For a long time, I treated my anxiety like evidence of depth. I thought my constant analyzing meant I was perceptive, my exhaustion meant I cared deeply, and…
Some days call for a book that feels like company rather than homework. You may want language for the anger sitting in your chest, a reminder that your…
Caring for a rabbit has changed the way I understand mental health maintenance. Before living with a rabbit, I imagined self-care as something occasional and…
I used to believe a story had to be neatly understood before it deserved to be told. I thought I needed the perfect language, the right distance, and a lesson…
There is a particular kind of exhaustion that sleep cannot fix. It comes from treating every hour as an opportunity to produce, improve, respond, monetize, or…
For a long time, hunger felt like a problem I was supposed to solve. I treated my appetite as suspicious, my body as unreliable, and my cravings as evidence…
I used to think coming out as bisexual would be one clear conversation followed by relief. I imagined saying the words, answering a few awkward questions, and…
“I’m fine” used to be my reflex. I said it when my chest felt tight, when I had been crying in the bathroom, and when I was carrying a private crisis through…
I used to think my birth chart would tell me who I was. I imagined finding a fixed identity in the planets: a Venus placement to explain how I loved, a Moon…
There are days when the news feels physically heavy. I read about another attack on bodily autonomy, another community being targeted, another preventable…