When we look at women who work, what remains unseen and what is expected to remain hidden?
I borrowed a bicycle and explored, in the same way my great-grandfather had gone about on his pony sixty years earlier.
Are these the only two stories? The one, where you defeat your monster, and the other, where you succumb to it?
Disability justices can be, and are, plural.
Everyone’s experience of a diagnosis is different. Here is mine: A key opens a lock I didn’t know existed, sending a door swinging wide.
I’ll drive with that tender balance of guilt and curiosity and a lifetime of learning and unlearning, still looking for an America that was there, is there, and will be there.
When you attribute someone’s evil actions to their mental health status rather than their actual root cause—like white supremacy—then that evil is no longer presented as a choice.
I am the only one in the room who is neither asked nor allowed to answer: “How does that make you feel?”
I try to feel my lungs expanding and contracting, just to make sure they still are. There is something soothing, like the indigo of a fading day, in that reminder.
In my flocks, I’ve borne witness to what I fear.