What does it mean to have an education in our current state of existence? What are the hidden side effects? As teenagers we begin to hear from every resounding adult how important it is to go to college. Select all that apply; “It will build your character”, “it is the only viable option if you want a sensible career”, “it will jump start the rest of your life” which will include; buying a home, getting married, and having children.

I’m not very good at celebrating birthdays. I don’t really know why. I like the idea of it, but I’m not the socializing, party animal kind. For my last birthday I stayed in with my housemate and her partner. We watched a horror movie, projected onto the wall and ate an obscene amount of bad food and cake. We drank a fair amount of wine too. I mean, why not? It was my birthday after all.

The news of relocating came so fast that I didn't even have time to let it soak in. I hit the ground running so fast that I was numb to the thought of leaving home. It wasn't until the unpacking was done and the empty boxes were hauled away that I had time to actually let it sink in. It hit me, I am starting completely over.

In our culture, women especially tend to apologize for not being perfect and as a result overlook their own amazingness. This has got to stop, ladies! Men, too. Instead of worrying about all the things you did not accomplish today, let’s celebrate the tiny victories you did have.

While it’s definitely true that good can come out of loss, it’s not healthy to only view what’s gone in a negative light. If I completely dismiss the good that was lost just to make the whole ordeal less painful, it’s almost like I’m pretending that a portion of my life didn’t happen. I can’t live like that.

I wasn't officially diagnosed until I was 31 years old. My symptoms had gotten so bad that I knew I had to see a doctor about it. More specifically, my husband told me that he was worried about me and that it might help to go see someone. After one 50-minute session, the doctor said to me, "You are the textbook definition of someone with depression and generalized anxiety disorder." I was so overwhelmed that I couldn't formulate a response, so I just looked at the floor, tears filling my eyes. She prescribed medication for me and told me to come back in three weeks.

I come from a tight-knit family. We love each other deeply and keep in touch, whether via text or in person, often. So, when one member is hurting or celebrating, the rest of us feel it right there with them. Last fall, three huge events happened in our family’s life that were met with a strange mix of joy, grief, and fear: I gave birth to my first child, my oldest nephew passed away two weeks later, and my mom – our rock – was diagnosed with a serious case of bladder cancer two months after that. To say my emotions were in overdrive is an understatement.

On October 8, 2016, my life abruptly changed. The man I’d loved for more than 15 years took his own life. I was shocked, devastated, and lost in a sea of emotions while simultaneously trying to collect myself enough to face my two small boys, who were nine months and three years old. It was a moment that induced a fog that I had never experienced before. I have heard it described as “widow brain” but it was much more than that. It was the detachment and numbness that happened while trying to process my new reality, but it was also all the sadness, confusion, anger, and hurt that came with it.

Being aware of what might trigger my anxiety and being proactive is the best way I’ve found to keep myself healthy.

I have been beating myself up for months, you guys. Months where it felt every single thing I was doing was wrong.

After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.

Self-love is not just bubble baths and face masks, it goes far beyond that.

Within milliseconds, he twisted her head about, yanked her neck out, and paralyzed her. Just like that. I roared a long-winded murderous scream, so loud and full, that I know a part of myself died in those seconds.

Lessons on life + love can come from unexpected places - like the Secret Service.

I finally cried and let go of the dream of “maybe someday” with him. And the weight began to lessen.

Art was for other people. People who didn’t make money. People who didn’t take life seriously, wore sandals, and had all the time in the world to sit around and play with paint all day. A decade or so later, something shifted.

I don’t know for certain that my writing is of any importance to others, but still I write.

When my husband asked me to marry him, it really was a fairy-tale perfect, Instagram-worthy proposal of proposals. He did everything I could have dreamt of...and I missed it.

Ten months into the best relationship of my life, I freaked out. I remember the moment it happened too - as if a switch was turned on and I needed to get out now. Thoughts like we can’t do this anymore; how do I know he’s the one; we have to break up were repeated over and over in my head like a broken record.

In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.

I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.

Alcohol made me feel alive and cool and part of the crowd. It was not until a close friend hit a tree head on after drinking and driving that I was able to put the alcohol down.

