Raising Mothers published a piece I wrote exploring my choices about speaking Arabic in a racially charged society. I wrote this piece because it crunches my heart. It’s publication came in time with an Islamophobic attack on a friend of mine right here in my town which is to say, it may seem like things have calmed down when it comes to open-faced aggression against Muslims and Arabs. It hasn’t. It has just slid under the cover of normalcy. I hope you’ll head over and read the rest of my story. Maybe
It’s fun being a Huffington Post blogger. Some of my pieces are gaining new readership. And quite a few of you are new around here. There’s a good chance you haven’t seen this piece on Seasonal Affective Disorder before. I hope you’ll go take a gander and maybe say hi and hit “share.”
It’s always a little scary to write about my journey with mental illness. Stigma Fighters invited me to write a piece for them after reading my description of what anxiety feels like. I have long enjoyed Stigma Fighters and the work they do, so I was happy to put a piece together. I hope this resonates with some of you. A big part of ending stigma is discovering we are not alone. I’m anxious all over. You can’t know me without seeing it. You don’t really need to know me to see
I’m in the midst of surgical anniversaries, body traumas I have not been able to write, harm done to me by those I have loved without reservation, and pain I am still struggling to shed. It hurts, this space. But it is also a growing space.
I just discovered that I never shared this byline here! I recently covered the wedding of my friends Rebeka Lee and Jenna Proffit for the amazing site Equally Wed. I was inspired to write about this wedding because it happened immediately following RFRA passing in Indiana. Jenna pedaled on stating, “Love always wins.” I am so proud to have my voice and support included on this amazing site catering to LGBTQ couples. I hope you’ll head over and have a read. The piece is brief, and the photography is done by
It is deeply rewarding to announce you can now find my work in the incredible April collection ART SAVES LIVES INTERNATIONAL (ASLI) has curated. In addition to my short story, “Right Kind of Woman,” ASLI has published an interview with me on my writing, my work and being a woman in today’s world. In it, I am very honest. It took me a long while to compose my answers because ASLI is an organization devoted to my greatest passion: improving lives through the various mediums of art. Every day I write
I can’t tell you how excited I am to have my work included in the empowering collection Jennifer Pastilloff has put together on The Manifest-Station. The voices there are compelling, brave and unerringly honest. To have my work accepted is a BFG (big freakin’ deal), especially considering this letter is a list–a form not often selected. It is incredibly rewarding to find my piece in such a far-reaching forum. I hope you’ll hop on over and read. “The Letter No One Wrote My Mother” is the piece that brought me
The last few days have been a whirlwind of excitement for me with regards to writing. I have dreamt of growing my career as a writer and teacher for the last ten years. Children and illness paused that growth, but I never let go of the dream. My family recently took a seven state, seven day vacation. My husband prefers to do the driving, which left me free to absorb the visual wonder of this country as we passed through. It is probably good that I drove little. We travelled south.
I was solicited by wherever mag to write a piece for their web publication addressing my experience with place and Lebanon. I agreed. This piece is for everyone who knows how difficult it is to exist in the between spaces, and for those who have yet to find out. You will find an excerpt of and link to my published piece, Wishing for Home in Lebanon, below. “This visit to Lebanon was my second. The summer before, I had travelled with my parents. My father, returned to his native country,
When I was 16, I started letting people believe that I was white. In 1996, my family relocated upward from the Bible Belt. We moved from the southwest corner of Arkansas to the Midwest. At sixteen, I experienced a new definition of self — which, for me, meant shedding my ethnic heritage and the abuse that came with it. My coming of age was more than an exit from youthful innocence. It was an escape. Read more of “Why I Passed For White” in Medium’s The Archipelago.