fact or fiction

Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about our family dynamics, traditions, and if there's such thing as a 'perfect family.'

The Voicemail My Son Left
Seven Words That Became My Reason to Breathe THE MESSAGE I ALMOST DELETED 😢 My son Marcus left for his second deployment to Afghanistan on a Tuesday morning in March, and somewhere between the airport and the military transport that would carry him into a war zone he called my phone knowing I would not answer because I had told him the night before that I could not bear to say goodbye again because the first deployment had nearly destroyed me and I did not have the emotional reserves for another farewell that might be the last, and so he called knowing the call would go to voicemail and he left a message that I did not listen to for three days because seeing his name on my missed calls made my chest constrict with the specific dread that military families carry constantly, the awareness that every phone call could be the one that changes everything, and when I finally gathered the courage to press play his voice filled my kitchen with seven words that became the most important sentence I have ever heard: "Mom, I'm brave because you were first" 💔
By The Curious Writera day ago in Families
Why Good Intentions Make a Bad Legal Standard
Why Law Reaches for Intent in the First Place Legal systems lean toward intent because it feels humane. Motive appears to reveal character, and character feels like a stable guide for judgment. In emotionally charged domains like parenting and custody, intent offers something comforting: the belief that outcomes can be understood, and even forgiven, by examining what someone meant to do. Courts frequently ask whether a parent acted out of love, fear, confusion, or malice, as though the answer to that question can reliably predict what the child will experience over time.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast3 days ago in Families
Is It Normal to Feel Emotional After an Abortion?. AI-Generated.
A Quiet Truth Many People Don’t Talk About Abortion is often discussed in terms of physical recovery, timelines, and medical details — but far fewer conversations acknowledge the emotional experience that can follow. For many, the emotional part is the most unexpected.
By Eve Surgical Center12 days ago in Families
The Disappearing Art of Self-Respect
There is a discussion most people avoid because the minute it begins, the room usually splits into two (2) shallow camps. One side insists clothing carries no social meaning and should never be interpreted. The other treats any discussion of self-presentation as moral panic wearing respectable clothes.
By Dr. Mozelle Martin12 days ago in Families
Wings of a Lioness: The Geology of Inherited Pride
People often ask me where I get the strength to pack my entire life into two suitcases and head into the unknown. Where do I get that step that never falters, neither in the cold Canadian North nor under the elegant skies of France? The answer doesn't lie in geographic maps, but in an old photo album, my mother's oversized ring, and that blue flight attendant's cap that is worth more to me than any crown. My courage is not my own doing – it is the dowry left to me by my mother, a woman who conquered heights with airplanes, and the earth beneath her feet with her unwavering character.
By Magma Star26 days ago in Families
The Family Portrait
I have a thing against confident men. Don’t get me wrong—I do not hate them. I am just amazed by their sheer arrogance. To look life in the face and turn it to stone, Medusa-like. To smile at a camera and not be fazed by the lights flashing millisecond by millisecond. To wear jewelry and not fear that it will slip from sweat on their wrists, their necks, or their fingers.
By Brian Kennedy26 days ago in Families
Husbands With These 2 Bad Habits May Put Their Wives at Higher Risk of Breast Cancer
When people think about breast cancer risk, they often focus on genetics, diet, or personal lifestyle choices. While these factors are important, there is another influence that is often overlooked—the daily habits of a husband or partner. The lifestyle shared inside a home can shape long-term health outcomes for both partners.
By DigitalAddiabout a month ago in Families
Love That Acts, Not Love That Speaks
When Love Became a Language Instead of a Practice In modern parenting culture, love is increasingly defined by what is said rather than what is done. Emotional affirmation, verbal reassurance, and constant validation are treated as the primary evidence of care, while less expressive forms of love are often overlooked or misunderstood. A parent who says “I love you” frequently and validates feelings consistently is assumed to be providing something essential, while a parent who demonstrates care through sacrifice, consistency, and enforcement may be perceived as distant or emotionally limited.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcastabout a month ago in Families
Scanning the Republic
Somewhere along the line, the public was sold a very simple promise: If you’re not doing anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about.