On November 11, 2013, I woke up with a horrendous headache and a terrifying feeling. I couldn’t remember much of anything from the night before. There was this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt a nudge to check the trash can and there I found three empty bottles of wine. How had I gotten to this point?

Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.

There is tremendous power in telling your story and letting go of the shame of sexual abuse.

To the survivors of sexual abuse, and their loved ones, know you are not alone, this is something that will be part of you, but it in no way needs to define you.

Learning how to mend a broken heart in the midst of grief and aftermath of suicide. 

Shaun's suicide was devastating and heartbreaking beyond measure. It caused a pain that until you have experienced it, you cannot fully understand how hard it is to face the never-ending grief that comes from losing someone by their own choice.

Chandler contemplated moving into the van full-time, though she was skeptical. “People would say things like: you have a baby, why would you do that, that’s not safe.” Despite this, she persisted. “I went straight to the source itself and asked Leo if it was something he wanted to do. His eyes got so big and he said: ‘I want to sleep in the van!’” A year later, the mother and son are still living this minimalistic lifestyle— sleeping oceanside, hiking Hawaii’s valleys, and practicing veganism in a thriving plant-based community.

I never got to hear my daughter cry, or laugh, or even breathe. But I got to hold her and feel her against my chest as I cradled her lifeless body for eight hours. I slept with her in my arms and carried the illusion she was slumbering peacefully, even though I knew better. Even though I knew this was a whisper of the life she would never get to have and the moments we would never get to share.

It is in these weakest moments that we are at our worst. That we treat ourselves the worst. I love my son. I already love my daughter, who is just weeks away from making an appearance into this world. But there are days, more than I want to admit, where I do not like being a parent.

I have learned that what family looks like or who is part of it changes as we change. People who were once close to me became part of the scenery or even distant memories. While initially challenging, these comings and goings eventually became a comfort.

Our gut has saved our lives for hundreds of generations. So why do we struggle with listening to it? Because we’re taught as children to ignore it.

I cried every day my baby was away. Time is such a thief; as mothers, we watch our babies grow and change and move away from us the moment they leave our bodies. I was missing precious time.

My mom was a runner. I don’t know when or why she decided to run, but once she began it became a very important part of her day. Up at dawn, she put on a tattered baseball cap, equally worn t-shirt and shorts, and Nike Air shoes. She carried a stick and a pocket full of dog treats. A dirt path around a quiet, desert golf course was her domain as the sun began to rise. She didn’t have an easy life. There was little peace in her life apart from running. This was the one thing she did for herself. An introvert, she rarely socialized outside of family. Life had ups and downs and she had concerns about various family matters, finances, and other things. But for an hour each morning, these were put aside as she allowed herself to feel the emotional freedom that comes from the movement and breathing that accompany running.

Every Sunday my family gathers together for family dinner. We pile all the food onto the table and check in with each other. On a warm summer night, the windows will be open and our neighbors will be wondering what we're laughing about. In the winter, the woodburning stove is lit and crackling. The ambiance changes with the seasons but a constant is that, whether in joy or stress, my family week after week comes to the table to spend time together.

There is something about sitting among the trees and just watching and listening that is so beautiful and cleansing. It causes you to pause and think about what it took for the forest to grow. The trees that have managed to survive the longest have undoubtedly been through so much. But the trees that had short lives and ended up on the forest floor, only to become kindling later, still served a purpose.

It is the same with us as humans. We often stop to compare ourselves to others, wondering what we are lacking, wondering why someone else is growing stronger or faster or living longer. We don’t stop to look at the beauty that we hold within and recognize our purpose.

I think all of us have felt unsettled lately, like a general un-anchoring is taking place in each of our lives. The past year or so has been full of change, decisions, and uncertain direction for all of us. Deciding on a college major. Moving. Job searching. Changing a college major. New jobs. New babies. Dissatisfaction with jobs. A major medical diagnosis.

The cycles started, the doctors’ appointments, counted days, medication trials, all of it! Our hope slowly began to fade as each month went by. Until October of 2016 – we did it! And then we lost it. Is he going to love me through this? I’m failing at the only thing I have ever given 100% to. As a wife, a mother - I am failing my husband.

