I’m incredibly open about my past, which was basically 24 years of constant trauma. (The last six have seen their trauma, but nowhere near the first two and a half decades of the hellscape I called home.) So fun! It’s a huge part of my life and led to my career in social justice and writing and depression (kidding?). If I could separate me the person from me the traumatized, I fucking would. But I can’t. It is ever present. A character in my story. It comes up. In my stories and especially in my humor. If you don’t like dark humor at my own expense… I’m probably not for you. To be in my life is to have some familiarity with my trauma. Don’t confuse that with bonding or asking others to take it on. I’ll carry that weight; I’ve got this; it’s not new. My pain is a familiar companion.
My trauma solidified my existence as a raging intersectional feminist in search of knowledge.
When a new person starts to enter my life in a non-surface relationship, I tend to give the ten minute run down. Friends, dating, whatever. The rundown will happen sooner rather than later.
I am not trauma bonding.
Sharing the events that made me is as necessary as where I’m from and who my siblings are. I am a writer who specializes in memoir work. One of the biggest reasons I give the rundown is because I want a person to find out from me what happened to me. It’s a heads up. A hey, I’m okay. I don’t want them to find out all the really violent and awful things that were my daily life through an Instagram post, an article on Medium, through my blog, on Facebook, or worse a 280 character tweet. I’m not about to do that to a person cause that just feels shitty to me. I wouldn’t want to find out someone I care about even a teensy bit was gang raped at nineteen. I want people to know I’m okay; I’m not a sploot on the surface of the Earth. I’m a broken, thriving human.
I am not trauma bonding.
My story opens the door for people to tell me their own stories. Or not. It’s up to them. I’m not trying to have a good cathartic cry and feel my feelings with someone. No one gets that. Tears and devastation are left for solo road trips and hot showers. I’m not looking to be raw and open. I’m looking to change the world, even if it’s just in small ways. My story is not new, but it has had an impact on people’s lives; helped them find their own voice; not feel so alone; know someone somewhere sees their pain and cares. My story is in the world because I want to end the stigma for survivors, for those who did not survive, for those who have yet to survive. Maybe my story will stop someone from going too far and creating another survivor. I don’t know. Do we ever really know the impact of our existence in the world? All I know is that I have a voice. I have a past. I will use my voice to do as much good in the world as I can.
I can be broken and strong, femme and capable, vulnerable and resilient, traumatized and healthy.
I am not trauma bonding.
I am simply preparing people for what the reality of being in my life is. To stand by my side in any significant capacity is to bear witness to pain that was, is, and will be. Though the events of my past are solidly in my past, the consequences and pain are ever evolving. I’m constantly reconciling and healing. Honestly, I’m also testing the waters to see if this new person can handle it. Out of sheer self-preservation, I’m not going to let myself become emotionally involved with someone who will flee when the hard stories start coming up. Let alone if they invest a lot of time and get to the point where they may see the consequences of another’s actions in the form of my anxiety, PTSD, depression, and OCD. The truth is, I am a bit of a mess. My life and mental health is really in a good place considering, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have bad days. I want to know I can potentially show a side of me that is not completely together and capable. I don’t want to hide integral pieces of myself. Fuck, I’m not going to stop writing, talking, and fighting for change because someone is uncomfortable with my past; I’ve been there too many times to do it again. I take pen to paper, fingers to keys, putting that pain on display for the world to see and hopefully feel. This is my job. This is my purpose.
I am not trauma bonding.
Silence was my protector for so long. I refuse to be silent. I refuse to be a well behaved woman. I am strong. I am broken. I am clumsy. I am kind. I am funny. I am sad. I like to think I’m smart. I am multitudes. But I am traumatized. I am not asking a single person to take that trauma on. It is just a story among many stories of my life.
I love dogs. I have six rescue babies to prove it. It’s a lot; I’m aware. Cathy, the founder and CEO of Brindle Market, and I connected over Instagram a little while back, and I quickly became obsessed with her shop and story. I’m actually living in the Do No Harm tshirt as I write this. I asked her a whole bunch of questions, and she answered them so thoroughly, which makes writer-me very, very happy. So let’s talk about Cathy!