By Aja Truthabout a month ago in Families
The Battle of the Idols
We are watching people kill and die over books. Not food. Not shelter. Not survival. Books. Texts that were meant to guide individual souls through this strange thing called life have become weapons, flags, and leashes. And the madness needs to stop.
By Aja Truthabout a month ago in Families
He Loved Her Loudly but Suffered Quietly. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Subtopics: The Burden of Being the Reliable Man When Love Feels Like Performance The Fear of Looking Weak Silent Competition in Modern Relationships Emotional Exhaustion Behind Masculine Pride Learning to Be Seen, Not Just Needed Redefining What It Means to Lead in Love
By Benjamin Patrickabout a month ago in Families
On My 70th Birthday, My Daughter-in-Law Threw a “Surprise” Party — But I Wasn’t Even Invited. AI-Generated.
On her seventieth birthday, Margaret Whitmore stood outside a downtown restaurant and realized her family was celebrating without her. The discovery was not dramatic, not loud, not something that would make strangers turn their heads on Main Street, but it was sharp enough to take her breath away; through the tall glass windows of The Harbor Room, she could see gold balloons shaped like the number 70 tied to the backs of polished mahogany chairs, a long white tablecloth stretching nearly twenty feet across the private dining area, and at the center of it all stood her daughter-in-law, Ashley Whitmore, raising a champagne flute beneath a banner that read Happy Birthday in looping silver letters; Margaret watched as Daniel, her only son, slipped an arm around Ashley’s waist and smiled for a photograph, the camera flash reflecting against crystal water glasses and neatly folded linen napkins, and for a moment Margaret wondered if she had mistaken the date, if perhaps she had lost track of time the way people sometimes suggested happened at her age, but she had not; she had marked this day on her kitchen calendar months ago, circled it in blue ink, and even ordered a small vanilla cake from the bakery three blocks from her colonial-style home in Westport, Connecticut, a cake that now sat untouched on her granite countertop beside a single unlit candle; earlier that afternoon she had ironed a pale lavender blouse and pressed her slacks carefully, not because she had been invited anywhere, but because seventy felt like a milestone that deserved dignity, and she had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that her family would stop by at some point, that Daniel would arrive with a hug, that Sophie might run ahead with a handmade card, yet instead she had received silence, followed by a notification on her phone from a neighbor who had written, “Happy birthday! Looks like quite a party downtown!”; Margaret had not understood until she drove past the restaurant on her way back from the pharmacy and noticed Daniel’s silver SUV parked by the curb; she slowed the car, her hands steady on the steering wheel, and allowed herself one long look through the glass; inside, laughter rose and fell like a tide she no longer belonged to, waiters in crisp black vests moved between tables carrying plates of filet mignon and roasted asparagus, and Ashley leaned forward to blow out candles on a large tiered cake while guests clapped and cheered; Margaret’s name was never spoken, at least not in any way she could see; there was no empty chair waiting for her, no place card with Whitmore written in careful script, only a seamless celebration that seemed to function perfectly well without her presence; she did not knock on the door, she did not call Daniel’s phone, she did not allow the sting in her chest to reach her eyes; instead she adjusted the collar of her coat, a wool blend she had bought the previous winter, and stepped back from the window as though she had simply paused to admire the décor; it occurred to her then, with a clarity that felt colder than the early March air, that this was not an oversight or a scheduling mistake, but a decision, one made quietly and carried out efficiently; Margaret returned to her car and started the engine, her reflection faint in the rearview mirror, and as she drove the two miles home along tree-lined streets she had known for forty years, she understood something she had resisted admitting before: birthdays can reveal more than age; they can reveal where you truly stand.
By Thuy Phamabout a month ago in Families