Last time I put my first birth experience into words, I had been sitting at the top of our stairs. It was some time after 5am. I hadn’t slept at all and instead, I was watching the sky change colour through the skylight. I had a pen beside me and an old envelope, I think. The back of it covered with scribbled notes. Read More Birth. Trauma. Rape. Compassion. Healing.
Benjamin Franklin has been quoted as saying that one can measure a culture’s morals by how they treat the dead. Recent weeks have made many people wonder about our culture, our collective conscience, our ability to show compassion. Read More Disrespecting the Dead
Going beyond physical desire, Torchwood‘s second series tackles the big questions of our human identity. What makes us who we are? And if we feel human, does that make us so?
I am a news-follower. I’m that person who flips on CNN or MSNBC the moment “breaking news” happens and stays glued to my television for hours on end, catching up on the latest developments of a breaking news story. I have a hard time disengaging – I continue to watch long past the point of wanting to, even when I need turn off the TV and think of something else for the sake of my own well-being. I find it impossible. Update after update, interview after interview, careless speculation, media spin…some call it Tragedy Porn, and I find that to be an apt description. Even still, I can’t turn away. Read More A Lesson Learned
“Cadeau, madame, cadeau! [Gift, ma’am, gift!]” the small children chimed in chorus, their voices eager as they reached dirty hands out to grab at mine. Read More Being a TCK: Global Nomads
A few weeks ago, I was fuming after reading one of Susan’s fantastic takedowns. I was yelling and swearing, sitting alone at my computer, and it felt good. My anger felt productive, like it was easing some of the helplessness I felt at the subject of Susan’s rant. I felt so certain I was on the good-guy side of the argument; I wore my righteous anger like a suit of armor. Read More Moral Outrage, Righteous Anger and the Enemies of Compassion
[Editor’s note: Trigger warning for frank discussion of sexual violence.]
In less than three months’ time, my son will be five. It will be five years since I gave birth to him. Five years since my husband and I cried with joy as he was laid on my chest. Five years since one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.
Actually, it doesn’t. It just has the answers to last night’s Name That Slogan! and this: Read More This Open Thread Has All The Answers