I had to get my own street dog a sparkly cape! | Sweatshirt
With years of volunteering in animal rescues and focusing on at-risk animals, Cathy began dreaming of creating a business that would bring awareness to and benefit the community. Based in California’s Bay Area, Brindle Market came into existence in 2016. Named for the blending colored fur pattern, she has created her own blend of fashion, small business, and animal rescue by donating 10% of proceeds to animal rescues to be a part of the solution. She’s creating beautiful, wearable pieces that advocate for animal rights. I can personally attest, they are very comfy!
An animal mama, Cathy shares her home with Meeka, Sadie, and Tucky. Meeka, the kitty, joined her family after getting lost in a neighbor’s attic during repairs. After two weeks of mysterious meowing, Cathy rushed to the vet before keeping her furever. Sadie, a small terrier mix, darted in front of Cathy’s car begging to be caught. When her original owners failed to respond to messages and a short stay at the local animal shelter, Sadie joined the family. Tucky, a tuxedo cat, was a neonatal orphan kitten foster fail. Some things are just meant to be, and our hearts know it.
Animals have been a huge part of Cathy’s life. Her first rescue dog, Katie, came into her life at thirteen. A year out of college, Bella, a pit mix, became a part of her family. The relationship came with reactivity challenges and training classes, but—like every good dog parent knows—with love, time, and lots of training most things can be turned around. It was also a lesson in breed discrimination in culture and legislation; as well as, a learning curve of how every dog has different needs. Bella was the catalyst for Cathy’s path as a pitbull advocate and her life with rescues.
You know what would be cute for Christmas? This t-shirt.
Between the pandemic, chronic illness, and disability, Brindle Market transitioned into an online-only business in 2020. The transition was not always simple. Cathy took control of a difficult personal and global situation to continue creating and bringing good into the world. Expanding her team to include a social media manager, blog writer, photographer, and affiliate program, she has been able to expand, reaching new partners to sustain her family and business in the face of illness and global economic upheaval.
In 2022, she will be integrating owner and pet wellness elements to Brindle Market. Continuing the theme of blending life with passion, she is leaning into lessons she has learned on her health journey. This inclusion also allows for positivity in the face of adversity and embracing all the moments we cherish with our pets. She is determined to continue Brindle Market and give back to the animal rescue community, having donated more than $11,500 and counting.
I’m so honored Cathy felt comfortable enough opening up about her personal struggles with illness and disability along with the steps she’s taken to keep her amazing business going. As a chronically ill, freelancing, dog mom trying to make it in a mid-pandemic world, I can empathize with the struggle. She’s doing amazing things for the community and the world! So please go check out the website, support a small business, be a part of changing a rescue baby’s life, and also Christmas is coming up so go nuts!
Visit and Shop Brindle Market https://brindlemarket.com/
Worth has always been a concept I struggle with. Showing up and bolstering friends through their self worth journeys is easy. I can see how worthy they are of every amazing thing life has to offer. Applied to myself. No. Maybe there’s an alternate reality where I don’t struggle with mental health issues. We’re obviously not in that one.
Baring it all is easier physically than emotionally, but I wouldn’t be a very good writer if I didn’t try.
Existing in the world, all I want is to make every single person I come into contact with feel seen and respected, worthy of dignity, even if it’s for the briefest moment in passing on the street or the internet. If I let people come into my life, I love them so hard and show it in every way I physically and emotionally can. I will give until there is nothing to give. Part of this is genuinely who I am. The other part is because I don’t want anyone to feel the way I feel all the time.
Worth was not instilled in me, ever. If anything it has been actively undermined for as long as I can remember. The only worth placed on me was in my body, my face, my aesthetic, but I’m thirty and have officially reached my expiration date.
I came into adulthood having only been treated like an object to be used, abused, possessed, fought over, shared, showed off. Trotted out like a trick pony with an impressive resume. Fuck, did I work hard for that resume. I was a very impressive high school student, but it’s all shit from there.
