When I was in 7th grade, at a private Christian school, I went to the principal’s office.
I wasn’t in trouble. I set the appointment.
At my school, there had always been a dance that was only for the upper school — grades 7 through 12. But my 7th grade year, the principal decided to start the dance at 8th grade. This was unacceptable to me because that year’s 8th graders had gotten to go to the dance the previous year. It only made sense to allow our class to go. My friend and I scheduled a meeting and presented…
This feels like the most vulnerable thing I have ever written.
I am neck-deep in a community of family, friends, and church community who comfortably call women who get abortions irresponsible, baby-killing murderers. To say anything outside of that narrative is sort of social suicide. But I feel compelled to put this out into the ether.
I used to feel a lot of cognitive dissonance about voting for candidates who were pro-choice. I didn’t think I ever would. Then 2016 came along and my choices were Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. I cringed at the thought of voting for Clinton…
I don’t think about the worst night of my life every day. I don’t even think about it regularly. Most days I live in a reality in which that night never existed. I’ve managed to create a space for myself, in my mind, in my body, in my world, that is detached from that night.
But sometimes, if the atmosphere is just right — if it’s a Friday night and I’m home alone and I’m watching the raindrops fall and splash against the neighbor’s roof — I transport. Not into that moment, but into a world in which that moment…
The year I was 22 was easily the hardest year of my life.
I hesitate to say it was the worst year, because it was also the year I took a fast track to life lessons, and got away from a lot of toxicity. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was better off without much of what I lost. So it wasn’t the worst, but it was definitely the hardest.
That year, I was in an emotionally abusive relationship, got broken up with from said relationship, got ex-communicated from my social circle because of that breakup…
I was telling a couple of my friends who happen to be male that someone we know peripherally had made me uncomfortable in a way he had touched me. It wasn’t sexual in nature per se, but it made me uncomfortable nonetheless. It was not a normal physical exchange between friends or even acquaintances.
My friends agreed it was weird and suggested that in the future I should just tell him to stop.
In that discussion, I realized that asking him to stop hadn’t even crossed my mind when it happened. I was frozen. I knew that he was stronger…
There was a study done on rats.
Half of them were raised in a chaotic environment,
and the other half, a nurturing one.
When they reacted to a loud noise that made them scared,
both groups ran back home —
even the ones whose home was chaos.
Maybe that’s why I wear sadness like a sweater,
pulling it tightly around me when I’m lonely.
Maybe that’s why when someone tries to love me,
I run as quickly as I can to someone who can’t.
Maybe that’s why I gave my heart to a bad man
and praised him as he…
You’ve heard of Seasonal Affective Disorder.
I have that. Except I don’t get it in the winter when it’s dark and cold. I get it in the summer. I thought I was something of an anomaly, but I looked it up and it turns out I’m not. It’s not as common, but there is a branch of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) that manifests in people in the summer. It’s called Summertime SAD.
I am summertime sad.
WebMD contributes it to heat, exhaustion, and loss of routine. And that’s definitely part of it for me. I seriously detest heat. …
We live in a world in which most people aren’t allowed to be angry.
Women are not allowed to be angry. An angry woman gives our patriarchal world an excuse to keep on calling women hysterical and unreasonable.
People of color are not allowed to be angry. Justified anger from the mouth of a minority gives the world permission to continue using stereotypes to silence legitimate cries for justice.
Abuse victims are not allowed to be angry. To the outside, they are expected to forgive and move on.
Where did we get the idea that angry is a bad word?
I opened my Facebook memories and saw that last year I posted a meme that said, “You know what 2019 had? The audacity.”
If only we had known how easy we had it back in the olden days of 2019.
This time last year, we weren’t suspecting a deadly pandemic. We didn’t own cutely patterned masks to coordinate with our outfits. We had hardly even begun stressing about the election. We had RBG and John Lewis. We had parties and indoor dining. This time last year, I couldn’t wait for 2020. Now? I’m tempted not to celebrate, not to put…
It’s the most emotional time of the year.
I’m not a Grinch. You won’t hear me saying Bah-Humbug. I enjoy the holiday season. October through December are by far the best months of the year in my book.
But there is a unique undercurrent of sadness that only comes for the holidays. It can be challenging to reconcile feelings of nostalgia, heartache, or disappointment with the starlight and magic of the holidays. But I’m learning that humans have the extraordinary ability exist with a myriad of emotions all at once, if only we give ourselves permission to feel them.
Making sense of myself, my community, and the world one paragraph at a time.