I always imagined that the transition to my late teenage years would be gradual and slow. I saw myself gradually easing myself into adulthood, getting my toes wet before I dove into the deep end. But now I’m worrying about managing my money, making sure I work enough hours, and planning for things way in advance, all on top of keeping my grades up so I can advance in my field.
I remember breaking down in front of my doctor, undoubtedly frustrated and confused with the way I’ve constantly been feeling: sick and tired.
Both Clinton and Trump supporters have legitimate pain and fear that needs to be addressed.
There is, in fact, an art to moving houses, but that doesn’t mean it’s pretty.
When did most women become airheads? Why does traditional womanhood equate to shallowness?
Since third grade I’ve been on a quest to define myself.
Do people complain too much? Maybe it’s time for a change.
All I’ve ever wanted to do was take a stand for the sake of innocent lives.
Living in a bubble is not as fun as it may seem.
I won’t say I’m beautiful.