Throughout childhood and adolescence, my existence was a reflection of my mother (I can’t include my father because he didn’t take part, he didn’t stop it if he even noticed, but he was not like this). If I was anything less than exceptionally perfect, my existence was ignored, and I was quite literally locked in my bedroom until I could come out and be exactly what was expected. It wasn’t about teaching manners or behavior. It was about complete control, policing my identity, mind, opinions, and existence into a tight box meant to glorify her impeccable parenting and public/self image.
The first time I heard ‘I love you’ from someone who wasn’t saying it to a carefully curated version of myself was the first time I was raped. The physical, psychological, and sexual abuse was constant and inescapable for two years. He shared me with his friends because I was just such a good lay. There was no escape at home. There was no escape at school; I was so isolated, I had no friends. I had no one I could trust, let alone to protect me.
At twenty, I finally escaped my parental control for the roomier box of sex work. Stripping was a means to an end, a way to pay for college and not be homeless. It gave me the freedom to explore my sense of self and learn to reclaim the selves that had been stripped away by my parents and my rapists. It simultaneously served as empowerment and solidified my existence as deserving of abuse, possession, and gratification to others. I can’t speak to stripping today or outside of my bubble and experience, but it was rough. To survive and succeed, being tough and a bitch was the only way to make it through. And I did it sober without dropping out of college or giving up a single major.
I say my romantic relationships have been wonderful and healthy, but that’s not the whole truth. That’s the version of the truth I wish existed. They are wonderful men. They did their best under remarkable circumstances, but my relationships have never been healthy. Not perpetually toxic, but there was toxicity. Some stood firmly on the boundary between toxic and abuse, though that was never their intention, the line became very blurry at times. The problems were abundant and varied, but the fault was usually placed at my feet. I’m no innocent, but it took me a long time to accept that a majority of the blame was not mine to apologize for.
I am the partner people search out when they want to be fixed or at least have a hand to hold while the fixing happens. Platonic and romantic alike, I am the support: emotional, financial, physical. I show up consistently as the same person without wavering or asking something in return. Leaving the person and the place better than when I arrived. I give everything I have emotionally and physically because if I have it and someone else needs it, it is now theirs. I cannot be disappointed or hurt if there are no expectations of receiving anything at all. I’m the embodiment of “I’m just happy to be thought of.” Not even included. Thought of.
I want someone to love me and see me as I am. Just me. I want me to be enough for once.
My worth was always in my body. Never my mind, and I am acutely aware people do not look at me and think: smart. They will get to know me and still not think, ‘Hey, she’s intelligent.’ Fine, but I will be valued for more than the appearance of my body, so I compensated. I took on all the love languages and those that do not have names. I give them out as if they are as plentiful as air. I created a self worth contingent on the things I could offer.
When everything in my life has always been treated as transactional, it’s hard not to internalize that. I started using my body, my time, my capabilities as currency to buy a shred of importance in the eyes of someone I care for. If I wanted love, I had to be a certain thing. If I wanted to not get raped, I had to do certain things. If I wanted to avoid a punch, I had to tread carefully. If I wanted the barest minimum of respect, I had to go above and beyond to be and provide perfection. Unproductive days where I put my work or, God forbid, my own mental health first, letting the house go messy; not making dinner; leaving a pile of laundry unfolded; not reorganizing the pantry for the seventeenth time while managing to care for the necessities of surviving and working two full-time jobs is shrouded in a thick layer of guilt because I’m not doing enough. If there is something to be done or a feeling out of place, I have not done enough and my worth is nonexistent.
The problem is, transactional worth based on what I can do and give people is still objectification. It is still a lack of worth. My value is still rooted in possession, neglect, usefulness, and just a new trotting of the trick pony. I did this to myself. I needed to feel like I was worth something other than another beautiful body decorating the world. I grounded my worth in what I could provide to others, but no one stopped me. No one told me I’m worth anything just as I am. No one told me I could sit in silence without makeup on in sweatpants and still deserve dignity, autonomy, the right to exist, love.
