I love the early morning quiet of a weekend to myself. I’m a single mother. I don’t get a lot of quiet mornings. I have a different kind of appreciation for a morning with my children, but quiet mornings on my own are savored — especially when it’s early enough that it feels like the whole world is still sleeping. I’m walking my dog through the morning mist when I stop to check the time on my phone and get the message that punches through the quiet.
Apparently, I’m a total MILF. I know that it’s meant to be a compliment, but it misses the mark by a million miles. Somehow, it’s worse that the message comes from someone I considered a friend rather than an anonymous man on the Internet. The morning quiet fell to pieces — or I did.
Read the rest of the story here.
Hello, readers!
When You Call a Mom a MILF has gotten a lot of reads and comments recently. It was a deeply personal story for me—but one I felt compelled to share. This dehumanizing language happens far too often, and it’s not a great feeling when it happens to us. At first, I just sat with my feelings—and I had a lot of them. Then, I decided to address it directly with the person who used the expression. That didn’t go well. I encountered both defensiveness and an attempt to turn the tables. Thankfully, there’s a handy block button that ended that interaction. Then, I sat down to write about it because the only way to change things is to start talking about them. Thanks for reading and for all those who joined the conversation with shares or comments.
In other news, I’m working on finalizing the next book of poetry, A Solitary Witch Brews Self-Love. It’s another collaboration with artist Christina Nicole. That should be out next month.
Here are a few other stories and poems I’ve written lately if you have a minute to do some reading:
Lessons in Losing Lovers & Friends
I’m not so foolish as to think that the next loss won’t be a struggle. Whatever it will be, I’ll probably try to hold on first. It’s instinctive when we feel like we’re going to lose something. I’ll feel my way through that impulse, too.
Growth is a process, and grief is a practice — but practice makes progress.
How to Be Sure of Another Person After Being Disappointed in Love
I’m not walking toward love; I’m embodying it. I’m not hunting love down; I’m creating a life I love and being open to what comes next.
For Better or Worse: Life With PMDD
I’ve had to learn self-compassion for the version of me that was suffering from something as-yet undiagnosed. I knew that something was very wrong, but I didn’t have the language to adequately describe it or the tools to help myself manage it. I didn’t even know how to ask for help — or what help I really needed. I did the best I could, but I spent the whole time feeling like my best fell far short of what was needed.
The Day I Made a Friend of Grief
I went and stood outside and met my sadness there.
It was beautiful in its simplicity — whole and full and complete. I didn’t try to hide from my feelings or run away from them. I felt the love and its twin edge of grief knowing that I could not set it free or feel it returning. I could only acknowledge its presence, its rightness, and its refusal to be anything other than what it is.
The Worst Thing Isn’t Leaving
The worst thing isn’t leaving
Sometimes, it’s the way you choose to stay…
A quick word: These are all available to read with a Medium membership. Your $4.99/month goes directly to supporting the authors you read. It’s a big deal, and we appreciate it. If you are not a subscriber and still want to read something you see here, just shoot me a message, and I’ll be sure to get you the Friend Link so you can read for free without needing the subscription.
Also … it’s Fall now. Officially. Am I sitting in a hoodie right at this moment drinking a hot pumpkin spice latte even though it’s probably going to be 80 here today? You bet I am!
Happy Fall, Y’all!
Crystal Jackson