I’ve never received an explanation for why my body is seemingly unable to do what it’s supposed to be able to do – produce life.

Organ donation is a hard topic, especially when it deals with children. Please consider registering to be an organ donor and know how impactful that gift is to those who are in dire need of a life-saving organ.

Organ donation is a reminder of all the good in the world. Strangers who as their final act in this life, give life to others; I’m not sure there is anything more humbling than being on the receiving end of such an act.

I have been beating myself up for months, you guys. Months where it felt every single thing I was doing was wrong.

Reflections on a post-baby body after 4 pregnancies.

Any self-confidence buzzing within my grasp was snatched up at the sight of stretch marks and extra weight looking back at me from the mirror. Not to mention what pregnancy and nursing did to my breasts.

We’re expecting our second baby in November and I’m planning to breastfeed once again. I’m going in with the same mindset, though – if it’s not working out for the baby or me, then we’ll switch to formula. After all, meeting my baby’s basic needs is the most important thing on my list.

Breastfeeding is a commitment - one that can be really hard for new mothers.

How to reclaim your identity after your marriage ends.

I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.

Alcohol made me feel alive and cool and part of the crowd. It was not until a close friend hit a tree head on after drinking and driving that I was able to put the alcohol down.

Many assume that second time mothers have it together; that being well-informed they are good to go. We don’t often recognize the courage it takes to enter that space again, this time fully aware. The creation of a life - and all that goes into it - is no less magical when the curtain has been pulled back, but the second time you are the magician’s assistant rather than a member of the audience.

To put it simply: I missed working. I missed the morning chit-chat, the random venting sessions, the ability to go out for lunch, or sit and read at my desk. I didn’t miss the deadlines or stress, but I missed the person I was while at work.

Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.

To the survivors of sexual abuse, and their loved ones, know you are not alone, this is something that will be part of you, but it in no way needs to define you.

Am I doing enough for my kids? We want to make everything better for our children, when in reality, there is beauty in not always saving them from the struggle.

I know there will be days when I want to throw in the towel, or run away, or have a mere five minutes to take care of my own needs. But from the first contraction of childbirth, my body started screaming: this is not about you.

A heartwarming story of open adoption and navigating the relationships with your child's birth parents and extended family. 

Stephan and Michael knew they’d eventually want to have children together. When they were ready to make their plans a reality, the legal and social landscape had changed regarding adoption for same-sex couples from when they first started dating. Here they share with us how they traveled their path to become two dads to their daughter, Elle.

The thread that weaves itself throughout my relationship journey is always the relationship I have with myself. In this case, I loved him more than I loved myself. And I knew that. Things ended because I desperately wanted to love myself as deeply as he was loving me. While I was enamored with the way he saw me and treated me, I wanted to feel deserving of those things. So I let him go.

I discovered this truth so profoundly stated by C.S. Lewis: “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art .... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.” I did not require friendship to survive a seven month deployment. But friendship made the deployment bearable, and not only bearable, but life-giving and sweet, nurturing and redemptive.

No one gets married with the expectation of getting divorced some day in the future. When you promise to love and cherish someone for the rest of your life, you don’t picture what it will be like to be alone again. And there’s no manual on how to put your life back together when “forever” is cut short.

I find ‘go-getter’ women have the hardest time with asking for or accepting help. I run and own a successful business, employ a small team, and manage our small farm. I’m the one typically hosting events, organizing groups, and dropping off the casseroles and helping wherever needed. When someone needs something - I fix it. But why was it so damn hard when it was my turn? Pride? Ego? It's all wrapped up in there somewhere.

I lived with my partner before getting married, and I had marriage 101 covered. Good communication + intimacy + teamwork + quality time = a bulletproof marriage. While my success formula had been a reliable tool pre-marriage, something changed. I began wondering if I would make it to the new year as a married woman.

I used to think I didn’t believe in marriage, but what I didn’t believe in was other people's idea of marriage. Hearing married people refer to their spouse as the ‘ball and chain,’ and getting the ever so helpful marriage advice of, “Don’t,” didn’t have me feeling incredibly confident about the whole thing.

