This was the beginning of the undoing of the story of America I'd been told.

Is change possible? Are we capable of growth? Are we the product of our upbringing, the miracle of our birth, the circumstances of our families, a collection of our petty or significant traumas?

I was yearning for solitude, for some time to process and move through the terror and joy and grief of the past few years. And because my brain processes through creation, but my writer’s mind refused the call, I had to build something else.

Raising children in a world that constantly reenforces the idea that strength is brutality, control, and power, is a Sisyphean task. Brutality is not leadership, control is an illusion, power can be taken away.

Aging is a sloughing off of fucks given. Each birthday, I shed a new layer of fucks, until eventually, I’ll care only about joy, pleasure, and freedom.

There’s an undefinable quality to love. It’s hard to put into words, because words build walls around feelings, words make something concrete, and love is a slippery amorphous ever-changing thing.

There were lots of things I liked about church — the singing, for one thing, and the pageantry (Catholicism is wild — you eat the literal body of Christ and wash it down with a sip of his literal blood).

“The Emperor represents total power, the divine masculine, the cosmic father. He is authority and order, regulation and rationale. He reigns over systems of knowledge, discipline, strategy, and law. His rule is resolute, yet paternal. The Emperor relies upon structure and control to create security and stability. He protects and

I am a proud perfectionist and overachiever, and I plan to wow this woman with my dedication to thinness. I’m ready for whatever restrictive diet she throws my way. I’ve been dieting since I was eleven years old, I’ve got this.

“Stay still,” I hear myself say, “I’m looking for your witch’s mark.” “My what?” she asks, suddenly still, at attention, all five years of her have led to this moment and she is hanging on every word.

0:00 /0:59 1× When I was pregnant with my first child, I bought and read exactly one book about parenting. The book was called Relax, It’s Just God: How and Why To Talk To Your Kids About Religion When You’re Not Religious, written by Wendy Thomas