I dedicate all my words to those from my past who want me to stop talking. — I used to be a good girl, otherwise known as a girl who only had nice things to say about the men around her and if she didn’t have anything nice to say then she better keep that shit to herself. I also was a tomboy, backyard pool diving champion…

And the Oscar goes to… — Any time we went out in public or had people over to our house, it was like prepping for a performance. Along with clothes and makeup, I had to put my face on. My game face. Whatever happened behind closed doors with my husband, whatever was said in the car…

The question I keep asking even when I already know the answer — I am a 55-year-old woman. Unless my father is around. Then I’m a 12-year-old girl and a rebellious teenager and a young mother in my twenties and a woman approaching forty, practicing and polishing my good daughter skills in the hope this time he will give me what I’ve been…

Sorry guys — I was raised to be a nice girl by a father who was anything but. He taught me: Nice girls only have nice things to say. Especially to the men around them. Nice girls are nice even when someone is not nice to them. Nice girls smile on demand. Nice…

Our mental health depends on it — This isn’t a “Women Over Fifty” kind of piece since wherever a gal is on the spectrum of life shouldn’t factor into the rules she plays by. Why did I have to wait until my fifties, for example, to be told it’s okay to say no and put myself first…

In defense of shitty days — Was I crying or sweating? In for my weekly infrared sauna session, I lay on my back with my eyes closed and released the day through my pores. Nothing major had happened since waking up that morning. I was tired as usual from another 3 a.m. …

Apparently, not only am I blind but I have a cucumber up my asshole — I’m the problem. At least that’s what I’m being told on a recent article I wrote asking where were all the man-hating women everyone was talking about. We’re definitely not in any short supply of accusing women of hating men. I’ve been on that list too many times to count…

Use my hindsight as your foresight — Look no further. Your poster girl for making every mistake with a narcissist is here. Regret aside, I might as well start with the biggest mistake of them all, the pinnacle of errors that at a young age kicked off my pattern of loving abusive men: I believed everyone was…

Though it’s not the bug’s fault — Before third grade, I wasn’t afraid of boys. I saw them all as extended versions of my little brother — simple-minded, guileless creatures who were nice to have around for a push when I wanted to swing to the sky, or if I was short a player for Parcheesi. Otherwise…