I Was Brave, I Resisted, I Set Myself on Fire

I had my first panic attack in the first grade, when my teacher returned my paper with “See Me” written in red ink. Getting a “See Me” meant lining up by the teacher’s desk and waiting to talk to her privately … in front of everyone. I’d always had “Excellent” on my papers before, and I thought a “See Me” meant that I’d screwed up. At six years old, I couldn’t handle that. When I walked to the front of the room, my breath came in short, fast gulps. …
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On Caregiving and Paradox: Growing Up to Be a Kid Again

"When I grow up, I want to be ... a kid again!" So proclaimed a t-shirt of a friend (and Vassar College housemate) of mine. I remembered it recently because of what I've been learning: that being a real grown-up means embracing the part of oneself that is -- and always will be -- a child. Over the last two weeks, my husband and I have been on an extended 'moving tour'. We relocated from DC to Alabama, but instead of settling into our new (old) house right away, we dropped off our furniture and continued on. Moving had its ...
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