by Kim Jorgensen Gane I wrote “Trigger Warning: Mothering Boys” months before the news of the Stanford rapist’s sentence infiltrated every social media platform, and rightly so. These were my words, my truth. I wrestled with them. I worked with Shawna to make better sense of them. To be clear. To find the love in the experience and be able to express that, too. I read the words before a live audience. My dad was in the audience. My mom was. My brother left before I read my piece. We

FacebookTwitterGoogle+PinterestStumbleUponRedditWordPressShare

A member of the #LinkYourLife community is hurting and has asked for help. No doubt someone among us is hurting and is afraid to ask for help. Let’s team up and link up and blow away that hurt and fear using that power of community and compassion.  You wrote deep and you were exposed. What did it feel like when readers/viewers/listeners witnessed your work? What did it feel like when they challenged your experience? We have all been hurt. Write the hurt. We’ve all had a moment of regret. Write

There are two years of my life I don’t remember. They say your mind protects you when you are the most vulnerable, refusing to form memories. These two years occurred when another family was staying with us. The mother was abusive. I have two very strong memories from that period–one of which was being protected by my sibling from this woman when she was trying to beat me. I once worked with a therapist to repattern some memories. We travelled through my subconcious to the places I was stuck in

by Shareen Mansfield True story: I’m divine. Shawna, I prefer calling you Spock because I always spell Shawarama when I type your name. I’m hungry. Anyway, so Drew Sheldon is the winner. I used a scientific method that I made up to choose him. I went to the mall for Auntie Anne’s Pretzels. I know…gluten. So, I knew you’d mention the gluten so I decided to get jelly beans. I wanted exactly $100 of jelly beans. Why? Who cares. They are Jelly Belly’s. I’m committed to this as part of

I sing in jazz clubs under the name Shadia. My following saw a swell in my mid-twenties. My voice has always been husky and a bit low. I love singing under dim lights to live music. I love having a secret life, somewhere I can go when parenting becomes too much. When I’m tired of the sun or the rain or the busy-making of today’s “music.” What I like about performing is that I’m seen, but I’m also part of the background. My voice is a prop for falling in

We ordered the firewood a year and a half ago. My neighbor has tried to buy it twice since. He has a fireplace insert that keeps his home considerably warmer than ours in Winter. He sends me text messages asking after the wood. I tell him no. What I want to do is step out on my porch and re-stack it. I want it tidy and under my office window against the brick of the house so that when the snow comes again, and it will, the wood is free

I sat at the table picking bits of ground lamb and tomato off the “pizza” on my plate. It was a quiet evening two weeks into my 2002 trip to Lebanon. The heat was oppressive. I wasn’t hungry. I also wasn’t thinking. My aunt’s eyes were discs when I looked up. She whispered my name in high-noted horror. I quickly withdrew my hands, embarrassed to be caught playing with my food at age 22. I cleaned my fingers with a napkin and folded the sfiha in half, taking my aunt’s

Possible triggers: scars, body horror, disordered eating and poor medical care The body remembers. These last two months have been filled with me running a body-memory obstacle course. I have struggled with depersonalization, derealization, disordered eating and body horror. My conscious forgets all that I have been through, but my body reminds me at every anniversary. Almost four years ago I had a tumor removed from my left orbital bone. I woke up to my own voice crying for my three-month-old daughter. She was placed in my arms briefly. My

Eight years ago on this day, my second child was born. Since, Gabriel has shown himself to be independent, empathetic, intelligent, compassionate and endlessly, energetically curious. His birth was a whirlwind. He exited too quickly, fracturing my pelvis and failing to be squished enough by contractions to have the water forced from his lungs. The doctor and nurses whisked him away from me. We spent the next three days observing his breathing, me in intense pain and full of post-partum hormones and fear. It eventually turned into depression. That isn’t

Building Open Thought Vortex has been a labor of love with Shareen Mansfield. This year, “Jesus Would Have Let Me Cry On His Shoulder” by Juliana Marcelle Crespo was Freshly Pressed by WordPress, meaning it was picked and publicized as a top read globally across WordPress sites. In what we have learned is quite rare, OTV has been selected as a WordPress site to Discover in the same year–the first year of our publication. This is no small potatoes news for us. OTV is self-funded by Shareen. Together we work

1 2 3 29 Page 1 of 29

Latest Stories

Search stories by typing keyword and hit enter to begin searching.