Poverty-related trauma isn’t nice or fun or quirky. When people think being poor is just a quirky thing you do, it creates a narrative where you are poor because of your own personal failures and not because of circumstances out of your control.
Tag: trauma Page 1 of 7
The screaming woke me up. It took several moments for me to determine the screaming was coming from inside my head. It happens. It is part of my trauma. It is part of a flashback. It gets worse, like everything else in October.
It has been a harrowing nine months since my mother was in a head-on collision. Our lives were forever changed on July 15, 2024. Today, her suffering is over.
Sewing room at Gram’s house.
Content warning: This triptych contains content that may be distressing for some individuals.
Mrs. Blustein, my fifth grade teacher, brought a lady in to speak with us about politics. It was an election year and she was running for a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives. She didn’t have to come and speak to a bunch of 11 year olds, but I was glad that she did because I found it fascinating. We were learning about how politics work and here was a lady willing to explain all to us and answer our most idiotic questions. It was 1982 and that visit set me on a path of becoming aware of what was going on in the world and how I might actually be able to help effect change.
Yesterday, I went to pick up my ballot to vote early in the 2024 election. Waiting in lines is difficult, so it’s been beneficial that I can pick up my ballot and take it home, where I can calmly spend time choosing a candidate or picking a for/against and retain/repeal issue.
The pope says that if you are pro-choice you are a person who kills children. The pope forgets that his church is responsible for the murder of babies and molestation of children. The pope seems to forget about the Magdalene Laundries and should mind his thoughts before he opens his mouth to accuse others of what his church is guilty of. The nuns allowed babies to be neglected and they subsequently died of abuse, disease, and/or starvation. Their tiny bodies were tossed into a septic tank where nuns shit on the remnants of 800 souls who were never given a chance at life.
My cousin, Kaylie, never calls me on the phone. When my phone rang on Monday, July 15, I didn’t want to pick up the phone. I did because I knew I had to.
“Hi, Kaylie.”
“Did anyone call you yet?”
“No. What about?”
“Garget has been in a car accident.”
