Browsing the "Fear" Tag

Poetry

Your Mother Is Brave

July 23rd, 2020 | by Edvige Giunta

At seventeen I defied the fascist youth on the streets of Catania, brandishing a piece of paper. I left home, country, language, family.


99 Problems

Sleepwalking

July 14th, 2020 | by Allison Fagan

You have to wait for them to break the surface on their own; no use trying to reach down to pull them up


Comics

Breathe, Memory

April 16th, 2020 | by Sacha Mardou

There's a meditation I keep returning to... and for me, it's always this day, the day my daughter was born


Sleep

The Guarantee of Sleep

January 21st, 2019 | by Christina Yovovich

At five, he still comes to our bed most nights. There are nights he sleeps through in his own bed,


99 Problems

Like Liar, Like Son

September 5th, 2018 | by Rebecca Finkel

My son has started to talk about dinosaurs he saw at the zoo. And the big big giant big bee


99 Problems

Running Scared

July 15th, 2017 | by Elizabeth Newdom

The sun is sinking outside the window. My son, Asher, and his friends run screaming. It’s just an ordinary evening.



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  • “A disabled person’s body-mind in public makes other people uncomfortable, because they’re reminded that disability is part of the human experience. It’s not that my kid is so distracting! It’s about ableism. It’s not our family’s or our kids’ job to absorb that.” “I don’t know exactly where this conviction that I would “smash” motherhood came from, but when I was pregnant, I held firmly to the belief that life with a baby would be my old life without a baby + baby. A simple equation that would equal all the thrills and edges of my old life, with the added joy of sunlit mornings in bed with my husband and a cute, cooing baby between us.” “It does not escape me that critiques about expectant Black women like me are also rooted in misogynoir.” “You’ve already told me that story,” he said. Switching gears, he asked, “Why isn’t my father around?” #breastfeeding #parenting #fuckit #protest #teenagers #sexualviolence “Over time, Anabelle learned to talk about her feelings. She said saw her birthmother in the sky. She drew a picture of grief moving through her body like water. When she had more language, she began to talk about her losses.” “I’m not sure why I read that poster and thought that it applied to other mothers, other people’s children. But it probably has something to do with the shock I felt two years later when a neurologist confidently diagnosed “Autism Spectrum Disorder” and I responded with at least twenty “What about…” type questions. I had described my dynamic, interesting, loving toddler to this doctor, and her response sounded dire and clinical. That poster was the same. All of it seemed so unfortunate.” “Someone hit the call button. No one came. Someone rushed to the nurses’ station; still no one came. The contractions, a creature, twisted my uterus, lancing its nails. I tried to breathe through them, but there was no space, no time.”

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