Elizabeth Grow is an editor and content writer for Love What Matters. A graduate of Utah State University, she now lives in Las Vegas with her husband and two dogs. Elizabeth loves sharing stories that raise awareness for neglected populations within our society, particularly the mentally ill. She loves music, any kind of DIY craft project, and a good movie.
“It’s okay to sometimes break down during postpartum. It’s okay to be sad about your transformation with each pregnancy, or to not love your postpartum body at times.”
“This time, we said goodbye to three. THREE. Losing one was hard enough, but three? A friend and fellow foster mom texted me and reminded me our kids aren’t ever really ‘ours.'”
“If your partner loves them, and you love your partner, love their family. When you stop bringing up petty things about your partner’s family, everyone ends up happier.”
“What do we mean by, ‘Thank you for your service?’ Is it thank you for writing a will at 18? For sleeping in the sand, underneath a vehicle with a helmet for a pillow? Is a medal enough? A parade? A discount?”
“We outgrow a lot of things as we age, but do we ever really outgrow jealousy? There’s a certain freedom in putting our jealously out there and talking it out.”
“I miss being able to go to bed when I wanted. I miss date nights with my husband. I miss eating hot meals. But then it hit me. I don’t miss the OLD ME… I miss the things I used to do before being a mom.”
“In between watching him become a father moments and newborn sleeping on your chest photos, there’s the passing each other on the staircase in the dark moments and the sleeping in different rooms because one of us should sleep moments.”
“This gives me a reason not to give up, to keep fighting. No matter how little we have, there’s always enough to give to someone else.”
“Constant information and solicitation. Amplification of confrontation. Perpetual bombardment of breaking news and viral videos. Divisive posts and explosive comment threads. My eyes are blurry and my ears are ringing — and it’s not from twinkling lights or jingle bells.”
“I am a hostage. I am no longer Jessica Buchanan, wife, teacher, daughter, human. I am simply an American dollar sign — a commodity that needs to be kept just alive enough so I can be cashed in.”
