Conversations with Friends with Endometriosis
All my life, I had looked for answers in books, and I was no different when it came to endometriosis.
All my life, I had looked for answers in books, and I was no different when it came to endometriosis.
I want medicine to meet me where I am, not where it wants me to be.
I got a D in math and my sister got cancer. These aren’t causalities, only things that happened one right after the other.
I have spent most of my life hating the fact of having a body. It makes sense that my body would eventually start to hate me back.
On some level I know the system is designed to break me down, but I feel guilty because I am good at letting it.
Who will remember a girl’s pain when the evidence disappears?
Can I trust the sparse memories in my long-Covid brain? If I don’t record this, will my Frankenstein-ed memories escape, just like Grandma’s did?
Am I ever going to know where I hope to escape to? I understand that I’m trying escape from reality, but I’m still not clear on what the destination is.
“Howl’s Moving Castle” and “The Legend of Korra” are about protagonists living with magic and fighting for the fate of the world. To me, they’re also metaphors for dynamic disability.
With every step, I realized I didn’t have to be juggling All The Things to be a worthwhile member of society. I just needed to exist.
In the emergency room waiting for a potential diagnosis, I soothe myself with loops of pudgy toddlers tripping into the antics of babyhood over and over again.
Many times I could have said the same as Gawain, terrified in the face what was to come, “I’m not ready. I’m not ready yet.”
How much does my fear of owning this darker voice hinge on a cultural insistence that it’s unhealthy, even unnatural? What if I’m all of it?
Nora Feely on unrealistic storylines and tropes of characters with cancer, what it means to "survive," gratitude and toxic positivity, and more.
A space has been created by this unflinching journalism, this unabashed Instagram memoir.
I believed I had been nurtured, like a lamb, for one purpose: Mine was to be thin.
And does asking these questions make me a good mother?
We’ve spent quarantine in faulty mirrors, sparking negative feedback loops.
If anyone knows how to create a narrative in response to ecological misfortune, it’s the bottled-water industry.
Science provides me with a vocabulary of illness, confirming what my body already knows: that it will never be the same