On a mid-January evening, my (now ex) boyfriend of two years, whom I loved unconditionally and lived with in Colorado, blindsided me after he came home from a solo trip to the mountains and informed me that he “wasn’t happy”. While I initially suspected another woman, he blatantly denied it and lied to my face on multiple occasions. I later found out that I was ultimately deceived. This deception rocked me to my core; my emotions and actions that immediately followed were desperate, pathetic even. This was by far the hardest thing I had been through in my 29 years. The one person I needed to be there for me the most was the one person who put me in this horrific situation. This wasn’t JUST a breakup, this was much more than that.

Many of us have friends who are friends of circumstance – the person who sits next to you at work, the mother who always arrives at child pick-up the same time as you, the girl in yoga class who hangs out near the back where you are. And due to the necessity of social convention, we keep those friends at arm’s length. As my daughter once said, "Imagine if you really tried to become true, deep friends with your neighbor and it turns out you don't like them - and then you live next to them for 25 years. It's so much easier to just smile and wave and invite them over for a birthday party." How right she is.

After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.

Self-love is not just bubble baths and face masks, it goes far beyond that.

Lessons on life + love can come from unexpected places - like the Secret Service.

I finally cried and let go of the dream of “maybe someday” with him. And the weight began to lessen.

How to reclaim your identity after your marriage ends.

When my husband asked me to marry him, it really was a fairy-tale perfect, Instagram-worthy proposal of proposals. He did everything I could have dreamt of...and I missed it.

Ten months into the best relationship of my life, I freaked out. I remember the moment it happened too - as if a switch was turned on and I needed to get out now. Thoughts like we can’t do this anymore; how do I know he’s the one; we have to break up were repeated over and over in my head like a broken record.

We've all seen the quote floating around our Instagram feeds: "Don't let the success of others threaten your own success." But what if we pushed further and went out of our way to support the success of those around us? Here are four quick steps to help you make it happen this week.

No matter who you are or what you do, always surround yourself with good friends. They will spot you through life’s challenges, they will give you warm companionship, and you will support them with love in return.

When we first learned about Linda and her husband, Tyler, leaving everything behind to travel the world, you could say we were a bit more than intrigued.

Domestic abuse and trauma change your internal landscape forever. A true story of surviving a relationship with an abusive addict. 

September 19th is the day my heart breaks. September 19th is the day my heart is made whole again.

I wondered, had it always been so hard to keep my eyes open after lunch? When did digestion become such a task? Maybe it had always been like that. Maybe I just needed to get more sleep. For the first month or four, even I thought I was just being lazy.

I sat silently hoping Professor Forsythe wouldn’t notice me turning white and clammy as tears streamed down my face. History of Ohio was my least favorite class at CSU, but my discomfort had little to do with boredom. The pain in my lower abdomen sent me reeling into a panic; I would soon black out from the agonizing throbs.

I’d agreed to the Pitocin when my contractions didn’t strengthen after eight hours, the Nubain when a day had passed under the fluorescent hospital lighting and I still hadn’t slept, the epidural when the contractions weren’t dilating my cervix according to established medical timeframes. The full buffet of medical interventions I’d vowed to avoid was up for the taking, and I’d sampled many of the offerings, starving for the bliss of my newborn child against my skin. The c-section was the final course, served up like the dessert I knew I didn’t want but just had to try.

I’m an “old” mom. My son arrived just ahead of my 35th birthday and before that year my husband and I weren’t sure we wanted to be parents. However, after my father-in-law died unexpectedly, the conversations about having a family of our own became more frequent. We faced the grim reality that if we didn’t stop riding the proverbial fence we may have a child whose grandparents never knew him. So when my mom was diagnosed with stage three anal cancer in April 2015, her positive biopsy swiftly led to my positive pregnancy test four short months later. I was not at all prepared for what was to come.

The moment I found out I had cancer, I was sitting in my cubicle at the first job I had gotten after graduating from college. My biggest worry that day was finishing my Christmas shopping, as the holidays were just a few weeks from then. That was going to be my first Christmas together with my family since moving back from college in Minnesota, and I was so excited to spend time with those I loved. With one phone call from my doctor that afternoon, after a set of yearly routine tests, my entire life was flipped upside down.

