Making Mistakes

Mistakes were something other people could make. Mistakes were something that I was to avoid at all costs. But I made them, and every mistake appeared as personal failure.

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Anxiety In An Anxious Age

Anxiety was no longer simply buzzing in my head. Instead, it felt like bees were buzzing in my brain and under my skin. It was a constant hum that I couldn’t escape. Sometimes, it seemed that the bees would burst out of my skin.

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My Anger Remains

I also don’t know how not to be angry or how to push it aside and let it go. And I worry about the costs of my near constant rage. Will it change me into a person I don’t want to be?

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The Costs of Speaking Out

I hate the need to balance the physical and emotional well‐being of my family against an opportunity to educate and inform. I hate that harassment and threats appear expected and commonplace rather than the horrors that they actually are.

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Not Quite Half-Full

My glass gets emptier and emptier by the day. Caution remains, a constant companion. But my optimism has been misplaced. It is harder and harder to find

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