Internally, if I’m not giving everything I have all of the time, I feel like I deserve to be abused, raped, neglected, and unloved. Do not construe this with searching out those actions, I have spent my life avoiding them. But when people or partners treat me poorly, I feel like I deserve it. I don’t blame them. For more than two-thirds of my life, the world taught me I existed to be abused. A human punching bag. A vessel for sexual gratification. A lump of clay to be molded into whatever novelty the day and moment required. If I wasn’t perfect, I didn’t deserve anything at all. Even if I was perfection, abuse and rape were just around the corner. So much of who I am is firmly based in trying to scrounge for any infinitesimal amount of love I can get whether it’s love for me or an idea of me because at least I’m being thought of. I desperately want to love and be loved as I am. I want to be seen and respected. I want to exist without fear.
I have spent my life alone surrounded by people who have shown me I can’t trust them entirely. I still feel so utterly alone. The battle to reclaim two and a half decades of a life stolen from me is exhausting. I’m doing it alone. At this point, it feels like there is too much to tell, too much to show, too much to explain, too much to defend to let someone else be with me. It feels like an unnecessary burden to ask anyone to take on even if all they’re taking on is bearing witness.
Thirty is still young, but I have lived a somewhat extraordinarily full life. Not full in the ways I once hoped it would be, but they have been experiences nonetheless. A shell with not a lot left to give. I feel like I’m too old, too bitter, too used, too mediocre to be loved, let alone valued.
Cuffing season is upon us. If you don’t know what that is: the season people search out a partner for the long or short term to cuddle up with through the cold months and/or celebrate the holidays with; beginning in October and lasting until after Valentine’s Day.
As all the beautiful people in the world are coupling up, I’m reminded of one of the possible and inevitable endings every couple faces: the end. Every. Relationship. Ends. Some with a breakup. Others with death… We call these the lucky ones because they lasted. Either way, every relationship ends and is often partnered with heartbreak. Happy holidays! Let’s talk about pain.
Heartbreak comes in all shapes and no two feel the same. So often heartbreak is equated with romantic relationships, but it doesn’t have to be. I’ve had friendships hurt far more than romantic relationships. Whether romantic, platonic, familial, or other, to love is to open ourselves up to pain. So much so that, for me, love and pain are all but synonyms. Not to detract or overwrite the joy and warmth of love, but those feelings cannot exist in the absence of pain. The two breathe in tandem making one all the more poignant because of the other.
My heart may break, but I won’t stop loving.
Autumn and winter are the seasons where couples, families, and friends come together. In Texas, it’s wedding season. The holidays are looming; families and friends are planning gatherings. It’s a time to be with loved ones. Social media becomes even more inundated with people declaring their affections for one another. These occasions also have a tendency to bring up unresolved issues, hurt feelings, drama, and all things heart aching. There’s love and happiness in there too, I suppose. For me, it has been no different. Well, the declaring my love on social media for a romantic someone is far from likely. I’m speaking to the holiday heart aches. Historically, October has been a consistently traumatic month for me. Some of the worst events of my life happened in October. Some of the biggest heartbreaks too. October wrote scars across my heart, so I’m always happy to say ‘Au revoir, October’ and ‘Привет, Christmas!’
In no uncertain terms, heartbreak is the fucking worst. I’m not talking about breakups, friendship endings, or endings specifically. Breakups are not always painful; some pain does not accompany an ending; and heartbreak can happen when no relationship ever occurred at all. It’s the pain that sits unrelentingly inside my chest. Whatever the reason. Whoever the person. No matter the relationship. Pain is still pain, and it has been my greatest, most consistent teacher.
Over the course of thirty years, I’ve learned a thing or two from my heart breaking, and I expect I’ll learn many more. Some opinions may change, and hopefully I get better and less bitter with time. I remain hopeful.
I don’t know if I’ll ever walk down an aisle in a white dress, but I’ll wear them with flower crowns any day.
Love Hard; Love Ferociously; Love Resolutely I truly believe in loving with everything I have. Friends, lovers, family. I will give everything I have and everything I am. I have never regretted loving someone fiercely; though it has been painful, I don’t look back with regrets or what ifs. Even as endings loomed, I loved hard even when quitting would be the easier thing to do.
Love Has Boundaries Boundaries are hard for me, but I’m learning love, healthy love, has boundaries. Just because I love ferociously and without limits does not mean it’s a free for all. It took me a long time to know what I would endure and what I will not. I was a doormat for a very, very long time, but I’m finally learning how to stand up for myself. That comes with setting boundaries for myself and for my relationships. I’m still not great at this, but I’m trying, damnit.
