I notice which cereal my daughter ate for breakfast, by her sweet breath in my face an hour later. I notice if my husband drank a coffee between his teas at work when he kisses me good night. I notice who walked through my house, as I sniff entering the front door. I notice objects moved centimetres, blankets refolded, cushions depressed. I notice new fingerprints on windows, splashes behind sinks, and whether the heating has been on that day. My…
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What Do You Do?
Read moreI never knew what I wanted to do, for work, as a grown-up, or with life in general. My mum stopped work when she had me, and never returned. She’s given my dad some typing support for his work, volunteered, and helped out in the classroom when we were younger. As befell a lot of women of her generation, career options were limited. She left school and went to Secretarial College, then worked as a secretary in London, and other…
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Being Vulnerable With My Body
Read moreFor many, being vulnerable with their body means styling it in novel ways or exposing it to others. Taking a chance on new fashions, or feeling vulnerable with our flesh under the gaze of others. But to me, being vulnerable with my body means the slow unravelling of conditioning, of the voices of others that have permeated my skin, which I now choose to wash out. It’s stepping into an unexplored frontier, with few guides and many voices of doubt.…