The acknowledgement of pain and its chronic existence in my life resulted in an understanding that my body, mind, and soul were undeniably connected in such a way that, if I was in need to heal of one affliction, I must be in need to heal the other.  

On the outside, I looked normal. But inside, something was obviously very wrong. Physically, I was a mess. Emotionally, I was broken.

Something was wrong, yet no one could tell Breanna why her body was giving out.

I have three wonderful kids and a military husband. When something hurts, I ignore it. I don’t have time for it. If that doesn’t work, I take some Ibuprofen. If that doesn’t work, I try harder to ignore it, and eventually it just becomes a normal everyday type of pain and I get used to it and move on - power through the pain. But what happens when it doesn’t get better? What happens when the pain and numbness in your left arm starts to spread, and it gets so bad you finally do something about it only to find out things are going to get so much worse before they get better?

Within milliseconds, he twisted her head about, yanked her neck out, and paralyzed her. Just like that. I roared a long-winded murderous scream, so loud and full, that I know a part of myself died in those seconds.

We’re expecting our second baby in November and I’m planning to breastfeed once again. I’m going in with the same mindset, though – if it’s not working out for the baby or me, then we’ll switch to formula. After all, meeting my baby’s basic needs is the most important thing on my list.

Breastfeeding is a commitment - one that can be really hard for new mothers.

Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.

After dieting for 10 years, one woman comes to terms with her body image and happiness.

What do you think when you read the word “anorexia”? High fashion models? Crazy teenage girls? Another diet? Or the latest Lily Collins movie? How about a ten-year-old girl that ended up with a lifelong journey for recovery? Eating disorders are considered addictions, but unlike the addict, who can abstain from the substance, I can’t. I must face both my fear and my “drug” every 2-5 hours, every day.

I am sick. You may not know that by looking at me, but I am. My illness is invisible. There are those out there who would say mental illness isn’t real, or isn’t as important as other medical ailments – cancer, heart disease, multiple sclerosis. And to them, I ask: Why? Why is my illness unimportant? It affects my mind and my body on a regular basis.

On Wednesday, April 19th I was checked by my midwife and she reported that I was 2 centimeters dilated and 50% effaced. Naturally, I got super excited and assumed delivery was imminent. I was wrong. No bloody show, no broken water. My midwife wrote me a prescription for a tincture to help induce labor. It consisted of blue and black cohosh root, ginger, and Lobelia. Two days later and one empty tincture bottle... still nothing. At this point, I was more than ready to get this show on the road

Only two weeks away from my due date and I’m so ready for this baby! Overall it's been an easy, joyful pregnancy and I’ll always be grateful for that, but these last couple of weeks have been tough. 

There’s been a lot of controversy lately about self-care - what it’s “supposed” to look like or what it means. The truth is - it’s different for everyone. What feels life-giving and refreshing to one person might seem unimportant to someone else, but that’s OK.

Here I sit, pondering the end of this satisfying career. Is it the right time? Does attending a workshop make it happen since now other people know what I'm thinking? How does a person "transition" from one all-consuming career to retirement? Is there an emotional roadmap?

When I needed more money, which was often, I could call Grandma. Grandma’s money was given in exchange for my attention. I loved Grandma, but she was difficult. It took some work to get money from Grandma and it took a big swallow of guilt to take it. Grandma, money, attention, guilt, became a revolving door of shame and justification. My self worth was tied to this notion of divvying up a pile of money (good feelings) until it was gone (bad feelings) and then starting all over again.

I adore the idea of a hygge house. You know the kind; they’re the ones you can find on social media filed under inspiring, peaceful sounding words like #darlinghome, #myhousebeautiful and #simplehousestyle. Scrolling through the feeds is like entering a world of pristine calm. All is white, organic, natural, and clean. Spotlessly clean. I look through the galleries of domestic perfection, and feel gratitude, joy, and Zen criss-cross my computer screen. I want some of that, I think.