Timing Matters I wish this weren’t true. Sometimes you meet the right person at the wrong time. It’s so cliché, and yet it’s true. Timing matters, and sometimes that’s the only reason a relationship needs to crumble.
Set Expectations Take this in any and all ways. Friendship, workships, family, sexual partners, romance, whatever. Expectations are so important. If they’re not established, how the hell is the other person to know what I want and need and expect from them and us. Expectations change with time and growth, so continue to talk about them. Have check-ins. Regular check-ins!
A Breakup Isn’t Failure This one took me a long time to come to terms with. I have a deeply rooted fear of failure. Anything not working out was a failure, a personal failure, all my fault, and no one else’s. I know in my brain this isn’t true; my irrational brain has not caught up. Breakups—romantic, familial, platonic—are not failures. Sometimes things just don’t work, and that’s okay. People are not always compatible, and that does not mean either one is wrong or problematic or “crazy.” It just means people are different. The failure is in not trying at all.
Radical Honesty I’m not a relationship expert, obviously. I’m sitting here in my office absolutely single at thirty, but I have had incredibly successful relationships and breakups. People ask me for relationship advice—I don’t know why either. I always say: Communicate all the time about everything. There is no such thing as too much honesty. In my relationships, I practice radical honesty, which is why I’m so close with all my exes. We never had secrets. There was nothing to hide, so when an ending came, there wasn’t anything to be angry about. No dark secret that tore us apart. The problems were on the surface. They’d been talked about for a long time. We tried working through them because we were honest about what we needed and wanted from one another. We gave it our all, but things didn’t work for whatever reason. Lack of love has never been at fault. Radical honesty doesn’t prevent pain or arguments. It may not even prevent a breakup. It does make everything healthier, happier, and so much easier. My life is so much better because I have been honest in my relationships. Even when honesty stings, it saves much bigger pain.
You Will Not Be the Same Person People change us. Every single person in my life has influenced who I am today. Those I have let into the deepest corners of my heart and soul have a larger influence over how I move through the world, which is why I’m choosy! I don’t want to be influenced by crap people. Ideally these very important people make me a better person. Even in heartbreak, I have take aways on how I can do better in the future for myself and in relationship with others. I am not perfect. I never will be, but I am a better person because of all the incredible humans I have loved.
Always Say ‘I Love You’ I have never regretted saying these three words. Sometimes they’re not said back, and that’s okay. I don’t say them with the expectation of hearing it. Love is amazing when it’s reciprocated. It can fucking wound when it’s not, but I will always say I love you to the people I do love because I don’t want them to wonder or not know where they fit in my heart. I say it a lot, but I also show it, but I’m also going to say it. I want the people I love to know without a shadow of a doubt that they are loved.
Fight For Love, But Know When To Leave I have fought so hard for love. Not a regret in sight. I will always fight for love as long as there is a love to be fought for. Sometimes, I’ve fought a lot longer than I maybe should have. There has always been that moment when I knew in my heart it’s time to be done. I can’t tell you when that moment is because it’s different for every person and every relationship. When that feeling settled in, I let go. The pain didn’t necessarily stop, but I learned to stop fighting for something that wasn’t meant to be.
Love Is Not Enough I said this at nineteen. I’ll say it at thirty. Love does not conquer all. Love is not always enough. This is probably an unpopular opinion. Love is enough of a reason to sure try. Many obstacles can be conquered with love, dedication, and hard work from both partners. But there are obstacles that even love cannot surmount. That does not mean the love is any less real or pure. It just means life is ridiculously hard.
Life Goes On I’ve had a breakup where I really wish this weren’t true. I’ve had my heart broken with grief over someone passing or friends leaving my life. The pain doesn’t always get easier. I hate to say it, but sometimes the pain doesn’t go away. I’ve learned to live with those aches like the knee pain I have from my ballet days. Life does go on.
bisous un обьятий, RaeAnna
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Right after college, I started writing a lot about my experiences as a rape survivor. After a while, I started being inundated with messages from people—strangers, friends, and family alike—asking questions or just letting me know how much my stories helped them through their own recovery. Once I was able to accept I had been in a sexually, domestically, psychologically, and financially abusive relationship, I started talking. I did a whole lot of reading, researching, and listening too. But I started talking. I talked to friends, I talked to strangers who had their own stories, I got up and spoke in front of groups, I lectured at a university, I performed slam poetry, and I wrote. It was a part of me, and a part I was not going to hide.
