Kimberly Witt

Kimberly Witt is an Iowa transplant placing roots in St. Paul, Minnesota. With her husband of 17 years, she is raising two amazing teenage sons who were born in Ethiopia. She enjoys writing, running, and (surprisingly) helping her sons with math homework. Her writing has appeared in Huffington Post, Insider, Scary Mommy, and more.

Insider •

I work in estate planning. It makes me appreciate my family so much more.

As the youngest of a trio of siblings, I grew up feeling left out much of the time. My brother and sister were just two years apart, and their age proximity gave them shared experiences I longingly observed from the outside. I, on the other hand, I'm seven years younger than my sister and nine years younger than my brother. I made up for my feelings of inferiority by relentlessly pestering them, using a slew of annoying tactics to gain their attention.

Tiny Love Stories: ‘The Deceptively Sunny Day’

As a subscriber, you have 10 gift articles to give each month. Anyone can read what you share. Opposites and All That My best friend Maya is messy and stomps around our off-campus house. I’m neurotically clean and light on my feet. She works in private equity, investing in something called “digital infrastructure.” I’m getting a master’s degree in something called “social anthropology.” She’s a Manhattanite — “fifth generation,” she brags as we drive to her family’s upstate house. I’m from Orla
Insider •

My husband and I spend a lot of time together. I wouldn't have it any other way.

On most weekdays I help my teenage sons get out the door for school before sitting down to have breakfast with my husband. We talk about our days, discuss any parenting challenges we might be facing, and load the dishwasher before heading to our workdays. His office is in the basement, and on days when I'm working from home, mine is on the second story. We typically meet on the main floor for lunch and another chat. At some point, we find time for a workout — either a run or something from the Peloton app. After the workday, we check in with the kids and leash the dog for a short walk around the neighborhood before working on dinner together. We spend an absurd amount of time together, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Mercy Vineyard Church •

A Devotional on Hope

11.30.21 // Read an Advent devotion on Hope by Kimberly Witt While my diagnosis is not official, I’m sure I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. As the days grow shorter and the sun becomes a stranger, I find myself sliding into a state of despair and gloom. Ironically, this happens as we near the season of Advent, a season that’s supposed to be marked by excessive joy as we prepare to celebrate our Savior’s birth. The world, with its overly-obnoxious jingles and excessively-gaudy jangles, does its best to remind me that if I’m not feeling merry and bright, then surely something is wrong with me.
Business Insider •

I waited 2 years to adopt my sons and become a family. No one warned me about post-adoption depression.

From start to finish, adopting my two sons took over two years. It was two years of paperwork, interviews, training, and waiting. When my husband and I brought our adopted sons home, we had zero experience. We went through our agency's required training and read all the books. It couldn't be that hard, I thought. No one warned about post-adoption depression.
Des Moines Register •

Opinion: How a global pandemic reconfigured our sibling love

Our connections ebbed and flowed over the years, before the pandemic pushed our interactions into a text thread. Growing up, I was the odd sibling out, younger by seven years. My brother and sister were two years apart, their age a gravitational pull I couldn’t control. My younger age made me a shoo-in for the Most Annoying Sibling award. I’d relentlessly bug my older brother until he’d stuff me inside a hastily emptied toy box, sitting on the lid until Mom heard my muffled cries.
Scary Mommy •

Teen Movies Look So Much Different Now That I’m Watching From A Parent’s Perspective

I crushed on my first love obsessively, thanks in part to Molly Ringwald. Growing up with older siblings, I received an early introduction to the Brat Pack, watching Pretty in Pink and Sixteen Candles more times than I should probably admit. I imagined myself as Samantha Baker, sitting on top of that magical table and getting kissed by Jake Ryan, candlelight glow illuminating his flawless complexion. I was an expert on teenage angst before I was a teen myself, and I studied the role fastidiously.
HuffPost •

I'm A White Mom Teaching My Black Son To Drive. I'm Terrified For His Safety.

I pulled over a few blocks from home and encouraged him, sweaty palms and all, to drive for a few blocks. Like a newborn calf on wobbly legs, he was jerky and unsteady. Every corner was an adventure, every movement reactive, and several times I had to grab the wheel when it appeared he was getting too close to a parked car. But we made it home ― or at least to our block. (I pulled the car into the driveway.)
G&F •

Despite Pandemic Fatigue, Here are Family Rituals That Keep Us Sane

“You think you’re the only one who wants to go hang out with friends, but you’re not!” I raised my voice in frustration with my 17-year-old son. “We’re all suffering!” I added for dramatic emphasis. And then I went upstairs to cry. Pandemic Fatigue, is that you again? We are all suffering from pandemic fatigue We are nearly eight months into the pandemic, and my teenage sons have been home in a distance learning model since March. I’m juggling part-time work as an on-campus and online adjunct
G&F •

Five COVID Lessons I Hope My Family Never Forgets

Remember March? When the world came to a screeching halt? Yeah, me neither. In the midst of the blurry days and weeks, so much has changed about life that pre-COVID sometimes feels like a dream. Remember when we didn’t have to turn around a block from home because we forgot our mask? When the anxiety of planning a visit with aging parents didn’t shave years off your life? There was once a time when grocery shopping didn’t require hours of prep on the front end, and a few months ago, every conv
Insider •

I'm white. My sons are black. The Central Park incident confirmed that my kids won't be safe anywhere.

• Kimberly Witt and her husband adopted their two sons from Ethiopia when the boys were eight and nine. • After enduring instances of racism, the Witts moved from their small Iowa town to St. Paul, Minnesota, but they were still targeted. • The recent racist incident in Central Park in New York City and the death of a black man in Minneapolis, reminded Witt that her children won't be safe anywhere they move. It happened again. This time in Central Park in New York City. Amy Cooper, a white wom