Top Stories
Stories in Confessions that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
She Sent Her Picture
I placed my ad. "Single man wants an unattached woman who sings to a different drum, dances in the brightest of suns, and is looking for more than just a little fun."
Steve KravetzPublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsThe Year That Recess Died
Recess. Arguably the best part about school growing up as a kid. Nothing felt better than throwing off the shackles of the classroom and bolting outside towards freedom, your friends in tow. Wind, snow, or humidity that made even your eye-balls sweat. It didn't matter what the heavens tossed our way. It was recess time, it was ours, and it was sacred.
Luna QuillPublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsYou’ll never be able to wear a dress!
When I was a little girl I hurt my knees a lot. Isn’t that normal? For kids to play and get hurt? There was this older girl, a neighbor, she saw me with crusts on my knee skin and she told me to stop getting hurt so much, otherwise I won’t be able to wear a short skirt when I was older.
Estera LupuPublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsKing Sized Psychology
I’ve always felt most comfortable in a king sized bed. At 6’2”, it’s the perfect size for me to fully starfish myself. I spent quite a bit of time with my grandparents growing up and they had a king in their guest bedroom, so I can accurately tell you what it’s like to physically grow into a king sized bed. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize the emotionality of physical items. Having such a big bed makes a shift in you, whether you’re sleeping in it alone or with others. Ultimately your choice of bed size depends on how you choose to perceive that space and if you’re going to assign it meaning, whether it’s just space or something more. In the pursuit of wanting to purchase my own king sized bed as an adult, particularly in romantic relationships, that perception of space has left me questioning: Am I growing up or are we growing apart?
CTBPublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsDear Dad, Don't Read This
I inherited a lot from my father – my stark brown eyes, my dry sense of humor, my love of numbers…and a crippling case of bipolar disorder paired with a helping of generational trauma.
Phar West NaglePublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsThe Coloring Book
My dad is a rowdy teenager in a middle aged man’s body. I’m not joking. He likes to party with his friends, chain smoke, rides a Harley and lives in screen prints and tennis shoes. He only dresses up for weddings and funerals, that is, if you call darker jeans and a button up shirt dressing up, and has in more than one stage of his life proudly sported a mullet. There’s no filter in his brain and he’ll say things that will embarrass everyone in hearing range. As a storyteller and entertainer by his very nature he’ll tell you the same story over and over again. I can guarantee you’ll laugh every time.
Leigh Ann TuttlePublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsHuman connection is more authentic when sober
Mocktails will save your life. As a casual wine drinker (it's 5 o'clock somewhere), I had to immediately find a substitute beverage for my evenings and social events. Sparkling water became my go-to, either alone or with juices and fresh or frozen fruit (still served in a wine glass for old times' sake). La Croix and cranberry-apple is my staple, but don't forget about smoothies and any (virgin) summer cocktail. When out at the bars, soda water and a lime will keep anyone from asking you where your drink is.
Gina StefanPublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsNow That It’s Almost Over
I have begun spotting. And what could spotting be at my age except a harbinger of perimenopause which is a harbinger of menopause? Last night I asked Google, What causes spotting? Why am I spotting? How long does spotting last? Then I asked Google to go deeper: Show me images of spotting. Show me images of extreme spotting. Show me images of spotting gone horribly wrong. Google was only too happy to oblige.
Daphne FayePublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsLast Stages of Editing
Normally, I don't stay up late. By 10:00pm my phone screen is black and I've given into the first wave of melatonin. I do most of my writing during the day, under the eye-straining light of my office at work. I read over the first draft, drawing small triangles, hearts, and squares between sentences in my efforts to cleanly refer to little edits I've put in the footnotes of the paper. I read over the filled pages of my journal or printer paper and smile. Sentences build into paragraphs. Paragraphs become chapters. Chapters form a rough skeleton of a hopeful novel. I'm excited. It already has a title. I'm certain that it's my best work yet.
Darby S. FisherPublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsPapa's Song
"What was he like, Ma?" It wasn't often that I found the right opportunity to ask her about him. But whenever I did, I was always hesitant. "He... was a musician." My mother always kept her answers short. It hurt her to remember. But she should have known, that it hurt me not to know at all.
Ann GarciaPublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsWhat Do Most People Regret At The End Of Their Life?
We crucify ourselves between two thieves: regret for yesterday and fear of tomorrow. Fulton Oursler I have been fortunate enough to work with some amazing people in my career. I don’t mean nurses; I am referring to my patients.
sara burdickPublished 2 years ago in ConfessionsYou'll Grow A Watermelon in Your Belly!
Dear Dad, "If you swallow the seeds, you'll grow a watermelon in your belly!" sounds like an iconic Dad joke. Your child, aka me, remembers hearing the phrase well! Occasionally, it was even stretched to include apples seeds! Yikes! I was a gullible child, and oh-so-fun to pick on!
E.L. MartinPublished 2 years ago in Confessions