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.
In fifth grade, for Halloween, I wanted to dress up like my mom.
In fact, I did. But only for show her. It was supposed to be a surprise, because I didn’t want to be a hippie for the third year in a row. I remember sitting on my pink, blue, and green swirled comforter thinking that I wanted to dress up like someone I like. I didn’t want to be just another witch or the fourth kid to have the brilliant idea to be the pink power ranger.
Read MoreYou see, I was born into a system, a family, whose very history is fraught with the most insidious abuses; kept in the secret and in the dark. When you come into a world like that, you lose your power and your voice before you can even walk. Even as I took my first steps and learned my first words, how was I to know that a monster would step out of a closet and snuff out my life before it began?
Read MoreGrowing up I had a love-hate relationship with scars. Well…Not exactly love-hate, more a covetous-content relationship. I desperately wanted a battle wound to proudly display for the world to see and yet I was intensely afraid of any permanent marks.
Read MoreI drove to 40 states during the month of November. I drove so many miles it took two rental cars due to oil change needs. Somehow I managed to finish $1k under my Kickstarter budget (thank you ramen noodles). I met so many people that names and faces began to blur. Thank god I recorded everything.
Read MoreTrigger Warning: Domestic Violence.
I am a survivor of Domestic Violence. Even six months later, it seems surreal typing these words. It’s so easy to naively pretend that it could never happen to you—you’d never miss the red flags, you’d never let anyone treat you like property—but I am here to tell you that is not the case. It can happen to anyone, because abusers are the most charming people you’ve ever met. They’ll sweep you right off your feet, convince you that they have nothing but your best interests at heart, and, in the process, convince everyone close to you that they are “great” for you, too. By the time you realize what is happening, you’ll be so tired of swimming that you’re almost content to drown, because that’s your only way out. You’ll wake up one day and you won’t even recognize yourself anymore. At least, that’s how it happened for me.
Read MoreI made my grandma’s oatmeal cookies on Easter Sunday and they didn’t turn out quite right. I wasn’t patient enough while mixing the ingredients and her handwritten recipe didn’t mention a bake time.
Read MoreLately I’ve been thinking a lot about the intersection of vocation – or what I feel I am called to do, drawn to – and family life. I come from a large extended and loving Midwestern Catholic family. Figuring out what I am to do with my life and how I fit into my family is one part of what I’ve been thinking about. Biology of my female body is another. And here’s why:
Read MoreMy family and I don't always see eye-to-eye, and I don't think we're unique in that. I have the variety of family members that regularly go to church but stay out of politics and social issues in the public space, and I also have family members that never talk about their church community but sure as hell talk about the lack of God in this county. (And by "talk about," I mean that they share memes, quotes, and articles that are kitschy clickbait at their best and downright lies at their worst.)
Read More“It’s because you took birth control,” said my husband’s good friend.
“It’s because you have bitterness in your heart,” said the founder of a women’s magazine.
“It’s because your daughter needs you more,” said a well-meaning acquaintance.
“It’s because I’m not a good enough mother,” said my inner voice.
I wake up each morning with the luxury of a roof over my head, food in my refrigerator, and a shower with warm water. I walk to campus, where I take classes in the departments of English and Women and Gender Studies. I have the good fortune to be studying what I am passionate about, instead of working for a degree that I hate but one that will earn me the most money down the road.
Read MoreThe last time I saw my mother, I received the gift of some powerful clarity about something, and it's something I need reminding of every day.
She saw herself, and thus this world and me, through a filter where all she saw was weight. It truly was ALL SHE SAW when she looked at me. Or at anyone.
Read MoreOnce a year at the place I work we have this training. It starts off like most trainings you’d have at your work. Everyone comes together, complaining that they have better things to do than be here at this. You find your friends and sit together and talk about your day so far. We have an expert come in and talk to us, and then we do some group work on the topic and call it a day. It’s a workplace training that myself and the people I work with are used to. It’s a training for what to do if there an active shooter in my building. My building is an elementary school that is filled with 800 children everyday. The active shooter training is the one we dread the most. We are educators, not police or military. We are experts in reading, and math, not barricading and disarming. Yet, there we are. Learning how to do those very things from some very brave police officers.
Read MoreThis morning, I happened to wake up right when the sun was rising. I slid out of bed, dragged a plastic chair out onto the balcony of my new apartment, and sat and watched the sky fill with light. The crows that hide out on Vanderbilt University’s campus flew past Kirkland Tower and over the buildings of West End. I’ve noticed that these birds are creatures of habit during the time I’ve spent as a student at Vandy. I’ve noticed that they fly the same path in the early morning and again around 5 o’clock. It’s hypnotizing to watch the flock of birds go together, owning the sky.
Read More“When was the last time you remember feeling good?” I stared at the words on the questionnaire, my clusterfuck thoughts couldn’t show an example. I continued through the survey answering with ease, describing symptom after symptom of the problems doctors couldn’t fix. This questionnaire was my last hope.
Read MoreI started dating a guy. He wasn't really good for me, but he wasn't really bad for me either. We were more like friends that happened to be dating, rather than actually in love. We slept together. After a while I panicked that I might be pregnant. It would have been horrible to be pregnant; because I don't know how to raise a child and I don't want to be a mother. And besides that, I like being able to do what I want when I want.
Read MoreI still remember the first time that I became aware of my arms.
I was reading a fashion magazine and an actress was quoted saying that of all her body parts, she was most concerned about her arms and keeping them in shape. It was the first time I realized that arms COULDN’T be in shape, and I wondered how mine fell on the spectrum. I felt disappointed and concerned, wondering if there were other parts of my body that I’d essentially neglected to stress about. I hoped that I’d never find out.
Read MoreI live in a place I like to call the inbetween. I imagine this island, small enough to walk across it in a day. There's a beautiful lake at the center with a small waterfall. It's never too hot or too cold. Sometimes someone is there with me, but mostly I'm alone. This is my island of inbetween.
Read MoreIn August of 1915 my great grandmother was turning 27. She was married, living on a farm in Kansas, and had somewhere around four children (she would go on to have thirteen children when all was said and done). In October of 2015, one hundred years later, I am truing 27. Sometimes I think about my great grandmother’s life, how one hundred years and two month separate us. What kind of thoughts was she having on her birthday in 1915? Was she fulfilled with life? Was she happy? Did she wish she had done things differently—perhaps ended up somewhere else, with someone else? I think of her often, living a parallel life to my own one hundred years apart. And I’m thinking of her this week, as I turn 27 and examine my life so far.
Read MoreHow does one define their life? How do you sum up everything that has happened in the last 20+ years? A friend told me that the best stories are about overcoming obstacles, how one deals with loss and love, and finding the silver linings. I believe that my body art tells my story. I’m proud to say that when I chose to decorate my body with tattoos, I chose from my past experiences to show things that are important to me. Things that have shaped my life.
Read MoreI’m mad.
And whenever I say that, the responses vary from concern for my general well-being/mental health to tone-policing and virtue-beating about how I “shouldn’t be mad.” Because apparently young, intelligent women like myself shouldn’t be angry?
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