Movies
I Am Elisabeth Sparkle (and So Are You)
Notes on The Substance and the freedom of letting yourself grow older
Parallel Lives
How to Take Things Apart (Without Scaring the Neighbors)
On mortuaries, butchery, and why curiosity isn’t the same thing as creepiness
Self Image
Confessions of a Shadow-Dweller
Why I’m done trying to look “well-lit” for other people’s comfort
Life
Here I Am, For Real
On selfies, tarot spreads, and showing more of the face behind the words
Aging
The Myth of Being “Done” (and Why I Don't Buy It)
Because life doesn’t come with an expiration date, no matter what society tells you
Creativity
Turning Weird Feelings Into Sacred Text
So, I've found myself thinking more about different kinds of stories and all the things they can mean. And not just the wholly fictional ones we invent out of thin air when we feel like being creative, but also the semi-mythologized stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. Lately,
Mental Health
The Grace of Being Unimportant
Once upon a time, I thought I wanted to be important (and simply assumed I would be one day). Not necessarily "red carpet important," but book deal important. Someone-mentions-you-in-an-essay important. I thought being seen meant being validated, and being validated would mean I'd finally feel real
Self Image
What Happens When You Outgrow Your Own Mythology
There’s a strange kind of grief that arrives when the story you once told about yourself — your guiding myth — no longer fits. Especially when it wasn’t just any story, but the story. The one you poured into poems or blogs or old journal entries by the bucketful. The
Self Image
7 Things I've Promised Myself (and Sometimes Forget)
I'm realizing that I’ve made a lot of silent promises to myself over the years. Some were whispered in moments of grief, others after quiet triumphs I didn’t care to tell anyone about at the time. They weren't anything serious or formal, but they
Mental Health
A Soft Thing Worth Protecting: Reflections on the Value of Empathy
As a relatively private person, there's a lot of myself I don't openly share. Not because those parts are shameful or broken, but because they’re delicate and too often misunderstood. One of those parts has always been my sense of empathy. That's the