Except I have been doing just that. Hiding. Not necessarily on purpose. It’s been pretty inadvertent. A byproduct of my life, relationships, working, and the world at large. I’ve had a hard time writing. I can blame a lot of it on the pandemic, a lack of motivation, wanting a break from reliving those painful memories, and/or a surge in depression and anxiety. Although, that would only be a half truth.
Living is choosing pain.
I have been censoring myself.
Censorship is something I really do not like, but that opinion is a completely different piece. Yet, I have been taking part in censorship, and, in my opinion, the very worst form of censorship: self-censorship. Over the course of my blogging/content creating/writing journey, I have written and posted about depression, anxiety, being a rape servivor, PTSD, mental health, and all that jazz. Except, I’ve written and posted about the sunny side of those stories. There’s a way to write about trauma and pain with a sense of humor, a brief overview, a silver lining to make it palatable. A piece that makes people go, that’s a bummer and continue on their days without being weighed down by the story they’ve just read.
For the longest time, it remained a mystery. Why couldn’t I write? Why couldn’t I post anything I did write? Because I love the fact that my darkest pain can be a light for other survivors. To share the burden, help others heal, create a community, be seen was so meaningful.
The answer was simple: I didn’t want to hurt anyone.
I have always been bad at opening myself up to people. Showing emotions and vulnerability is not a strength. If anything, I’m realizing at 30, the people I thought knew me best really don’t know me well at all. It’s not their fault. Not even remotely. I am so private about everything, that I don’t let those closest see me. They have proven they care over and over again, but being open does not come naturally. Instead, I allow myself to exist in their lives as a fairly emotionally one-dimensional human. I’ve been censoring my existence to everyone my entire life. Censoring comes easy. It’s easier than being raw and open. It’s hard letting the entire world really see you. Especially when most of what there is to see is pain.
“To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.” Friedrich Nietzsche
I don’t shy away from hard work, and I have always found it much easier to write than speak (my friends are used to getting letters expressing my emotions when I’m feeling anything other than Happy), so that’s really not the reason I have been silent on the topics that mean the most to me for the last five years.
Pain. My reality, my truth causes other people pain. Pain, not discomfort at the violent and abusive behavior they’re being brought into. My pain causes others pain because the experiences that I was forced to endure challenges their perception of me, themselves, and life. I deny my experiences to maintain peace, which denies a huge part of who I am, which only causes me more pain. I was taught to tip-toe and hush-hush, make myself small, and never hurt anyone’s feelings or create waves even if that means not speaking the truth or denying the truth completely. So I have been protecting feelings. Other people’s feelings. Feelings belonging to people who wouldn’t give a second thought to what it’s like to be in me.
I live a non-traditional life. I like it this way. It makes me happier. I watch people struggle to fit into a box that society has made for them. They find happiness or contentment. Sometimes they don’t. But I’m not convinced they’re all soaking up all the happiness and joy the world has to offer. I’m not happy when I’m conforming or doing what is expected of me. Though I’m good at it, I’m miserable chasing the traditional ideals. Those who have chosen to be in my non-traditional life support and love me no matter what. I don’t talk about so much of it anymore because it makes things difficult for some. I don’t even think about it anymore because I’ve spent so much time overthinking how a post or picture will upset the status quo.
People take my silence as shame or guilt. I’ve made some really hard choices. I’ve made out of the box choices. I’ve made dangerous choices. I’ve made stupid choices. I’ve made choices for love. I’ve made choices for money. I’ve made choices out of necessity. I’ve made choices with great repercussions. I’ve made choices of all kinds. I’ve mostly made them alone. I have been very alone yet surrounded by people my entire life. As an adult, I’m more comfortable alone than in partnership because I will be solely responsible for my choices no matter the outcome. The one thing I am not is guilty or ashamed. I am not ashamed of the life I live or the person I have become or the person I was or the things I did. In fact, I’m pretty fucking proud of every choice I made because so often I made desperate choices when there were very few options and none of them were good. But I have not lived with that pride because it causes pain.
