On Miscarriage
By the time I had written the thank-you cards to our wedding guests, I was pregnant. Then my womb was empty again.
By the time I had written the thank-you cards to our wedding guests, I was pregnant. Then my womb was empty again.
He flew to Europe to pick me up. I had already crossed it alone. From Paris to Portugal, a month apart collapsed the space between us again.
Some women aren’t just born. They’re summoned across bloodlines and time to complete what another woman began.
I got a Eurorail ticket to leave the man who would become my husband now. He flew me to Europe, bought me walking boots, put me on the train. Twenty years and three daughters later, I still return.
Before they could walk, they already knew what blood meant. Because we never hid it. We never locked the door.
Patriarchy trains women to serve men’s arousal. In mammal nature, males supply semen when the female needs it. Females allow and receive.
Grief isn’t performance. It’s breath that doesn’t fill. A reflection on Diane Keaton, loss, and saying it while they’re still alive.
Some nights you don’t have to hold it all. Some nights you’re simply held.
Lessons from a wife who forgot she was seen.
Plain language on oxytocin prolactin and dopamine in placement. How timing and repetition at release create calm in your body and presence in him.
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