A Body of Work essay on uteruses, migraines, "TMI," and the quiet rules about what we can't say at work Years ago, I was scheduled to have a medical procedure that would keep me out of the office. I told colleagues, “I’ll be out on medical leave.” At the time, I thought I was modeling something healthy as a school leader. I wanted to normalize that sentence. In schools where I’d worked, some colleagues had been on leave for mental health reasons. Some had been out while griev

Last weekend, I did a lot with my body. On Saturday morning, I started with a traditional Pilates sequence, then my trainer moved me over to the Gyrokinesis machine to try some new-to-me exercises. Later in the day, I did a lot of full body singing in choir rehearsal. On Sunday afternoon, along with my beloved choir I engaged in a very lively (and physical) vocal performance on Sunday afternoon. In between, I did some spring cleaning and my usual neighborhood walk. By Sunday

A family of doers I come from a family of doers. My mother worked seven days a week as the founding director of an adolescent, residential rehabilitation program. She did grocery store runs, drove clients to appointments, and picked them up from police stations. My grandmother taught middle school Language Arts in Philadelphia and held in‑person duties as the First Lady of her husband's (my grandfather's) large church in New York City. My father, a full‑time social worker, c

The first time I understood how much bad questions can erode trust, my feet were freezing. I was living in Denver and had just spent a February weekend in Aspen, worrying more about my feet than about the mountains. I wore thick socks. I tucked my feet under blankets. I wriggled my toes to get my blood moving. I even bought new, fur-lined boots. Nothing changed. At some point, the cold stopped feeling like winter and started feeling like, “Something is wrong with my body.” So