At 30 with a lot of very serious health problems, I am goddamn tired. I am tired of always censoring what I say because it hurts people. I am tired of having to not talk about huge swaths of my life because it hurts people. I’m tired of not being able to be me all the time because it hurts people. I’m not going to continue to be small because it makes other people’s lives uncomfortable.
I’m not censoring myself anymore. It’s all going to be out there. Because I’m not being real. I’m not being authentic. I’m not doing everything I can to make the world a better place.
A Long Petal of the Sea by Isabel Allende Worth a Read Yes || Length 336
Quick Review This really is a beautifully written work of fiction, depicting an often overlooked period of history as Americans. The Spanish Civil War raged on as two people are pushed together into a marriage and escape from Spain to Chile on a ship, chartered by Pablo Neruda. Highly suggest. Memorable Quotes “Her beauty intimidated him: he was used to women prematurely marked by poverty or war.” “She was discovering it (the world) was nothing like the descriptions in books or photographs. It was much more complex and colorful, much less frightening.”
Anywhere for You by Abbie Greaves Worth a Read Eh || Length 368
Quick Review I really hated this book. It was written fine, but the whole plot. I don’t get the point. Like why? Mary stands in a tube station with a sign saying, “Come Home Jim” because her boyfriend disappeared on her seven YEARS ago. Everything goes to shit when a reporter befriends her and makes it go viral. The relationship was toxic and unhealthy… So it feels like it’s just perpetuating the idea that a good woman will, in the words of Tammy Wynette, Stand By [Her] Man even when he’s shit and doesn’t deserve it. Memorable Quotes “Comfort never encouraged anyone to spread their wings.” “”When you meet the right person, you need to be with them, no matter what.””
Bookish and the Beast by Ashley Poston Worth a Read Eh || Length 288
Quick Review Not my usual read, but it’s a cute rom-com for teens about two nerdy kids falling in love in the midst of their own problems. If you can’t tell, books are at the heart of their love story. You can also guess the plot from the title. No surprises. At all.
Everyone Is Beautiful by Katherine Center Worth a Read Yes || Length 256
Quick Review I had low hopes for this, but it turned out to be a beautiful story about a wife and mother, yearning to reconnect with herself and passion again. It’s an earnest depiction of making life work on a limited income and even less sleep. Life, marriage, and motherhood is hard, but it’s even harder having to do them all at once. Center creates a compelling look into womanhood and marriage in the time that comes after the “happily ever after” or wedding because life doesn’t stop with a ring or an “I do.” This is a small book that really gets the messiness and stress of motherhood and marriage without being bitter or resentful. Memorable Quotes “I hate to say it, but I will. Children, despite their infinite charms, are an absolute assault on a marriage.”
Gimme Everything You Got by Iva-Marie Palmer Worth a Read Yes || Length 400
Quick Review I was pleasantly surprised by this one. I don’t usually read YA, but it was accidentally sent to me, and I thought why not? Set in 1979, a school gets their first girls soccer team and sexism ensues. The girls learn how to balance their budding love of sports with their desire to be feminine and find those two things are often at odds in society’s eyes. Setting the piece over 40 years ago, allows readers to draw parallels between the world of the past and today to see what has changed and all the ways it has not budged. Memorable Quotes “Then, this summer, I realized maybe the shorts meant something bigger. Like that I was a feminist. Not one who didn’t shave her armpits, but a sexy one.” “Wasn’t the point of having a sibling that you had to endure your parents together?”
Girl Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis Worth a Read No || Length 240
Quick Review I understand Rachel Hollis and this book are beloved by so many people, but I just couldn’t get on board. I had a hard time getting past the God aspect, great, have your religion, but for so many people that’s not a driving force in our lives, but what got me the most about it was her constant need to reinforce the idea that she’s a “good Christian.” There are really great nuggets and words of wisdom in there, but there’s also a kind of toxic “pick yourself up” and “you’re unhappy because of you” and “EVERYTHING is in your control” attitude. As someone who is completely self-made, I get that. As a survivor of abuse, so much of my life is circumstance and dealing with the aftermath and consequences of other people’s actions. The themes and attitudes are just not relatable for me at all. It falls so flat.
