Ruthie Ackerman

3 weeks ago | platonicloveletter.substack.com | Platonic Love |Aliza Sir |Aja Frost |Ruthie Ackerman

Hi! How was your weekend? I (Aliza) ran my first half marathon in nearly a decade — and I’m feeling damn proud of myself. In case you missed it: Running didn’t come easily to me postpartum. This is our weekly round-up of things we genuinely love. These days, I don’t wear a fitness watch, and I couldn’t tell you my pace. But I’m looking forward to continuing to put on my shoes and get out the door this summer.

1 month ago | wsj.com | Ruthie Ackerman

My doctor said egg quality might have been a factor. The freezing process that the clinic used at the time may have been as well. But really, no one knew why my eggs didn’t work. Eventually, through talking to doctors and looking at the available statistics, what I discovered is this: Egg freezing is as much an art as a science. The technology is getting better, but it is hardly the slam dunk people may be hoping for when they hand over their credit card.

1 month ago | romper.com | Ruthie Ackerman

I’ve always been proud my hands look just like my mother’s, even though we’ve had a strained relationship for most of my life. That’s because my mother’s hands look like her mother’s hands, and I never had a chance to meet my grandmother Ruth, although I was named after her. Somehow knowing my hands connected me to my matrilineal line gave me a feeling of belonging. When my husband and I decided to use donor eggs to have a baby, resemblance was one of my first questions.

1 month ago | oprahdaily.com | Ruthie Ackerman

I come from a long line of women who abandoned their children. Or at least that’s what I’d been told. For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard about how my great-grandmother Kitty and my grandmother Ruth ditched their kids because of men or money or mental problems—or all of the above. The stories about my own mother aren’t any easier to decipher. If you believe my father, he’ll tell you that my mother’s suicide attempts started before I was even born.

1 month ago | theguardian.com | Ruthie Ackerman

The light in the bookstore bathroom was dim. Even so, I could see the blood on the toilet paper. I wiped some more to make sure I wasn’t just seeing things, and then I stood up, grabbing on to the porcelain sink so I wouldn’t fall. Suddenly, I understood. I didn’t want to lose my baby. I wanted to be this baby’s mother more than anything I’d ever wanted in the world. I would do anything in my power to keep it alive. The trouble: there wasn’t much I could do.