way. I use the word "kids" to refer to people in their 20s and early 30s.