Little Deadly Secrets by Pamela Crane Worth a Read No || Length 384
Quick Review For me, this is one of those not-much-of-a-mystery mystery; it’s very easy to guess. I really did not like any of the characters. I found so many issues with the parenting and rape. So much rape. Rape, rape, everywhere. As a rape survivor, I don’t mind rape, but this felt more like rape porn than rape for literary or even human experience reasons. There’s also a lot of toxic masculinity passing as acceptable. It was just written poorly and in poor taste. A hard pass for me. Memorable Quotes “Friends are the flowers you pick to beautify your life.” “We’re trained from an early age to value beauty. What a handsome little boy, we say. Or What a pretty little princess. So we grow up believing that if we’re not beautiful enough, we won’t be loved. Then someone comes along and loves you anyway, and you make him God over you. Even when he is in fact the devil.”
Little Wishes by Michelle Adams Worth a Read Yes || Length 400
Quick Review This is a really sweet love story about two people reconnecting in their twilight years. It’s sweetly written to match the tone of the story. Adams writes in an overly flowery way to try and paint a picture of Cornwall, but it’s a bit over the top. She also does a whole bunch of equating love and fire, but I guess that’s what readers like. There’s a hint of mystery, but if you’ve done much reading, that and the ending are quite expected. Overall, this is one of those books you want to read on the beach or snuggled up in a porch chair. Memorable Quotes “Perhaps that was what love was, the thought to herself, when nothing that came before or after seemed to matter anymore, when the world could be on fire, but you didn’t fear the burn.” “Losing a parent did that, made you question your existence for the first time in your life. Human morality paraded before you, utterly unavoidable, the world changed.”
Live A Little by Howard Jacobson Worth a Read Eh || Length 288
Quick Review I really enjoyed the writing, but the story itself was lackluster for me. I can’t even remember the plot, except for the part where I couldn’t care less about the characters. The female characters in particular were… shallow. It’s an excellent example of why I don’t like reading female characters written by men. The narrative style is humorous and interesting. Memorable Quotes “I was more of a man than any of my men were and I don’t doubt I will prove to be more of a carer than my carers.” “What they call dementia, she has decided, is nothing but a failure to maintain a comprehensive filing system. And what they call losing your mind is forgetting to use it.”
The Night Portrait by Laura Morelli Worth a Read Yes || Length 496
Quick Review Waffling between an art conservationist in the midst of WWII and a young woman in a Milanese court of the fifteenth century, this historical novel traces the history of Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece, Girl with the Ermine. I get a bit tired of historical novels set during WWII, but I did enjoy this one. I love strong women at the heart of a well written narrative. Memorable Quotes “Like most inspired ideas, it comes to me in the middle of the night.” “And Edith had to face the fact that she was part of the giant network that enabled these men to aggrandize themselves, at the expense of so many innocent lives.” “Edith had a difficult time reconciling the man who, by day, was responsible for the devastation around them, and by night, doted on his children.”
The Red Daughter by John Burnham Schwartz Worth a Read Eh || Length 288
Quick Review A historical novel focusing on Svetlana, Stalin’s daughter, and her life in America after fleeing the Soviet Union. Told from two perspectives, that of Svetlana and that of her lawyer, Peter Horvath. It’s a well told story, but largely forgettable. Getting nit picky, as a Russian speaker, when Svetlana is writing, it doesn’t feel like a Russian speaking. She also lacks emotional depth, when Peter does not. I would say that’s due to a man trying to write from a perspective he does not understand or identify with… a woman’s. Peter is the far more compelling character; even though his section of the novel is far smaller. In a lot of ways, this is a lovely story, but it also falls very short of being great. Memorable Quotes “Governments will always lie. It is the job of artists and intellectuals to tell the truth.” “There is a kind of drunkenness one finds only in Russia. The Irish don’t know it, the French, the Greeks. An ecstasy of melancholy… A sadness that has no limits and is so very close to joy, but never reaches it.”
