We as women are raised in boxes created for people that don’t look like us, with no input from us, and they’re extremely self destructive and demeaning… it’s sickening.
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My father was many things… a saint was not one of them. But in times like this, all I want is to be able to talk to him, hug him. Most of the time I can barely remember what his voice sounded like… or what his face looked like.
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Ever overthink being a parent in the future? Me too…
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