Six Ten AM

I’ve been pretty open about my postpartum anxiety, but since I stopped breastfeeding, it’s like my body reset to factory settings. Now I’m dealing with my old, familiar general anxiety disorder. I wish I could say it’s easier to manage—but it’s not.  Pretty sure it can now be classified as high functioning anxiety.  And it’s safe to say that my anxiety has been having a field day with me lately, especially in the last 24 hours. I’ve been stuck in this state of inexplicable dread. The kind that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin, or find a switch to shut your mind off completely. I messed up at work by having my phone on D N D, and that was just the beginning. Since then, I’ve been fixated on one small thing—wondering if an email I sent made me sound arrogant, or unlike the person I’ve worked so hard to present myself as. I haven’t really been able to think about anything else. I know what you might be thinking: Why aren’t you doing breathing exercises? Why aren’t yo...

Trigger warning SA/H I'm not a stranger to the advances of men. I was sexually assaulted at the age of 7 or 8, in a knee-length skirt made of shades of blue and a bright green Hannah Montana T-shirt. I was leered at by the angry man's cousin when I wore a ruffled pink skirt my school had asked parents to buy for a concert. He didn't touch me, but his eyes undressed me as I played on the trampoline. I learned to cover up. I also learned that wearing boy clothes, being a gothy tomboy, or avoiding clothes that actually fit me wouldn’t stop a man from aggressively reaching between my legs in broad daylight. Staying away from boys, and being scared of men, was never going to make them  not  notice me. Like something that goes bump in the night, the scent of fear only seemed to get them going. I’m 25 now, and as I’ve said, I’m not new to this. But for the first time, I’m surrounded by grown men. I can’t escape them—I bump into them at every turn. I’ve never had to deal with them ...