I had an abortion one month after my thirteenth birthday. I’m not sure how else to write that sentence, but it’s not quite right to say I “had” an abortion. That implies I had choices. It’s more accurate to say it like this: my father, a doctor, raped me from when I was eight years…Read more »
Author: Meredith Broome
A Definition of Peace
I have been thinking a lot about photographs. The photograph of the girl in Viet Nam, her clothes burned off by napalm, the sheer horror of the image accelerated the end of the war. The shootings at Kent State, the dead student protestors on the ground inspired outrage and action. I’m also thinking about the…Read more »
This Is (not) How I Die
My friend, Kate, is outraged on my behalf. I find myself tracking her energy for clues about why, until she just tells me, doesn’t make me guess like I’m used to. She’s mad that a family member, I’ll call her Elle, asked me, in her “watch me dissect your trauma with scientific interest” way, whether…Read more »
“You’re Married to the Russian!” and other missed opportunities
I am watching for my daughter in the pack of ice skaters looping around the rink when a woman taps me on the shoulder. When I turn toward her, she nods and smiles at me, as if she is expecting an answer to a question she asked the last time we saw one another. Her…Read more »
Let’s All Practice Being Uncomfortable
In the 20 years from when I finished college until March of 2012, when my father died, I didn’t write a word about him. In fact, I hardly wrote anything at all. He took up too much space, held so many words hostage in my brain, I didn’t have enough letters left to squeeze in…Read more »
This Is My Body. It Will Not Be Controlled.
“My body, my fat body, is a billboard that lets everyone know I was sexually abused.” My client looks at me through their tears. “This is the wound that won’t heal,” they tell me, ‘this’ referring to their weight, and not the sexual abuse. The words hang in the air between us. I measure my…Read more »
Everything is Already Okay
“Those Mountains That You Are Carrying, You Were Only Supposed to Climb” –Najwa Zebian– Whenever I say, “Everything is going to be okay,” my somatics teacher, Richard, looks at me with that Mona Lisa smile of his and says, “Everything is already okay,” and I want to lunge across the room and punch him in…Read more »
Let’s All Just Stop Bleeding, On the Count of Three
I was a bully until I was about 9 years old. I made arbitrary rules for my friends that I never told them about until they inevitably broke those rules. Then I would take my love away, swift and business-like, as though I were scooping up coins from the counter and dropping them into my…Read more »
And an Army of Ants Shall Lead Them…
“But Mom, doesn’t Donald Trump remind you of Dad? The way he talks about women? The jokes he tells, the way nothing is ever his fault?” I am expecting her to deny the similarity but she does just the opposite.
So, Which Is It?
This is a great piece of writing from a blogger I’ve never met, but I’m posting it here because I so appreciate this piece of writing. –MB I’m scared to post this. I’m afraid of alienating people I love, people I interact with on a daily basis, people whose friendships I value. I wouldn’t say…Read more »