Unsilenced Woman

My vulnerability in breastfeeding boys after abuse

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I will be breastfeeding a boy again.

This was one of the first thoughts that popped into my mind after learning that I was pregnant with a second boy. 

All of a sudden a different feeling occupied my body when I imagined nursing a son rather than a daughter. It was almost imperceptible, like the needle on a scale jumping side to side before settling on the right number. If I had looked away from it quickly, I could have ignored it. I could logically make my feelings land on the spot that I knew to be true: Nursing any infant–male or female–is a natural process. And a baby doesn’t know its sex or gender. I will nourish and love this baby no matter its sex. [Read more…]

In search of sexual liberation and embodied desire

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I don’t do Valentine’s sex. I don’t do birthday sex. Sometimes I don’t even do anniversary sex.

I don’t give my body as a gift. I don’t give my body as consolation. I don’t give my body as apology. I don’t give my body as “thank you”. I don’t give my body as “leave me alone”. I don’t give my body as “you’ve waited long enough”. [Read more…]

Where the president followed me

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Last October as the presidential election approached, I was on a mountain vacation with my husband and four-month-old son. We watched our  child roll over for the first time in front of the fireplace. He was squishy like the moss that grew around the house. He lay on his back, where his hands squeezed the deep pile moss, and his feet crunched the fallen leaves with every kick. 

It was a relaxing getaway to one of my favorite places in the world, but there was one thing that wasn’t right: I could hardly do anything without Donald Trump’s face or voice popping up in my head. Just the thought of him made me feel sick. And along with him came memories of some of the worst moments of my life because he reminded me so much of men who had hurt me. [Read more…]

The worst of men who find us

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When I was a little girl, I felt light, I felt free. I ran through the woods with my wild curly hair swinging around me and my conch shell tied to a leather strap from my neck. I blew it ceremoniously when I came across a sight that delighted me or when I encountered a dead animal that needed a witness to its passing. I choreographed dances and slid across the wood floors in my house. I scrunched my nose and smiled. I twinkled. [Read more…]

A letter to my white son

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To my white son born in Mississippi,

You are a wonder. No one else in the world has ever been made just like you. And no one ever will be again. You are a child of God. You deserve opportunity. You deserve freedom.

I want you to know how deeply I believe in your goodness before I say everything that comes next. [Read more…]

Do I love my baby enough? : Doubts and knowings

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My first Mother’s Day with a child in the world was a glorious day of sunshine and picnic food and blanket naps and grass crawling. It was one of those days when I felt the vibrations of motherhood powering me like a golden light within. All felt right. 

I thought, “Blessed be. Bless this child and the way he made me a mother. For some reason I was chosen for this job when others who long for it and breathe it and cry it are waiting to have a little of what I have this morning: A complex layering of skin and muscle and bones, with a beating heart and eyes that smile and a mouth that tugs at my breast. Even the teeth that sometimes feel like a cheese grater on my nipples. They would gladly have those teeth. This. This is wondrous life.” [Read more…]