As I lay in my Indonesian hospital bed fighting back tears post-surgery, after my doctor showed me my mangled knee for the first time, I did not think that there was any way I’d be able to bounce back.

I wanted to go home, curl up in my Dad’s lap while my Mom made me hot tea (most likely with honey & whiskey) and my sister braided my hair, and pretend that this whole bike-accident-leg-infection-emergency-surgery-hospitalization thing had never happened.

Wishing it away was never gonna make it so. I had an important decision to make. I knew the time was coming for me to fight and recover or be defeated.

What I discovered is that I had become (or perhaps I always was) a foul-weather friend to myself, not seeing to good parts of myself, but zeroing in on the less savory pieces. There were holes where the good pieces ought to have lived.

I was swiss cheese.

I love what I do. I am terrified every single day—but it’s the kind of terror that excites and pushes me to work hard. I’m happy. I’m thankful for so many incredible opportunities. I’m looking forward to all of the scary and amazing opportunities ahead, both planned and unplanned.

They start to shift in their seat, they avoid eye contact, their breathing gets shallow. The energy in the room is palpable. I ask again “How are you feeling, right now?”

I realize I have to add a disclaimer.

“However you’re feeling, it’s fine. Don’t judge it, just know it’s there.”

Guest Post by All You Need Contributor Meghan Butler
My generation is made up of romantic cynics. Men and women in their mid-twenties are all too aware of the 51% divorce rate and this awareness has caused a shift in societal norms. Couples are waiting longer to marry or settling in to long-term domestic partnerships or perpetual singlehood instead of the more traditional route.
Why shouldn’t we be a generation of cynics? Those who raised us are the ones who taught us when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em …

Guest Post by All You Need Contributor Shannon Whitehead
If he wanted a sandwich, she made him a sandwich. If he needed his shirt ironed, she ironed his shirt. If he didn’t like a meal, she made him something else.
Like most housewives in the 1950s and 60s, she did the laundry, cooked, cleaned, took care of their three kids and did everything expected of a good wife.
Then the kids grew up and moved away, and it was just the two of them. They visited their children and grandchildren, hosted family …