It was after midnight when Barack and I went to the airport to leave Iowa, knowing we wouldn’t be back for months. The girls and I were headed home to Chicago, returning to work and school. Barack was flying to New Hampshire, where the primary was less than a week away.
Iowa had changed us all. Iowa had given me, in particular, real faith. Our mandate now was to share it with the rest of the country. In the coming days, our Iowa field organizers would fan out to other states—to Nevada and South Carolina, to New Mexico, Minnesota, and California—to continue spreading the message that had now been proven, that change was really possible.
This is my family, sometime around 1965, dressed up for a celebration. Note my brother Craig’s protective expression and careful hold on my wrist.
We grew up living in the apartment above my great-aunt Robbie Shields, pictured here holding me. During the years she gave me piano lessons, we had many stubborn standoffs, but she always brought out the best in me.
My father, Fraser Robinson, worked for more than twenty years for the city of Chicago, tending boilers at a water filtration plant on the lakeshore. Even as his multiple sclerosis made it increasingly difficult for him to walk, he never missed a day of work.
My dad’s Buick Electra 225—the Deuce and a Quarter, we called it—was his pride and joy and the source of many happy memories. Each summer we drove to Dukes Happy Holiday Resort in Michigan for vacation, which is where this picture was taken.
When I began kindergarten in 1969, my neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago was
made up of a racially diverse mix of middle-class families. But as many better-off
families moved to the suburbs—a phenomenon commonly known as “white flight”—the demographics
changed fast. By fifth grade, the diversity was gone. ABOVE: My kindergarten class; I’m third row, second from right. BELOW: My fifth-grade class; I’m third row, center.
Here I am at Princeton.
I was nervous about heading off to college but found many close friends there, including Suzanne Alele, who taught me a lot about living joyfully.
For a while, Barack and I lived in the second-floor apartment on Euclid Avenue where I’d been raised. We were both young lawyers then. I was just beginning to question my professional path, wondering how to do meaningful work and stay true to my values.
Our wedding on October 3, 1992, was one of the happiest days of my life. Standing in for my father, who had passed away a year and a half earlier, Craig walked me down the aisle.
I knew early on in our relationship that Barack would be a great father. He’s always loved and devoted himself to children. When Malia arrived in 1998, the two of us were smitten. Our lives had changed forever.
Sasha was born about three years after Malia, completing our family with her chubby cheeks and indomitable spirit. Our Christmastime trips to Barack’s home state of Hawaii became an important tradition for us, a time to catch up with his side of the family and enjoy some warm weather.
Malia and Sasha’s bond has always been tight. And their cuteness still melts my heart.
I spent three years as executive director for the Chicago chapter of Public Allies, an organization devoted to helping young people build careers in public service. Here I’m pictured （on right） with a group of young community leaders at an event with Chicago mayor Richard M. Daley.
I later transitioned to working at the University of Chicago Medical Center, where I strove to improve community relations and established a service that helped thousands of South Side residents find affordable health care.
As a full-time working mom with a spouse who was often away from home, I became well acquainted with the juggle many women know—trying to balance the needs of my family with the demands of my job.
I first met Valerie Jarrett （left） in 1991, when she was deputy chief of staff at the Chicago mayor’s office. She quickly became a trusted friend and adviser to both me and Barack. Here we are during his U.S. Senate campaign in 2004.
From time to time our kids came out to visit Barack on the campaign trail. Here’s Malia, watching through the campaign bus window in 2004 as her dad gives yet another speech.
Barack announced his candidacy for president in Springfield, Illinois, on a freezing-cold day in February 2007. I’d bought Sasha a too-big pink hat for the occasion and kept worrying it was going to slip off her head, but miraculously she managed to keep it on.
Here we are on the campaign trail, accompanied as always by a dozen or more members of the press.
I liked campaigning, energized by the connections I made with voters across America. And yet the pace could be grueling. I stole moments of rest when I could.
In the months leading up to the general election, I was given access to a campaign
plane, which boosted my overall efficiency and made traveling a lot more fun. Pictured
here with me （from left） is my tight-knit team: Kristen Jarvis, Katie McCormick Lelyveld,
Chawn Ritz （our flight attendant that day）， and Melissa Winter.
Joe Biden was a great running mate for Barack for many reasons, including that our two families instantly hit it off. Jill and I began talking early on about how we wanted to be of service to military families. Here we are in 2008, taking a break from campaigning in Pennsylvania.
After a difficult spring and summer on the campaign trail, I spoke at the 2008 Democratic
National Convention in Denver, which allowed me to share my story for the first time
before a massive prime-time audience. Afterward, Sasha and Malia joined me onstage
to say hello to Barack via video.
On November 4, 2008—election night—my mom, Marian Robinson, sat next to Barack, the two of them quietly watching as the results came in.
Malia was ten years old and Sasha just seven in January 2009 when their dad was sworn in as president. Sasha was so small, she had to stand on a special platform in order to be visible during the ceremony.
Officially POTUS and FLOTUS, Barack and I hit ten inaugural balls that night, dancing
onstage at each one. I was wiped out after the day’s festivities, but this gorgeous
gown designed by Jason Wu gave me fresh energy, and my husband—my best friend, my
partner in all things—has a way of making every moment we have together feel intimate.
Laura Bush kindly hosted me and the girls for an early visit to the White House. Her own daughters, Jenna and Barbara, were there to show Sasha and Malia the more fun parts of the place, including how to use this sloping hallway as a slide.
This image of Sasha’s little face peering through ballistic-proof glass as she headed to her first day of school stays with me to this day. At the time, I couldn’t help but worry about what this experience would do to our kids.
It took some adjustment to get used to the constant presence of U.S. Secret Service agents in our lives, but over time many of them became dear friends.
Wilson Jerman （shown here） first came to work at the White House in 1957. Like many of the butlers and residence staff, he served with dignity under several different presidents.
The White House garden was designed to be a symbol of nutrition and healthy living, a springboard from which I could launch a larger initiative like Let’s Move! But I also loved it because it’s where I could get my hands dirty with kids as we rooted around in the soil.
I wanted the White House to be a place where everyone would feel at home and kids could be themselves. I hoped that they’d see their stories reflected in ours, and maybe have a chance to jump double Dutch with the First Lady.