I promised myself that when I got to the other side of grief I’d come alongside those just beginning with real support. I would offer helpful advice cultivated from my experience of healing, despite the lack of support I’d received from a confused and unprepared culture. Even more importantly, I didn’t want anyone to feel as lonely as I felt if I could help it.

Riding the high of a marathon, I found myself in the hospital getting a whole bunch of tests and scans. I’d been laughing it off, saying it was nothing to worry about. Apparently it was.

We all have a story inside of us about the courage we've shown in the face of fear, adversity, health issues, relationship/family/career worries, and other life struggles. Since we're obviously huge fans of women sharing their stories through writing, we'd love to share these 7 writing prompts with you to explore how courage has impacted your life.

What I'm realizing as the weeks slip by and I step more fully into this new version of me, is that the indulgent bubble bath at the end of the night is only enjoyable if I stop calling myself 'lazy' while I take it. The home cooked meal only counts as self care if I don't stand in the mirror obsessing about my stomach afterwards. Self care for me is looking a lot like the way I give myself permission to do and enjoy the things we want.

Here at Holl & Lane, we truly believe in the power of story. Whether you share your story with the world, or you keep it private, writing your own story, the pieces of it, the moments, is such a valuable tool. Something else we believe in? Writing your story in a beautiful keepsake - something you’ll want to pull out time and time again. We’ve rounded up 9 beautiful journals just begging to hold your life within their pages.

I started small. I focused on what I was eating. I’ve never had a problem with adjusting my diet, so I figured the easiest step was to focus there first. I re-downloaded the My Fitness Pal app and started paying attention to my portion sizes. I started watching how many calories were in the foods I had been eating. I didn’t starve myself, I still enjoyed food, I just did it in a healthier way. This was my sole focus for a month. And I began to see very slight changes in my body and how I was feeling.

Life is truly too wonderful to spend wishing to be someone else.

Reflections on a post-baby body after 4 pregnancies.

Any self-confidence buzzing within my grasp was snatched up at the sight of stretch marks and extra weight looking back at me from the mirror. Not to mention what pregnancy and nursing did to my breasts.

After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.

Something was wrong, yet no one could tell Breanna why her body was giving out.

Self-love is not just bubble baths and face masks, it goes far beyond that.

Within milliseconds, he twisted her head about, yanked her neck out, and paralyzed her. Just like that. I roared a long-winded murderous scream, so loud and full, that I know a part of myself died in those seconds.

Lessons on life + love can come from unexpected places - like the Secret Service.

I finally cried and let go of the dream of “maybe someday” with him. And the weight began to lessen.

How to reclaim your identity after your marriage ends.

Art was for other people. People who didn’t make money. People who didn’t take life seriously, wore sandals, and had all the time in the world to sit around and play with paint all day. A decade or so later, something shifted.

I don’t know for certain that my writing is of any importance to others, but still I write.

When my husband asked me to marry him, it really was a fairy-tale perfect, Instagram-worthy proposal of proposals. He did everything I could have dreamt of...and I missed it.

Ten months into the best relationship of my life, I freaked out. I remember the moment it happened too - as if a switch was turned on and I needed to get out now. Thoughts like we can’t do this anymore; how do I know he’s the one; we have to break up were repeated over and over in my head like a broken record.

In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.

I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.

On November 11, 2013, I woke up with a horrendous headache and a terrifying feeling. I couldn’t remember much of anything from the night before. There was this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt a nudge to check the trash can and there I found three empty bottles of wine. How had I gotten to this point?

Her mind is clear as the air, her limbs light as the wind,
Her spirit made anew.

Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.

The future brings many worries and unanswered questions. What if we trusted ourselves instead?

All of us can connect with a cause that is meaningful to us. Here are 4 tips on how to get started.

In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.

I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.

Alcohol made me feel alive and cool and part of the crowd. It was not until a close friend hit a tree head on after drinking and driving that I was able to put the alcohol down.

On November 11, 2013, I woke up with a horrendous headache and a terrifying feeling. I couldn’t remember much of anything from the night before. There was this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt a nudge to check the trash can and there I found three empty bottles of wine. How had I gotten to this point?

There is tremendous power in telling your story and letting go of the shame of sexual abuse.

