I Wasn’t Supposed to Love Me
Nothing has gotten better—not the pandemic, not racism—but I know, and the Black women in my life tell me so, that everything will be alright.
Nothing has gotten better—not the pandemic, not racism—but I know, and the Black women in my life tell me so, that everything will be alright.
During those first weeks, I was in a never-ending, often failing battle with Penny, then an eight-pound roly-poly of a beagle
This body is the home of both a female and a male self, and I am not yet sure how to help it accommodate all of me best.
I want to inhabit a form that doesn’t define me; I want to inhabit a form in a way that lets me define it.
Envy feels a lot like binging—the more you give into it, the worse you feel.
On a long-sought diagnosis, chronic pain, and a trek to Everest Base Camp.
When I tried to skateboard as a kid, the neighborhood boys refused to welcome me. Now, women and gender-diverse people are creating skateboarding communities all over the world.
Maybe these home remedies aren’t just tricks or distractions. Maybe they are insistences on our well-being.
I couldn't afford to live on academic wages, so I became a dominatrix. But after Covid-19, the risks became too great.
Nora Feely on cancer, facing her fears by naming them, and navigating a world filled with sharks
I decided to try to find a more complete scientific narrative about trauma instead of accepting damage as a foregone conclusion.
Why can’t the abled world fit into our world?
It isn’t my job to bear as much pain as I possibly can to prove that I am somehow worthy of becoming a mother. Why is it so hard to remember this?
It took about a year for me to understand the bulimia was an expression of my anger. A way to hurt my body and myself, and a desperate attempt to regain normalcy.
I participated in the betrayal of my face because it’s easy to do when your thoughts about beauty are colonized and your appearance is a battleground.
It was as if I needed a third surgery, a reconstruction. I needed the surgeon to rebuild what he tore out.
She sings and speaks in lewd riddles, mourning her father’s untimely death and her abandonment by Hamlet, her lover.
Though I couldn’t articulate it at the time, I somehow knew that both relief and release were no longer optional. They were necessities.
I recall a 2016 headline that warned, ‘Orangutans face complete extinction within ten years.’ Nash will be thirteen in 2026.
I posed the question to her, earnestly, seriously: If given the choice, would she rather gain weight or would she rather die?