Come here. Sit down. I'll scooch over. 

Here's some coffee; I brought a thermos. Let me tell you something. 

I know you're tired. I know you're wondering where you fit. Why these people think you're too church-y and these people think you're a scandalous sinner because you have leggings on. I know if one more person says "modest is hottest" you will literally punch them in the face in a very un-ladylike fashion. 

I know you're tired of women's talks where they remind you playfully that being a wife is your highest calling, and make too many jokes about clothes. Clothes? Really? People are dying, but sure, let's pretend I have any idea what gauchos are. I know you're tired of feminists telling you you can't march, can't write, can't stand next to them in solidarity. Who mock your beliefs in witty think pieces and memes. They don't want you, either. Nobody does.

(God does. I do.) 

That's why I started this newsletter. I was--am--tired; tired of people saying there wasn't room for me. I am so bone-dead tired of it all.

I want to wrestle hard truths with women who are seeking the true, good, and beautiful. I want to sit in the discomfort of tough questions and wrestle with wisdom. I want to scream to the sky that there is room for you, and me, and all of us, here.