HerStry publishes one Personal Essay every Wednesday. Weekly Personal Essays are a way for writers to tell the stories they want to tell. There are no rules. No themes. Nothing is off limits. For essay submissions check out our guidelines.
When I was eight years old, many decades ago now, I learned there were different kinds of dirty. We were new to the mountains, my family and I, renting a cabin at a small, rustic resort where the ghost town of Bakerville used to be, near Loveland Pass. Down the creek a ways, lived an old man we called Pops. At least we thought of him as old, with his pudgy frame, poorly shaved face, saggy skin, and well-worn clothes.
Read MoreIt should be illegal to have floppy hair as an eighteen-year-old boy and own a guitar. It can be a violent combination to gaze upon when you’re a girl—add to that a pair of scuffed-up Converses? Forget it, you’re dead on sight. This vision was served up to me like dessert at dusk one day while sitting on the roof of a car, and my life was just about ruined.
Read MoreLike many eccentric children, I had often wished I could be afflicted with some kind of physical ailment, imperfection or secret status—something that would make me unique and special.
Read MoreDear Catherine,
You are a girl. You’re proud of that. You’ve always loved attention, whether your modesty shows or not. You love showing off your talents, presenting yourself well, feeling beautiful, and having friends and family around to support you. As you get older, you will find things start to change.
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