This post isn’t a response to a Letter, the truth is I haven’t received one in ages. But it’s a story that’s all too common, and it’s finally time I share it. TW: Sexual Assault I was barely in middle school the first time it happened. I wasn’t even a teenager the first time a boy put his hands down my pants while I was asleep. I was at a sleepover with a friend from a former school, a girl I knew only briefly, but vetting your friends for possible pedophile brothers shouldn’t be a thing when you’re eleven (or ever). We fell asleep after watching movies and talking for what felt like hours. The night – and our vast and seemingly unending supply of energy – faded quickly. Becky sprawled across her dad’s favorite armchair as I settled into the soft folds of the family’s well-worn sofa. I remembered...
being a person is hard sometimes | on forgiveness, shame, hurting others, and learning how to let go
When I was in the seventh grade a girl told me I had ugly feet. I take that back. She announced I had ugly feet, proclaimed it as if it were a common and necessary fact that any and all need know lest they be caught unawares by the awesome terror of my metatarsals. It was summer, or nearly there, at a friend’s co-ed pool party. The day was winding down and we had just matriculated inside to watch a movie or MTV or whatever was hip in the mid 90’s for kids who had cable, and were all huddled around a tiny color tube television, sprawled together (yet clearly and awkwardly separated by anatomy) on chairs and couches and the hard, cold, Spanish tile floor. Limbs were thrown askew everywhere and blankets were strewn haphazardly about. We were propped up, or together, on pillows – angling our preteen bodies perfectly for...
letters to a stranger us all | my depression story
It’s been one year since Robin Williams’ death. Three hundred sixty-some days since the reality of depression rocked most to their core. For those of use who battle(d) depression, Robin’s passing elicited an all-too-familiar feeling. Some were discouraged, “if Robin can’t win this fight, what hope do I have?” was a phrase uttered by many. It’s really easy to succumb to depression. To let it envelop you wholly, pull you under it’s seductive, mysterious, alluring spell. It’s harder hardest to fight. It’s hardest to pull yourself out of bed and choose to live another day. To breathe another day. To not-die-today for one more day. To Carry on. It’s easy for those who have never battled depression to tell us to “get over it” or “it’s not that bad” or brush off our feelings as if they’re nothing more than a distraction. A nuisance. But for us it’s visceral. It’s...
Letters To A Stranger | The Woman You Know
It’s been over a year since my first installment of Letters To A Stranger, a project that deep down I think I’ve wanted to do my entire life. In the last twelve months I’ve answered two letters, the only two that ever appeared in my inbox. Until a few days ago when this letter arrived: ——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————— Dear Athena, This letter is years in the making. Its first version was born when I was 18. It was amended when I was 22 or 23. Now I wish to add perspective only age and experience can bring. I woke up vomiting down the front of my shirt. Tequila. To-kill-ya. Dammit. The people I was drinking with in a dorm room yelled at me to get out. I had just moved into my freshman dorm and wasn’t adjusting well. I was looking for something to do, and as usual, drinking was the most appealing option. I...
