Being a child prodigy is not all fun and games. Neither is being an adoptee.
**Spoiler alerts for those who have not seen the series**
After watching the Netflix drama mini-series, The Queen’s Gambit, I was struck by so much. The set design, the makeup and costumes, the characters, and of course, the chess. As a woman, I was in awe of the lead character, Beth Harmon, played by Anya Taylor-Joy. As much as I love chess, I was never trained to play as a child, partly because my family just didn’t play chess, but also, girls are far less…
Reflections from an adoptee on the complex emotions in animal rescue work and adoption
It’s the same thing each time I arrive at the shelter. My hand touches the cool metal gate on the chain-link fence and as soon as it clinks and clanks open then shut, I hear the cacophony of barking from behind the thick walls of the building as I approach. They know I am here.
The usual mix of anticipatory excitement, sadness, and relief rises in my stomach as I approach the back door of the shelter that leads straight to the kennels. …
Honoring myself during National Eating Disorders Awareness Week
Five pounds was the goal
To dance that part
To fit into that tutu
With the sparkling rhinestones
Five pounds was the stick
Ms. Martha used to slap my tummy
Telling me I looked pregnant
While I did rond de jambe en l’air
Five pounds was the fun I permitted myself
Eating the pizza and keeping it down
But with every smile I grew larger
Each laugh inched the scale upward
Five pounds became ten and then fifteen
It became pills and secrets
To cover the bruises on my stomach
A eulogy for the both of us
All day, my stomach did somersaults. I couldn’t even go for a jog because my intestines would not allow it. A familiar, creeping, unnamed anxiety washed over me, and as usual, I tried to drown out its empty voice with wine later that night.
There is always a reason why our bodies protest our own existence like this.
I awoke the next morning with the news in an email from my uncle, the subject line reading, “Your Dad.” The body of the text, I hardly recall reading, except the first sentence, “Andy passed…
It’s not a mid-life crisis. I’m just turning 40 and talking to plush toys.
Significant milestones tend to dredge up memories and emotions. Although turning 40 is not as momentous as some of the other events humans celebrate, it has always been a much anticipated day for me. As a young child, when I watched my parents mark four decades of life, I imagined myself “going over the hill,” a phrase that makes 40 seem like the fast track to decrepitude. I assumed by then I would have several kids who would all be teenagers at that point, that I…
With no knowledge of what happened to me, who am I, really?
That’s the length of time unaccounted for. Forty-two days of life. Those are the completely dark days. Six weeks is the hole in my heart. The entire month of October and then some. I do not know where I was. I do not know who cared for me. I do not know what happened to me.
In his book, “The Body Keeps the Score,” Bessel Van Der Kolk argues extensively for a somatic understanding of trauma. When we face trauma, he suggests, our bodies encode the…
It might have left you susceptible to emotional abuse, but empathy is also your strength. Use it to move forward and heal.
This might sound strange, but I am grateful for the toxic relationships and emotional abuse I’ve lived through. Not because I enjoyed being someone’s mental punching bag — that was painful and still haunts me. I’m thankful, however, because from these experiences, I learned how to better detect subtle and even unintentional manipulation tactics people use. This knowledge inspired me to dig deeper to understand more about why people engage in emotional abuse in the first place. …
How do I know? By thinking deeply.
I’m often told I overthink things. In many ways, this is probably a fair accusation. After all, my job as a professional philosopher could arguably be described as an underpaid overthinker. But is it really true that I think too much? Is it true that overthinking is inherently a bad thing? How can we know if we are in fact overthinking?
Like with so many things, the correct answers to these questions are probably complicated and lie somewhere at the intersection of several complex variables. At the same time, the simplistic adage of…
The ground beneath me unstable
To find the why, I am unable
This love comes undone
Another game to be won
Breadcrumbs and eggshells
Mining for my truths to tell
Casting the net and reeling me in
Tossing me out to sea again
And each time you bullshitted me
Spoke hollow apologies
Stole my vulnerabilities
Anger grew like a storm
From being silenced and scorned
You walked into the dark clouds
Feigning shock when rain poured down
Fawning, fetching, shrinking little violet
All while searching for a smear campaign to pilot
And so you found your smoking gun
Finding your voice through the profundity (and mundanity) of experience
Ever since those first days of writing in school, I was told “you are a good writer.” I scored high on any writing assessment throughout my educational experience, and then went on to earn a Ph.D. in philosophy, which of course involves a boatload of writing. It’s pretty difficult to get away with a dissertation that is written poorly, at least in my discipline.
Still, I never really felt like the real me shone through anything I wrote. There were occasional moments of authenticity, where my words revealed my vulnerabilities…