On a cold November morning halfway through my sophomore year of high school, I was sitting in a hospital examination room feeling an acute sense of relief when a doctor told me I was not allowed to go out for basketball season. I’d lost too much weight to make physical activity viable. This relief was two-fold; I hated basketball, and I’d been diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. My doctor was unimpressed, but something like pride welled up in me. I’d earned something; anorexia nervosa rang in my ears like an accolade. Now others would intervene to take away what I’d fought so hard for, but at least I knew I had the capacity to achieve it.Continue 》
This essay was originally published by the literary journal Rock & Sling in Vox, a special edition issue on the 2016 presidential election. You can get your hands on this issue, as well as the upcoming Vox II: American Identities by visiting their online store.
“You can color in the bubbles for me,” Courtland offered, sliding the ballot across our kitchen table.
I looked at him, horrified. “That’s fraud!”
“Only joking,” he said. “I’ll let you wear the sticker though.” He held up the small white oval stuck to his thumb.Continue 》
It is amazing to me that this article needs to be written, because all of the points I’m about to make seem embarrassingly obvious to me, and will undoubtedly evoke a “yeah, no shit” for any woman or survivor reading this article. But when I step back and consider how our society continues to center and privilege cis white men, it makes complete sense that these concepts might seem foreign to you all.
You may be thinking, “Wow, this woman sounds angry!”
I’ve got news for you—I am.Continue 》
Sometimes, a tragedy is so immense and unfathomable in scope that it becomes a challenge to process what exactly has happened, much less how to move forward. Such seems to be the case for many in the wake of the Las Vegas shooting last week, which claimed 58 lives and injured at least 500 others.Continue 》
Historical amnesia is dangerous. It’s a phenomenon that wreaked havoc in the immediate post-9/11 aftermath and continues to rear its ugly head in the current political climate. Today, we share with you a moving story by native New Yorker and psychology blogger Jessica Taylor on that fateful day sixteen years ago, when she was just seven years old. I think Jessica would agree that it’s important to remember these events not to incite fear and promote divisiveness, but rather to locate them in the larger narrative of history in order to move forward in a fruitful, generative manner—for all willing to contribute to the betterment of this country.
I just checked outside and the sky looks exactly as it did in 2001. Clear skies. Blue. Beautiful. 7 years old. Math lesson was in full effect. Before being sent off to our tables, the building shook and swayed, lights flickering quickly. Next thing I know, my dad is in the doorway of my classroom. Very confused, nobody told me I had a doctor’s appointment that day. Normally that’s what an early pickup means, right? Wrong. Paps was sweating. Nothing new. Frantic with fear gobbling up his eyes? Of course like most children being able to pick up feelings, and out of sheer curiosity, we begin to question everything in existence.Continue 》
Lilia is a former college cross-country runner from Tennessee. The following was originally published as a Facebook post on her personal page. The post has been reformatted and edited for publication on this site.
I wish I could watch the Olympics all year, every year, not only because it’s the only time I can see the sports I grew up training for on TV, but because of moments like this one.Continue 》
Talk is cheap. If we want change, we have to do something about it. Something substantive. Something that doesn’t co-opt the cause for our own benefit, even if it is unintentional. Something that doesn’t obscure the very reason why we fight but instead shines a light on the issues. Something that can be of help for those who need it the most. Here are some starting points…Continue 》