Living

“We’re doing the Boob Circle.”  The news would be passed around in whispers, head nods, and gestures. Even if we were expected on stage in 30 minutes, this simple command stopped any and all last-minute wig fixes or dress zipping.

I have never not had an opinion on something. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt like I actually feel more than other people: heartbreak, more deeply; boredom, more fully; my takes red-hot and blistering…

I started journaling as soon as I developed both the fine motor skills to hold a crayon as a toddler and the ability to shakily write my ABCs just before kindergarten. I’m self-reflective and analytical to a fault, but after 15 years of putting my thoughts to paper, I somehow still don’t have journaling—something that’s (allegedly) an incredible and meditative tool—figured out…

It is Halloween, and I am six years old. Mrs. Dufault turns the lights out and starts the projector. I sit ensconced in darkness as she opens YouTube and pulls up a song about the human body. A fleet of animated skeletons begins dancing on the screen. Dem bones, dem bones, dem dancing bones doin’ the skeleton dance…

It was all swingsets with friends and watching Hannah Montana on VHS tapes. It was shrieking on playgrounds and switching schools again and again and again. It was loving classrooms more than the apartment my family shared. It was recess with teachers, and wearing a bright purple leopard print outfit on the first day of third grade because of an obsession with the eighties.

For as long as I can remember, I lived with a soundtrack in my ears. My headphones were glued to my eardrums from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep, blocking out unwanted thoughts and spiraling obsessions I wasn’t ready to face. At the heart of my need for constant noise lied…

I was 16 and fresh meat when I got my first job at a burger joint. As inexperienced as I was, I didn’t think twice when it came to ignoring my mom’s advice: Always say “You’re welcome” and never “No problem…”

I couldn’t find him after the scandal, since the woman he married went dark online, and he eventually left the high school. Nothing happened back then, but nothing could’ve…

Is imposter syndrome just a new-fangled word for what most women have been going through for ages? While I don’t believe only women suffer from it, navigating the world of self-doubt is an all-too-familiar journey for many, including myself. For those who have not gone down this rabbit hole on TikTok yet, the term “imposter syndrome” encapsulates the feelings of inadequacy that often cling to our successes like shadows. Despite our achievements, we sometimes find ourselves questioning our worth.