There were two days I should’ve said no. Both of them happened in white dresses. The first time, I thought I was saying yes to adulthood. Yes to doing what every small-town Midwest girl was expected to do: Say yes at the right age, to the right boy, in the right church, and then vanish neatly into a version of womanhood that looked good on paper. I wasn’t saying yes to love. I was saying yes to programming. I didn’t even know it was allowed to be a no. The second time, I told

Get up at a certain time. Make sure the finances are stretched and balanced. Prep the meals. Exercise. Eat the right things, or at least eat the wrong things in private. Get the kid up, dressed, out the door. Don’t cry too hard on the way to work. Keep makeup in the console for emergencies. Try not to think about how the outfit that fit last week won’t zip today. Don’t feel too much. Don’t complain. Just smile. Be grateful. Be efficient. Be thin.

There was a time when I believed love meant giving without limit. Being soft. Being flexible. Being understanding to the point of self-erasure.