Writer. Poet. Humanist.
I answer rhetorical questions. Writing on intersectional feminism, trauma, grief, mental health, marginalization, and neurodivergence. A little bit of fiction and poetry. Musings on baby loss.
About the Author
I write the things I cannot speak. My speech is forever hindered by my socialization — by the things I fear to say, by what I think that others want to receive. Writing is different. I can write and never share. The words exit my body but land nowhere — until I am ready for them to be heard.
My parents like to tell this story from my preschooler years: if anyone called me “cute”, “beautiful” or “adorable” I would place my hands squarely on my hips, stick out my lower jaw in defiance and shoot back a glaring, “I’m not (cute/beautiful/adorable), I’m Julia!”. Whenever they repeat the story, I mentally high-five three-year-old me, because I intrinsically understood then that I am the curator of my own identity. It is a lesson I would spend most of my teenage and adult life relearning.