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I’m a Type 2 on the Enneagram, which means I need to express my love and feel loved by everyone or I will die. Or something like that.

While I’m generally skeptical of personality tests, I’d say this is pretty darn close. I love people. I need them to know it. And I need them to love me back. The problem is that I have ADHD.

I care about the lives of the people in my circle; I want to celebrate their achievements, to comfort them in their sadness, and to be there to listen as they vent about everything…


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I’m Christian. I also hate Trump.

I have a lot of Christian friends, though, who do support Trump. And while honestly I don’t get it, I try my best to respect that we all want what’s best for ourselves and our families and we have different views on what political ideologies will get us there.

But what I cannot respect is my fellow Christians’ unwillingness to condemn Trump on the issue of white supremacy.

Tonight at the presidential debate, Trump was asked to condemn white supremacy. He redirected attention to left-wing violence. He pretended like he didn’t know what white…


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In 2019, three things happened that would irreversibly change my life. In January, I miscarried our first child. In May, my dad unexpectedly passed away. And in June, I was diagnosed with PCOS, a condition that is marked by reduced ovarian function and issues with fertility.

Both the miscarriage and subsequent PCOS diagnosis, and the death of my dad were losses that came with their own grief, their own mourning and denial and despair. But one grief has dulled. One has not.

The death of a loved one, and especially an unexpected death, is like getting in a car crash…


It was the year 2007. I was in seventh grade, and a close friend had invited me to be part of Barack Obama’s 2008 campaign for president. I didn’t know much about Obama, except that he was a democrat, my mom loved him, and he seemed like a super cool dude.

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I obliged, and together we spent hours calling local residents, asking them to support Obama for president. We got some yeses, some nos, and a lot of “why don’t you just go to hell?” …


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When you get married, I’ve learned, you not only commit yourself to your spouse, but you also commit all details about the comings and goings of your uterus to everyone you know (and everyone you don’t) for the rest of your life.

Getting married means accepting the fact that everywhere you go, whether it’s your hairdresser, the bank teller, your mother-in-law, or a random person you met in the checkout line at Walmart, someone is going to ask you the question: “So, when are you having kids?”

This will continue until you have children, at which point this question will…

Taylor Rosty

Writing about mental health, fat positivity, Christianity, and infertility. Loves a good latte and finished to-do lists.

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