Rebecca Morrison
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Articles by Rebecca Morrison
Why Stallone's honesty about bulimia is so important | Opinion Original
Oct. 2, 2026, 6:06 a.m. ET The last thing I was expecting when watching Sylvester Stallone, a man whose body in movies like “Rocky” had made him the ultimate image of masculinity, was to hear him say in his New York Times interview about his recently released memoir "The Steps" that he had struggled with bulimia. His confession took me back to something that happened last spring when I did an author event at a middle school to speak about body image issues.
The Blue Dress
Gr 6 Up–Fans of Lisa Fipps’s Starfish will appreciate this candid exploration of disordered eating, familial pressure, and the fraught social landscape of middle school. Yasmin, an Iranian seventh grader navigating the complexities of moving to the US, is consumed by body insecurities. Driven to blend in with the popular crowd and stung by her mother’s constant criticism, Yasmin descends into a dangerous cycle of skipping meals, obsessing over her caloric intake, and purging.
My Mom Claims I Wrote A 'Revenge Book' About Her. She's Not Entirely Wrong.
“Don’t worry, you can write about your mom when you get older. She did a whole revenge book about me,” my mother said to my teenage son, laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes. My kids and I were visiting her, just before my son left for college. He’d shaved his head completely bald, and I was trying gently to tell him I preferred his usual haircut. He shrugged and gave me a look that said, Mom, please stop talking. My mother watched the exchange from the couch, grinning.
My Mom Claims I Wrote A 'Revenge Book' About Her. She's Not Entirely Wrong.
“Don’t worry, you can write about your mom when you get older. She did a whole revenge book about me,” my mother said to my teenage son, laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes. My kids and I were visiting her, just before my son left for college. He’d shaved his head completely bald, and I was trying gently to tell him I preferred his usual haircut. He shrugged and gave me a look that said, Mom, please stop talking. Also Read: I Thought I Knew My Mom.
My family fled Iran. These protests are personal to me. | Opinion
For decades, I carried anger and heartbreak about Iran so deep I thought it had become an unmovable part of me. Watching the current protests has brought up emotions I thought were long buried. The familiar ache that comes from loving a country thats caused so much pain for so many. The protests in Iran began on a Sunday, Dec. 28, first among shopkeepers and bazaar workers, then involving university students.
My family fled Iran. These protests are personal to me. | Opinion Original
Jan. 15, 2026, 6:04 a.m. ET For decades, I carried anger and heartbreak about Iran so deep I thought it had become an unmovable part of me. Watching the current protests has brought up emotions I thought were long buried. The familiar ache that comes from loving a country that’s caused so much pain for so many. The protests in Iran began on a Sunday, Dec. 28, first among shopkeepers and bazaar workers, then involving university students.
I have a large body. Here’s why I’m not taking a GLP-1 weight loss drug.
(Owen Gent For The Washington Post) Guest column by Rebecca Morrison September 28, 2024 at 8:16 a.m. EDT Sitting down to lunch with a friend, I noticed she was beaming. I leaned forward, eager to hear her big news. “I’ve lost 35 pounds!” she said, overjoyed. I did a double take. How did I not see it? She told me her whole life had changed, “I haven’t been this happy in a long time. I feel like myself again!” Then she winked at me. “But I cheated.
My back-to-school anxiety wasn't about my kids. It was the other moms
As the summer drew to a close, I felt the usual anxiety rise up inside me. And it wasn’t just because of the whirlwind of back-to-school duties I’d now have to complete. It was because I’d be around those have-it-all-together perfect mom types. I’d been free of them for two glorious months, and it was heaven. I knew I shouldn’t judge them. It was hard enough being judged by society for everything we did: working, not working, helicopter, free-range — our every move evaluated with such intensity.
My back-to-school anxiety wasn't about my kids. It was the other moms
Aug. 12, 2024, 2:58 PM UTC By As the summer drew to a close, I felt the usual anxiety rise up inside me. And it wasn’t just because of the whirlwind of back-to-school duties I’d now have to complete. It was because I’d be around those have-it-all-together perfect mom types. I’d been free of them for two glorious months, and it was heaven. I knew I shouldn’t judge them.
‘Is something wrong with me?’ Learning to handle my baby’s first heartbreak
Create your free profile or log in to save this article Aug. 11, 2023, 12:56 PM UTC By When my son was in elementary school, every day that I picked him up from the bus stop I’d ask him the same question: “How was school today?” Each day, he’d say the same thing: “Fine.” That word usually meant one of two things. Either nothing monumental happened, or something did happen, but he’d wait to share it with me until he was ready.
As a girl, my mom taught me that being fat was the worst thing a woman could be
When I was 13, my mother told me, “I love you Rebecca, but I don’t like you.” That night, I wrote “I hate my mother” in big angry letters followed by page-sized exclamation points in the diary I kept under my bed. We’d been fighting for months, mostly about my body, my weight, my very being. About her need for me to be something she envisioned as the perfect daughter and my anger at her for not loving me unconditionally. I held on to that anger for a long time.
As a girl, my mom taught me that being fat was the worst thing a woman could be
Create your free profile or log in to save this article May 1, 2023, 5:04 PM UTC By Rebecca Morrison When I was 13, my mother told me, “I love you Rebecca, but I don’t like you.” That night, I wrote “I hate my mother” in big angry letters followed by page-sized exclamation points in the diary I kept under my bed. We’d been fighting for months, mostly about my body, my weight, my very being.
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