Already an Archivist
“It’s just a hobby.” She utters the word by default. Someone notices the paintings stacked in the corner, the photographs pinned to…
Who we are across time, through change, and in the face of loss.
“It’s just a hobby.” She utters the word by default. Someone notices the paintings stacked in the corner, the photographs pinned to…
Hot stones. That is the only way I can think to describe it. A burning that settles at the base of your…
The camera comes out even before the feeling does. Before grief has settled into the body, it is already a caption. Before…
She cannot remember the last time she laughed like that. The kind of laughter that starts somewhere you can’t control and takes…
She is still here. You can find her if you search. The woman you were six months ago, a year ago, before…
The notebook on her bedside table wasn’t fancy and leather-bound. It was a composition book. The kind you buy at a drugstore….
There is a box somewhere in most women’s lives. Sometimes it’s an actual cardboard box, pushed to the back of a closet,…
Your story is not a luxury. It isn’t something to save for when life slows down. In this moment, when so many…
This post is part of From Unravelling to Weaving: My Journey to Recollections Within, a foundational five-part series following my personal path…
This post is part of From Unravelling to Weaving: My Journey to Recollections Within, a foundational five-part series following my personal path…