When my mother became homeless and moved into my one-bedroom apartment.
A piece I wrote a week after my mother passed. Also, forgive me for being late the past couple weeks… I’ve had something weird going on with my throat.
My mother gives me a pep talk when I felt depressed after taking Sudafed, at the same time as an intoxicated man attempts to cross the street.
A conversation about our one unadulterated drop of god.
On the phone with my mother when my son was a toddler.
A story about breaking cycles of dysfunction.
When my ceiling fan almost catches on fire, I receive guidance from my mother.
This piece chronicles a difficult event that took place years ago when I was trying to support my mother who had no other means of support for her mental health than to self-medicate. The piece is also about how our mental health system isn’t always equipped to be there for people who need more support than to be kept alive and medicated, and how in our society, many times, support for oneself has to come from within.
An Old Conversation with my mother when I was pregnant and she didn't know how to retrieve a text message.
“The thing about trauma is that if you don’t get it out and identify it as trauma, you risk continuing to cope with trauma simply because you might not have the sense to recognize that’s what it is.”
A pep talk with my mother when I was feeling hurt from not getting approval from someone.
A piece about how it’s really impossible to judge anyone because it’s impossible to understand the whole story of what’s going on.
This story is about the time my paranoid mother became homeless and took a bus to NYC to be with me. It was published by So to Speak Journal: language + feminism + art where it was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. It can be read there at the link below.