To the survivors of sexual abuse, and their loved ones, know you are not alone, this is something that will be part of you, but it in no way needs to define you.

Domestic abuse and trauma change your internal landscape forever. A true story of surviving a relationship with an abusive addict. 

Too often, we ignore that bruise on someone's face or that timid, almost scared posture of a co-worker, relative, or a close friend. After all, it's not happening to us and it might be mean to have an uncomfortable conversation about personal issues. We almost always convince ourselves it will go away or it's not as bad as we imagine.

What do you think when you read the word “anorexia”? High fashion models? Crazy teenage girls? Another diet? Or the latest Lily Collins movie? How about a ten-year-old girl that ended up with a lifelong journey for recovery? Eating disorders are considered addictions, but unlike the addict, who can abstain from the substance, I can’t. I must face both my fear and my “drug” every 2-5 hours, every day.

My journey to sobriety has been twisted, stubborn, and miraculous. Once upon a time, I could take a drink or leave it. Sometimes, I try to remember what may have flipped that switch.

I wasn't looking for anything in particular when Adam* unexpectedly came into my life. At the end of May, only two weeks after ending things with Matthew* before they even really got started, Adam arrived in the small town I was still adjusting to.

Life is an incredible road that everybody travels down differently. Some drive with intense speed to reach their destination while some would rather take their time on a more scenic route. 

We can be so cruel to our bodies. From what we say to ourselves, to what we eat, drink, and think, to the ways that we harm ourselves and the company we keep. We can take our abilities for granted until something limits or restricts an ability we are so used to on a daily basis.

This year / will mark the 40th trip I've taken / around our sun. / And I'll be happy to be one year older.

My bionic heart and I had a recent breakthrough ignited by my morning meditation practice. I’ve been doing this for close to 18 months now. I place my cupped hands over my heart, one crossed over the other. I do this often to get myself centered and focused with my intention for the day. However, it was not until very recently that I felt full acceptance of myself, bionic heart and all.

Women tend to become invisible as we age. The charm of graying temples is a term of endearment reserved for men. Our society is conditioned to equate beauty with youth, intrigue with speed, and attraction with shallowness. And as you age, you realize fewer people notice you.

It never occurred to me that I handed over control of my self-image to everyone around me. And they all had an opinion. If I let the unsolicited feedback affect me positively and carried myself with confidence I often received a clear message from my contemporaries that I was vain, conceited, self-absorbed, or worse. If I dared to complain about a perceived flaw I was met with chuckles and eye rolling; “what do you have to be self-conscious about?”. I was not allowed to feel good or bad about myself.

The fact is, I'm not mad at you for changing. I know it seems like I am. But I know it isn't your fault. It isn't your fault that we're sick and that we can't do life the way we used to. Neither one of us asked for this. And the truth is, you've handled this thing amazingly. I hate to think of where I would be had you not shown so much strength over the last seven years.

Oh, body.
You’ve been healthy and sick
Disabled and strong.
Everything in between.

I will never forget the day my friend re-sized my body and air-brushed my skin in one of her pictures.

Life is truly too wonderful to spend wishing to be someone else.

Reflections on a post-baby body after 4 pregnancies.

Any self-confidence buzzing within my grasp was snatched up at the sight of stretch marks and extra weight looking back at me from the mirror. Not to mention what pregnancy and nursing did to my breasts.

After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.

In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.

I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.

After dieting for 10 years, one woman comes to terms with her body image and happiness.

Let's have an honest, raw conversation about social media, body image, and what it can do to a pretty stable, normal self-esteemed adult.

What do you think when you read the word “anorexia”? High fashion models? Crazy teenage girls? Another diet? Or the latest Lily Collins movie? How about a ten-year-old girl that ended up with a lifelong journey for recovery? Eating disorders are considered addictions, but unlike the addict, who can abstain from the substance, I can’t. I must face both my fear and my “drug” every 2-5 hours, every day.

At the end of my pregnancy, it felt like I was going to be pregnant forever. All I wanted was to have this baby, then you have her and she’s here, and you realize you’ve got her and more importantly she's got you for the rest of your lives. Whoa. It's so real you can't really wrap your head around it and for a second you start freaking out… then you change a diaper. Then you feel your milk let down. Then she makes eye contact and she smiles at you. Then your heart grows three times its size and your baby fits right in there.

