Packet of Wildflower Seeds

Many years ago, I read a letter to the editor that really gave me pause. In it, a (presumably young) man insisted that instead of promoting abstinence-only programs, Christians should encourage individuals to engage in sex before marriage. The reason, he explained, was that couples need to know if they are sexually compatible before making a commitment. "You wouldn't buy a car without test driving it first," he declared. I am not going to debate the merits of various sex-education programs, nor will I philosophize about the morality of anyone's life decisions. I want to focus on this particular claim and how laughable it is. First of all, it is offensive to be compared to a car. I am not an object to be tested and purchased; marriage is not a transaction. Marriage (at least, the sacramental kind) is a covenant. That means husband and wife mutually pledge themselves to each other for the duration of their natural lives. There is no "buyer" and "selle...

I remember after Kim Kardashian posted a typically revealing picture she expressed frustration that people labeled her a poor role model. She said that since she doesn't get in trouble with the law and doesn't drink or do drugs she didn't understand why it would make anyone upset that she was proud of her body and shared that with the world. I agree with the naysayers: I think the Kardashians are terrible role models. The reason has both everything and nothing to do with their controversial pictures. It's not that they post the pictures; it's that they ONLY post those pictures. No matter how hard the Kardashians claim they work, their success is entirely built around image. They peddle clothing, cosmetics, and diet pills by convincing us we have to look a certain way in order to be acceptable. The waist trainers, the lip kits, the "revenge body," - all of their products are tied into conforming to societal beauty standards. Furthermore, despite the f...

I feel very grateful that I have never experienced physical abuse. I was the victim of emotional abuse in high school, however, when I repeatedly turned down a classmate's request to date. Eventually he told me I was the reason he was depressed and he tried to make me feel like a terrible person. I have friends who have experienced much worse. Girls were told they were the "worst thing that happened" to their partners. A classmate claimed that her bruises, visible during pool class, were from martial arts, but we all knew better. One of my closest friends had an ex who attempted suicide and wrote a note essentially blaming her. She was smart enough to realize it wasn't her fault, but she was still very traumatized by the experience. Then there are the girls who simply cease to exist after beginning a relationship; nothing remains of their former personalities as they transform into extensions of their partners. Change is inevitable - and even welcomed - but there is...

I wrote the following poem about the city of Philadelphia, though it represents the conflicted feelings we can have about any place, object, or event from the past: It's been two years since our painful break Two years - and still my heart does ache I'm paralyzed whenever I come near Plagued by gnawing thoughts and indistinct fear I can visualize one starry night When I was captivated by city lights Peace came to rest within my soul And I dared believe I could be whole But tranquility toyed with my fragile self And I fell from the blow I had been dealt I hope this nightmare does not last So I may return to the city long since passed As you may recall from my earliest posts (or knowledge of my background), I attended optometry school outside of Philadelphia. In those months, I hit a turning point in my struggles with anxiety. Things got really bad. I felt isolated and overwhelmed. It seemed like I was alone. Partly because of those facts, I did what nobody wan...

I only feel worthwhile when I'm broken into pieces. The inner beauty must show on the outside. I miss the marks when they are absent. I must make more, I think. Swirls of colors and abstract shapes. I'm only pretty when I'm black and blue. The above passage is an excerpt from a poem titled "Inner Beauty." I wrote it in 2013, but I can still picture exactly what I felt as I wrote it. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was trapped in my own skin. I felt like I was stuck inside a person I loathed. I wanted to break free from my body. I wanted to run away from my past and what I envisioned as my future. I couldn't escape, though. I couldn't calm down using any of the regular methods. I felt an intense pain I couldn't stop. Unless...I gave it a source. I could beat the psychological pain with physical pain. If I hurt myself, I could shock my system and thwart the panic attack. Then I could begin the process of recovery. Som...

Last fall, I was searching for books to buy my niece for Christmas. I wanted a title that celebrates strong female figures. While reading a description for one of the prospects, I noticed an odd book listed under "customers also viewed." I clicked on it. I don't remember the title, but the the gist of the book is that modern feminism is bad for women and terrible for society. The opinions expressed by the author reminded me of a controversy a couple years ago; celebrities were criticized based on whether or not they would identify as feminists. Many of the individuals who declined to identify as feminists said that "feminism" is a dirty or divisive word. Since I sometimes like to imagine what I would say if I were a celebrity being interviewed on the red carpet, I tried to fashion my own response. I had an initial opinion, but I had to strengthen it with facts and reason. First, I had to figure out what "feminism" really means. Given that "fem...

The other day I told my daughter that my anatomy class dissected sheep brains. She asked a lot of follow-up questions. Our conversation meandered through topics such as scalpels and surgery before ending on C-sections. She asked to see a picture of a C section scar. Then she asked to see a picture of stitches. Then she asked to see a picture of the incision before stitches. I considered whether the images could be too graphic for her, but she was genuinely interested. Instead of a picture of the incision, I showed her a picture of a freshly born baby with his umbilical cord still attached. Blood, babies, the body - they are all just parts of our human nature, after all. This philosophy has led me to adopt another potentially controversial practice: I don't care if my kids see me naked. For awhile, it was a little out of my control. When we remodeled our bathroom, we didn't have a door. The kids could waltz in whenever they wanted. It was hard to tell them they were crossing a...