Love keeps me up at night. Love and fear.
I lie in bed, eyes shut tight, trying to sleep while love overtakes all sanity. My stomach spirals, my heart gulps, and I try to change the channel in my mind. But every channel is the same: a long stream of terrible things happening to my husband and son. Soon I’m sick with fear that the two people I love the most in the world will be taken away from me or worse, harmed.
If only I didn’t love so hard, I think. (more…)
I just learned something shocking about myself. It’s been true for years, but I had no idea until a little over a week ago.
First, a little background information: I come from a family of seamstresses. Two of my grandmothers are seamstresses, as is my mother. I grew up wearing handmade dresses and clothing my dolls with matching miniatures. My mom is so good, in fact, that she made my wedding dress.
With such talented ladies encouraging me, I learned to sew. At first with a needle, thread, and a swatch of scrap fabric. Then, with a machine. I made blankets for my Barbies and scarves for my dolls. And it was all fine and good. (more…)
Every so often I get itchy.
I don’t mean, I-must-be-allergic-to-something itchy. I mean, that feeling like something’s not quite right. Like my shoes don’t fit and I want to get out of the house and DO something, but I don’t know what. It’s when I hear my favorite song and it’s just that old song again. I feel stuck in a rut and desperately want to get out. (more…)
“I don’t regret anything.”
I used to say this. A lot.
I’ve made mistakes (some of them rather significant). Declaring that I didn’t regret anything was a way of owning it all. I felt like I was saying, “This is who I am, flaws and all. This is me: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Take it or leave it.”
I’m not sure where I got this philosophy from. Maybe I caught some (more…)
The walls were adorned with posters of Angela Davis and Gloria Steinem. And there was always a stack of Ms. Magazine in the corner, which we were free to take.
The UCLA Women’s Resource Center was cozy, but quiet. It was supposed to feel welcoming and warm, the kind of place you’d want to go if you needed support. Situated in the basement of a humanities building, it was a refuge for young women, a place where you didn’t have to shout to be heard, a place where your voice mattered – no matter how meek.
The Women’s Resource Center was the gateway to (more…)
Every once in a while they creep up on me. I only know they’re here by the tightness in my chest, by the shortness of my breath, and by the slide show of ‘what ifs’ that flash before me, keeping me awake while I listen to the sounds of my partner sleep.
I’m talking about the Mean Reds. Or, in case you’ve never seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Fear (to be more specific, ALL the Fears). (more…)