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No, I Don’t Want Your Advice on How My Kids or I Can Be “Cured”
I’m not looking for a cure—not for my kids, and not for me. Any treatment we choose is merely a tool to help us enjoy our lives.
He’s going to try to sell me something
allergiesgutsinflammationour babiesthat asshole
How could he possibly think that I want my kids to be any different?
doif he were less distracted, he would learn more during his swim lesson—if he won’t wear button-down shirts or eat a hamburger, how do you expect him to survive in the world?
I’m not looking for a cure—not for my kids, and not for me. Any treatment we choose is a tool to help us enjoy our lives.
Recently, our family was on vacation in Washington, DC. The four of us—my husband, Eight, Ten, and I—traveled by Metro around town, the train itself as exciting to my kids as the museums and monuments. One time we exited onto the platform and the tunnel suddenly grew loud and chaotic, because the train across from us let its passengers off at the same time.
It’s too much.
Katie is a novelist, essayist, and law professor in Chapel Hill, NC. Her books include Life of the Mind Interrupted: Essays on Mental Health and Disability in Higher Education, Even If You're Broken: Essays on Sexual Assault and #MeToo, and the Hollywood Lights novels. In addition to Catapult, Katie has contributed to The Chronicle of Higher Education, The Toast, Dame Magazine, Women in Higher Education, and more. You can connect with Katie on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter, all at @krgpryal, and on her blog at katieroseguestpryal.com.
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I think about the many invisible struggles, the empty places I have had to fill for my kids. The bridges I’ve had to build.
Unwritten social rules might as well not exist for me. The only reason I can read them at all is because I’ve forced myself to learn them.
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Every day, when my kids come home from school, the first thing I ask them—like most parents do—is about school. But unlike most parents, I do not expect my kids to say that school was fine.
I have such immense anxiety. It sweeps me up into its furious winds. And my kids are at the middle of the storm.
When people tell me “I don’t look Colombian,” I’m reminded of how pop culture gets my home country of Colombia wrong—where we are, who we are, and what we can look like.