Still Moving
Still Moving

Paris is still in confinement, and I’m still jogging early every morning. Each day, I get a little more daring, moving well beyond my permitted one kilometer from home. I pretend not to notice when a police car cruises past me on a side street. I look straight ahead when it stops by a man walking on the opposite pavement, breathing relief that they pick him, not me. We are only allowed out for one hour a day, and without the correct paperwork to prove our identity, the fines are steep. At worst, we will be thrown in jail.

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Life In the Time of COVIDGuest UserQuarantine, Covid-19, Pandemic, lonelinessComment
Clusterhead
Clusterhead

I spent the morning weed whacking the pathways between my farm vegetable rows. Even in the slightly cooler morning hours, the heat was stifling, so I opted for shorts. Weed whacking done, I looked at myself, covered in dirt and grass clippings, dripping in sweat. I could hardly see my legs. Best not to head back to the house until lunchtime when I could hop in the shower. The tomatoes needed weeding, so I set to work pulling the lamb’s quarters and nutsedge from around the growing tomato vines.

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Mental HealthGuest UserMental Health, chronic pain, self love, kindness Comment
Sphinx
Sphinx

Shapeshifting has been a facet of nearly every human culture, explored in art and literature through the ages. These human-animal entities can be glorious and divine, or sinister and grotesque. Typically, they exist symbolically—either the transformation or the resulting state is significant in some way. My own experience with shapeshifting was more clinically than artistically rendered, and I am still hazy on the message my experience was meant to convey.

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Mental HealthGuest Usermental health, bipolar, Motherhood, life choices Comment
Secrets to the Grave
Secrets to the Grave

Under a dripping canopy of tall oaks, I stumbled around a New Jersey cemetery scanning names engraved on headstones. I knew my father was there somewhere, but exactly where was a mystery. No one from the cemetery had returned my calls, the office was deserted, and there wasn’t a soul in sight to ask. There was nothing to do but start at one end and amble up and down the walkways that snaked through the graves.

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Family SecretsJulia Nusbaumfamily secrets, family, father Comments
Bonds That Didn’t Bind
Bonds That Didn’t Bind

“To tell or not tell?” I have been grappling with this question for years. After looking at it from all angles and analyzing the potential consequences of both options, I have finally concluded that it is best to “tell.” The question has to do with whether I disclose an important family secret, revealed to me by my mother ten years ago, or keep it to myself, which will amount to burying it for good, never to surface again.

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Family SecretsGuest Userfamily secrets, family, grandmother Comment
The Burning Truth
The Burning Truth

As my parents’ only child, I always listened for bits of grown-up news or gossip, especially when they spoke in hushed tones or in “code.” Without siblings to distract me away from the business of the adults, I was often privy to all sorts of dirt. But, whenever I asked a question about something I overheard, my mother shamed me back to childhood with comments like, “Little pitchers have big ears!” or even better, in Italian, “Fatti gli affari tuoi!”

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Family SecretsGuest Userfamily secrets, family, father, motherComment
Dangerous Curves
Dangerous Curves

Dr. Thompson was feeling my breasts. Sitting on the table in his exam room with my gown dropped to my waist, I was embarrassed to have him touch me. I was embarrassed just to be at the appointment. My body developed curves early. In seventh grade, when most girls had flat chests, I wore a C-cup bra and hid in the corner of the locker room to change before and after gym class. By fifteen, my 34D chest was a health concern.

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Coming of AgeGuest Usercoming of age, growing up, girlhoodComment
The Birds and the Sea Monkeys
The Birds and the Sea Monkeys

I learned about menstruation from sea monkeys when I was eight or nine. Since then, I haven’t given my body much thought. Maybe that time in Sicily, when I flew off my bike and skinned my knee and elbow, leaving a scar. Or perhaps when my legs sprouted hair and everyone in the sixth grade shaved before my mom let me. But now that we’re trying to have a baby, it’s all I can think about.

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Period StoriesJulia Nusbaumwomanhood, period stories, pregnancyComment