A wise woman told me that whoever said one shouldn’t cry over spilt milk had never tried to express enough breastmilk to feed a hungry baby. I have, and I cried. It’s true that sometimes you’re better off having a laugh and wiping up your mess and moving on. But then there’s the stuff that makes us rant and rave, no matter how many times we’re told to suck it up and get on with it.
I’m Elizabeth, your compulsive spiller (of milk and musings). I write about what matters to me: feminism, fat acceptance and body image, mental illness, motherhood – including birth and breastfeeding, and sometimes other social justice matters. Or…stuff.
I’m a white, cis, currently not disabled woman who tries to be mindful of what that means.
I want to listen. Speak up. (Just follow the comments policy!)
Direct all general correspondencey things to mymilkspilt at gmail dot com