Stories of  Reinvention,
Art & Belonging

Like most middle school people, I was very unfortunate-looking, and my self-esteem was nonexistent. My body was changing, and I could see the changes in others; it was a confusing time full of comparison and judgment. I desperately wanted to be cool, but I also desperately wanted not to be me.

This morning, I was up and walking around, trying to get my kids ready for school. They had woken me up with pleasant snuggles and whispered birthday greetings in my ear. It all started out great, but it soon turned into little moments of chaos as we all got ready for the day. My daughter has been enjoying sick days on the couch, so she has started asking to be home. I had to tell her no several times, and then console her when she didn't get her wish. My son typically wander

There is a way we see anger. Hysterical. Erratic. Unstable. Anger becomes excess. Grief becomes insanity. Tears become evidence of brokenness— instead of proof that something is real. So we learn to quiet ourselves. To repress what is heavy. To carry what has nowhere else to go. This is accumulation. We are told it’s a requirement. To hide anger, grief. To quietly ferry the emotions of our ancestors. Generations have watched their children their bodies, their innocence, their