If we happen to be fighting while we’re walking down the sidewalk, for example, He asks me to please keep my voice down. His eyes dart all around like bees. Unlike most bees in this situation, when he hears my raised voice, he is scared. Maybe because we’re fighting, But probably because other people can… Read More Dear Women, Please scream in public.
A couple weeks ago, I was doing what I usually do on a Monday morning: sitting in a room full of upholstered chairs with other allergy sufferers, applying ice packs to my arms while waiting the mandatory 30 minutes after getting my allergy shots. I often bring a book to read, but this time I… Read More I'd choose anaphylaxis over depression any day of the week and twice on Sundays
It’s been a long time. I’ve gotten out of the habit of writing here, and my overall happiness factor has suffered as a result. This is a time when my overall happiness factor needs bolstering, given the doldrums of winter and staring daily into the belly of the beast of our current president. It’s hard… Read More On hope lying dormant, then sprouting
On New Years Day, I sat in the hard shell of a chair at the laundromat. I alternately felt fine and so broken that I wondered if any of the other launderers could tell. Did they see how my insides trembled as I struggled to get the washing machine handle to lock? Finally, the metal… Read More Motherhood, trauma, and a washing machine
This one goes out to every mother who has ever felt lost. Over it. Wired and exhausted. Overwhelmed and broken. It also goes out to every mother who has felt at the top of her game. Winning. Like her kid is the bees fucking knees. Perhaps, once or twice, you’ve felt trapped by motherhood. Or… Read More Motherhood is all of this
I’ve been drowning in a birdbath*, you guys. For three years, I’ve been in and out of triage: bought a house, had another kid, got a job. Whether it was up till 3 a.m. painting the rental in my third trimester or up at 11, 12, 2, and 4:30 with a puking baby, my default… Read More Boredom is my muse
If one more effing person apologizes after sharing a sad, difficult, upsetting part of their lives with me, I’m going to scream. And my shriek will leave a tiny crack in the shell of robotic positive thinking that our happiness-obsessed culture shrouds us with. I’ve written about this before, and it’s no surprise that I’m… Read More Gratitude: the friend who just doesn't get it