Only two weeks away from my due date and I’m so ready for this baby! Overall it's been an easy, joyful pregnancy and I’ll always be grateful for that, but these last couple of weeks have been tough. 

Life is truly too wonderful to spend wishing to be someone else.

Reflections on a post-baby body after 4 pregnancies.

Any self-confidence buzzing within my grasp was snatched up at the sight of stretch marks and extra weight looking back at me from the mirror. Not to mention what pregnancy and nursing did to my breasts.

After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.

Something was wrong, yet no one could tell Breanna why her body was giving out.

I have three wonderful kids and a military husband. When something hurts, I ignore it. I don’t have time for it. If that doesn’t work, I take some Ibuprofen. If that doesn’t work, I try harder to ignore it, and eventually it just becomes a normal everyday type of pain and I get used to it and move on - power through the pain. But what happens when it doesn’t get better? What happens when the pain and numbness in your left arm starts to spread, and it gets so bad you finally do something about it only to find out things are going to get so much worse before they get better?

Self-love is not just bubble baths and face masks, it goes far beyond that.

HLW is a community of people who love the written word. It's a monthly membership filled with tools to help our writers continue to do what they do best - write. And we're there to cheer them on every step of the way.

Within milliseconds, he twisted her head about, yanked her neck out, and paralyzed her. Just like that. I roared a long-winded murderous scream, so loud and full, that I know a part of myself died in those seconds.

All of us can connect with a cause that is meaningful to us. Here are 4 tips on how to get started.

Lessons on life + love can come from unexpected places - like the Secret Service.

We’re expecting our second baby in November and I’m planning to breastfeed once again. I’m going in with the same mindset, though – if it’s not working out for the baby or me, then we’ll switch to formula. After all, meeting my baby’s basic needs is the most important thing on my list.

Breastfeeding is a commitment - one that can be really hard for new mothers.

I finally cried and let go of the dream of “maybe someday” with him. And the weight began to lessen.

How to reclaim your identity after your marriage ends.

Art was for other people. People who didn’t make money. People who didn’t take life seriously, wore sandals, and had all the time in the world to sit around and play with paint all day. A decade or so later, something shifted.

I don’t know for certain that my writing is of any importance to others, but still I write.

When my husband asked me to marry him, it really was a fairy-tale perfect, Instagram-worthy proposal of proposals. He did everything I could have dreamt of...and I missed it.

Ten months into the best relationship of my life, I freaked out. I remember the moment it happened too - as if a switch was turned on and I needed to get out now. Thoughts like we can’t do this anymore; how do I know he’s the one; we have to break up were repeated over and over in my head like a broken record.

In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.

I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.

Alcohol made me feel alive and cool and part of the crowd. It was not until a close friend hit a tree head on after drinking and driving that I was able to put the alcohol down.

On November 11, 2013, I woke up with a horrendous headache and a terrifying feeling. I couldn’t remember much of anything from the night before. There was this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt a nudge to check the trash can and there I found three empty bottles of wine. How had I gotten to this point?

Many assume that second time mothers have it together; that being well-informed they are good to go. We don’t often recognize the courage it takes to enter that space again, this time fully aware. The creation of a life - and all that goes into it - is no less magical when the curtain has been pulled back, but the second time you are the magician’s assistant rather than a member of the audience.

To put it simply: I missed working. I missed the morning chit-chat, the random venting sessions, the ability to go out for lunch, or sit and read at my desk. I didn’t miss the deadlines or stress, but I missed the person I was while at work.

Her mind is clear as the air, her limbs light as the wind,
Her spirit made anew.

Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.

We've all seen the quote floating around our Instagram feeds: "Don't let the success of others threaten your own success." But what if we pushed further and went out of our way to support the success of those around us? Here are four quick steps to help you make it happen this week.

No matter who you are or what you do, always surround yourself with good friends. They will spot you through life’s challenges, they will give you warm companionship, and you will support them with love in return.

We often wish we could pack up our lives and move to Europe. One couple did just that.