It was like the post-WWII baby boom at my publishing company in Manhattan. The ladies’ room was full of women patting their stomachs, complaining about morning sickness that lasted all day and chugging Cheerios to battle nausea. I had never seen anything like it at any place I’ve ever worked. At my last job, many of the women were older and had never been married, and when I worked in sports, somehow a job was eliminated once a woman uttered, “I’m expecting.” Keep reading »
“I almost woke you up in the middle of the night and asked you to take me to the emergency room. I thought I was dying,” she said with a wicked smile. “I swallowed more than 60 pills.”
Jerking her head as she talked, my roommate attempted to hide the gouges on her nose and cheeks. She had been picking apart her 24-year-old face for weeks.
I listened to her ramble on about how much money she’d spent on Adderall and cocaine. It was thousands. She seemed to take pleasure in her confession, lifting her sweater proudly, “Look how skinny I am.”
Finally able to speak, I urged, “You need help.”
“No, I’m good now. I was just in a funk.” Keep reading »
When I was 27, I finally took my head out of the sand and did what I had been dreading for months. I added up the balances of my credit cards and discovered that they had skyrocketed to over $15,000! By looking at the statements separately, I had tricked myself into believing my debt was much less. I was blindly writing checks each month, just enough to pay the minimum required. Every time I opened the mailbox, I felt a little queasy. Keep reading »
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