I spent $1,000 today and all I got for it was this lousy puncture wound. — Every three or so months, I go in for an injection. The whole thing is a pain in the ass (literally). …

Generalized Anxiety Disorder is so… generalized. — Nowhere is truly safe. It’s just a matter of which kinds of danger you’re willing to put up with. At home? House fires. Like 2,000 Americans experience a house fire each year. That’s not many, you’re thinking. How likely is it to happen to you? Well, it has to happen to someone. Why not me? Home could also be carbon…

No one can be educated, engaged, and effective in every issue under the sun… but that’s exactly what we expect from people. — In the summer of 2020, everyone was talking about Black Lives Matter. There were protests. Donations. Neverending news coverage. Everyone was reading How To Be An Anti-Racist and going out of their way to uplift Black voices on social media. There have been many events that have captured everyone’s attention…

Spandex & tight dresses are making me rethink the whole “gender” thing. — I was jammed in a tiny theatre seat for three hours to see Hamilton. My partner wanted to wear a suit so, naturally, I wore a festive little dress to match. In a way, I was thankful that my spandex and tights were keeping my bare ass from making direct…

How do you know when it’s time to commit? — For the first time in my adult life, I was grappling with the word “boyfriend.” “Boyfriends” were easy back in high school. I didn’t consider issues like “life direction” or “compatibility.” You’re cute, you make me laugh, and you’re willing to talk to me for more than 2 seconds without vomiting? You’re in. That changed when I left Wyoming and discovered Tinder.

The death of a parent, the love, and the loss — Dad’s funeral was beautiful in the way any tragedy is. Bright blue skies with the hazy silhouette of the mountains in the distance. The military chaplain, who spoke passionately about a man he’d never had the chance to meet. …

I’m so afraid of hurting someone. — I used to be a prolific online sharer. I’d share everything. My college grades. Pictures of my pets. Agonizing, highly detailed accounts of my experiences with depression. All of it. Writing online felt less private than a diary but more cathartic. I could get near-instant affirmation and support from an…

Reflections on sticking around, three years later. — It’s been three years. Back then, I was an overworked and overcommitted college student, balancing a full-time course load with a full-time job as a freelance writer. An agency I wrote for was telling their clients I was a “senior writer,” and said I had to present myself as such. The margin for error…

Every neurodivergent voice needs to be heard. — It’s official: I’m neurodivergent. I finally got the medical seal of approval when my therapist agreed to walk through the diagnostic screening for ADHD. I was not surprised when I got a perfect score for “inattentive type.” My diagnosis may be new, but I’ve known I wasn’t neurotypical for a…