My Mother Called Me “Damaged Goods” at My Sister’s Baby Shower—Then My Five Children Walked Through the Door

me to speak there, I almost declined.

Instead I stood beneath the same glass ceiling where my mother once called me damaged goods.

Rows of women sat before me.

Listening.

Not judging.

Listening.

I told them what I wished someone had told me years earlier.

Bodies are not moral report cards.

Motherhood is not the rent women pay to exist.

Pain does not make you continue reading …