She may be the greatest athlete of all time (fight me), but Serena Williams recently admitted that despite daughter Alexis Olympia being the center of her universe, she’s not always confident that she’s the greatest mom.
What was your initial reaction when you first heard that Demi Lovato was checked into a hospital after a suspected heroin overdose? Public opinion seemed to be split between people who were genuinely concerned for the pop star, and another group of people asking, “Who the hell is Demi Lovato?”
She may have taught us all the “pleasure principle,” but beloved icon Janet Jackson’s happiness didn’t come as easily as a song and dance. In an exclusive essay and cover story for Essence magazine’s first-ever Happiness issue, the living legend—who will also headline the 2018 Essence Festival on Sunday, July…
I was beaten quite a bit as a child. I wasn’t a “bad kid” or a troublemaker, I just happened to come from a violent place (America) and a culture (small town, black, 1980s; take your pick) where beating children was de rigueur.
Editor’s note: Until recently, mental health and illness were taboo subjects in the black community. But thanks to the efforts of those brave enough to speak on it, that’s changing. In that vein, The Root team is taking this week during Mental Health Awareness Month to write about how mental health has touched our…
When evaluating the reasons for health disparities, most studies find a link between income and education to explain the health gap in the black community. But a new study from researchers at the University of Michigan has found that blacks with higher levels of affluence are more likely to suffer from depression.…
Big, bloated, unhappy and depressed? There’s a link between diet and depression, according to new findings reported by the Wall Street Journal. Bottom line: If you’re eating wrong, diet can become depression’s best friend. Eat right, and diet and happiness become BFFs.
Charles Weatherspoon was preparing lunch for his family Jan. 4 when he told his son, Charles, to run some vitamins up to his sister, A’layah. Charles came back moments later from his sister’s room, telling his father that A’layah was playing a prank and pretending to be asleep.
Fidel Ángel “Fidelito” Castro Díaz-Balart, 68, the eldest son of Cuban revolutionary and former President Fidel Castro, committed suicide Thursday, Cuba’s state media reported.
When I declared 2017 “the Year of the Glow Up,” I needed a win. 2016 was my first year without my mother, and it was painful, to say the least. In her death, my greatest fear had been realized, and adjusting to that “new normal” wasn’t easy. My mother was my center; I’d lost my center and was a complete mess.
I’ll never forget the day I got the phone call that one of my closest friends for 20 years—a beautiful young wife and mother—had suddenly and inexplicably taken her life. Her depression, which had gone undiagnosed by doctors and unrecognized by those of us who knew her well and loved her dearly, just became too much.…
There are many things I hate about Crazytown. I don’t like the stigma that comes with living here. The cost of living is insane. (Can you say thousands in copays alone each year?) And I hate that people I love have to live here, too, by default.
Greetings from CrazyTown! These are dangerous times for those of us who live in CrazyTown. Let me explain.
A recent Facebook post is the reason for this story.
Often, after an intense therapy appointment, instead of sitting in my car, folded across the steering wheel before I have the strength to face the rest of the day, I make a detour to the T.J. Maxx on the way home. I don’t always buy anything; I just wander the racks and flip through organized chaos, waiting for my…
Editor’s Note: Trigger warning, this post talks about the subject of suicide, and was written before the death of Linkin Park’s Chester Bennington.
The salon was busy when I walked in. There was the chatter of stylists gossiping with clients, the whirl of hair dryers and the receptionist laughing into her cellphone. She paused the conversation to ask if she could help me.
Literally anything can give me anxiety, from a car that takes a second too long to turn over, the gym at its busiest hour, a doorbell ringing, the refrigerator light—anything. Today’s source of anxiety is a text message my friend and big brother, Roger, sent last night:
If I had moved to New York last fall as intended, you would be surely be referring to me in the past tense today.
It was December 2014. A highly emotional and stressful year was met with a last punch to my gut when a significant friendship ended. I felt worthless, burdensome, insufficient, and abandoned. And, frankly, I was tired. I was tired of crying every day and every night, sneaking away to bathrooms to delete my cache of…