The Monthly Theme Essays are a collection of essays written each month on a predetermined theme. These essays are always published during the last week of the month. To submit a Monthly Theme Essay check out our upcoming themes.
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I saw my weight today. A healthcare provider who didn’t take my history of an eating disorder into account put my
weight on my visit summary, completely unaware that her subconscious act would terrorize me
for the rest of my day. In a more hopeful vein of my recovery, I finally found a therapist who specialized in eating disorders, ending a months-long search for the recovery holy grail: an ED-trained therapist who also accepts insurance.
I always thought self-confidence had more to do with your outside beauty, your physical appearance, than your inner beauty, your personality. In that respect, I knew my grades were stronger than my looks. Which now I recognize as a form of self-confidence, but at the time, I didn’t see it that way. It all came down to what I saw in the mirror.
Read MoreThe first time I cut my skin intentionally was on my sixteenth birthday. That morning, I’d failed my driving test. I shouldn’t have taken the test that day, both because failing made for a shitty birthday and because I didn’t really know how to drive. I didn’t understand, for example, that you should slow down while turning. I was disappointed and embarrassed, so I dragged my shaving razor across my forearm once or twice.
Read MoreOur bodies twitch and lurch and tingle and pinch and tire and inspire and confuse. For example, on a crisp fall day in 2023, I was sitting in a classroom, an observer, when I felt an itch. Without conscious thought my hand moved to my breast, an instinctual move, a response, an urge, only to touch my hand to my body just in time to remember it was a phantom itch, a glitch of my brain and nerves and memory, the breast, almost three years gone but still ever present. This happens in other contexts, too, where I will reach for my breasts only to find them gone, like when taking a bubble bath and my mind sees them, like ghosts, sagging with gravity towards the lavender scented bath water.
Read MoreFor as long as I can remember, I have been at war with a word. The f-word. No, not that f-word, though I could easily tell a tale about the wins and losses I’ve had with that notorious expletive. The f-word that I’ve been battling, well, it’s been bigger, meaner. I’m not alone in this lifetime fight either. Most of modern society views fat as far more offensive than that cuss-word f-word could ever be.
Read More“How fat do I look in this shirt?” my mother asked me, grimacing as she stared at herself in the department store’s tri-fold mirror. All three versions of her fussed in unison with the shirt’s delicate buttons.
By the time I was in the sixth grade, this was not an unusual question. “Mother,” I started, my voice lingering on the last syllable, dragging the er into a nasal whine. “You look fine.”
Read MoreI thought I was done with menopause. I hadn’t had my period in over 12 months, which, according to the National Institute of Aging (NIA) definition, meant I was post-menopausal. I’d made it through a year of mood swings and depression. I adapted to thinning hair and dry skin, sleep problems, chills, joint pain, a decreased sex drive, headaches, and fatigue. An entire shelf on my bookshelf at home was dedicated to menopause related books like The Hormone Cure and Estrogen Matters. I joined an online menopause support group. I had a prescription for estrogen pills and invested more than $1k on hormone patches, so why was there blood in the toilet?
Read MoreI get home a little after midnight. Mom is awake reading Joyce Meyer on the couch and Dad is upstairs sleeping. I head to the kitchen to grab some water. She takes off her reading glasses and watches me.
“You’re not supposed to be out this late with a cinderella license.”
Read MoreDear Pubescent Me,
This is a sensitive topic, I know. I know how much pain and embarrassment it gives you. I know how you avert from peoples’ gazes, maintain distance, never keep your face still. Your hands gesture and distract—all to deter their eyes from lingering. They linger and they see. I won’t even name it, because naming it makes it real and forever, and you can’t fathom living with it forever.
Read MoreOnce again, I find myself in a strange place where nobody knows me. I am naked. And drunk on Jack Daniels and fucked up on Quaaludes and coming out of another blackout. The blackouts are coming more frequently now since I am drinking on a daily basis. Because of the blackouts, I’m never sure where I’ll wake up.
Read MoreMy body is a windowless cage. The vessel trapping me in the memories of how I have been maimed and wounded. I look at old videos of myself laughing with friends and wonder about this stranger who laughs so freely, before she felt the weight of rape and womanhood set on her shoulders. After all, what is being a woman, if not being a plaything for others to abuse?
Read MoreI was sitting upright for the first time in about a week. I’d tried a few days earlier, but very soon my head pounded, and I vomited down myself. They said the lumbar puncture could do that. Now though, I could use the bed remote control to sit myself up. Under the white sheets I could make out the shape of what was supposed to be me.
Read MoreMy midlife crisis arrived like a midnight locomotive a decade later than expected. I gazed at myself in the mirror and realized it was time to face reality. I looked just like the woman who had given me advice all my life. Make room for Mama!
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