titles

The following is a running list of essay titles in my notes app. Some will look familiar; others I cannot touch. Not yet.

They tend to come at me in stolen moments. While my son naps in the car, while I’m hiding under the couch playing toy cranes. I’m turning lines into rhymes so I don’t forget.

I’ve first jotted these down on band-aid wrappers and grocery receipts spilling from my bag, sent them as voice notes to myself, and scribbled them in between conversations with my four-year-old, leaning over the counter eating a shitty energy bar while he tells me about the astroid belt. Jotted in precious limbo, over and over just to stay alive. Just to keep from forgetting. Just to be witnessed.

Years of titles, names of my work, who I am - reduced to an app on a screen that fits in my palm. If I get to write this book, if I can unlock the words eroding in my blood and bones, these will be the pillars.

I don’t know how to do this, so I continue to write on stolen time. Desperate to bottle a glance beyond the veil - weaving light between the mess and magic of motherhood.

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TITLES

Doing my best (and it’s still not good enough)

Researching the disease vs what other people say about the disease vs our experience with the disease

No one cares about my kid like I do

Are you medical?

I hate playgrounds

How to lose a marriage

Anxiety, you c**t

Hunting (for a diagnosis)

Is it seizures?

I’m the problem

He looks so normal

When your rock sinks

I didn’t fantasize about motherhood

Table for three

Flavors of Depression

Club I didn’t want to belong to

We had a baby and then we disappeared

If you know, you fucking know

Burning holes in the tape

A guide to supporting your friends with rare children

Everyone I know is pregnant

Mothers are made of steel and stardust

The third identity

Brain on fire

Time out (not just for you, for me too).

There are so many moments we don’t get

I wish I could give you my teeth

We were undeniable