Personal Life

birthday candles on a chocolate cake spell out HAPPY BIRTHDAY

This is Sixty

SIXTY! Sixty??? Sixty. My birthday was on Saturday. It was Thanksgiving, the day I was born, October 8, 1962. My arrival put thoughts of turkey dinner on hold. A story I heard many times over the years.

Person in Black Pants and Black Shoes Sitting on Brown Wooden Chair talking to female therapist opposite him

Opening Up to Therapy While There’s Still Time

In Roz Weston’s raw and intimate memoir, A Little Bit Broken, he writes about his first experience with therapy. (I don’t know whether he had more experiences. I’m still reading the book.) Tiny spoiler alert: Roz clearly needed therapy but didn’t return after one session. I get it. I didn’t go back after my first session either. My mom wouldn’t let me.