"That girl is super anorexic!" she proclaims in a whisper in a dark bar. I can feel the judgement excitedly spew from her mouth. The nugget of gossip hanging in the air, as she leaves our table to happily say hello to her childhood friend.I hate that women do this to one another.We point out other women's insecurities and weaknesses, and do so to seemingly strengthen our own self-worth. We preach female empowerment: lift each other...

I’m staring at a woman across the restaurant whose body is the size of a 7-year-old’s. Her arms bend awkwardly, her feet dangle, her big, sturdy wheelchair swallows her whole. The child in me wants to ask, “What’s wrong with you? Why is your body that way?” The adult in me shuts up, stays put. Interrupting her dinner, asking these things, drawing attention to what makes her different from me—those are things we’re taught to...

Eighteen months ago, the counter of the open-air kitchen where I'm watching Mexican women prepare plates of fresh, locally-inspired dishes didn't exist. There wasn't a pool and grassy area behind me where guests and others visit for the afternoon to relax and play. There wasn't intricately designed, eco-friendly hotel rooms with stunning, handmade furniture from fallen local trees and ocean-view balconies. Instead, there was an untamed plot of land.In fact, until a few years ago, there wasn't really a heightened need for any hotels...

As a kid, if your teacher said, "You won't be graded in this class. You all get A's. I just want you to be present, get creative, put your heart into your work," I bet the stress of all the to-do's and the fear of expectations, of not meeting deadlines, of not following others' restrictive rules would fall away. It'd be you and the work—all pleasure, without any anxiety. And with that comes immense freedom.Why do we...

This past Saturday, I hurried into an urgent care office for a steroid shot because my eczema was flaring up. After a female nurse took my vitals, she left the room, and a male doctor, around my dad's age, came in to take a look at my legs. He seemed kind, friendly, helpful.  He had me lay on my belly and lifted my dress and felt my butt and gave it a small slap. Then asked...

I write because it's cathartic. Writing helps me process all the noise in my head and body. It gives me a pulse, an outlet for my creativity that bustles at the brim (I think I just made up that phrase), oozing to get out. I write because it's what makes sense to me. I share because I hope my words are cathartic for you. I hope my words allow you to connect deeper with others and realize just how similar...

"Shut up!" was the worst thing you could've said in my house growing up. My mom would morph into the scariest monster my young mind could fathom. Her eyes would pierce my soul, her face would lose all color, and her muscles would bulge. I'd instantly regret my choice of vernacular. Most often, unless I was being a full-blown adolescent little shit, my bratty moment would disappear in a snap. Even as a kid, I was aware of etiquette.Please's...