Six Tips for Parents with Anxiety and Perfectionism

Don’t worry, I'm not perfect. And by 'not perfect', I mean there are times when I've watched Obsessive Compulsive Cleaners and glanced anxiously at our flat. I worry constantly about whether I'm raising my daughter right, how much TV she watches (as she's watching TV) and the many times I've made a mistake. If you're … Continue reading Six Tips for Parents with Anxiety and Perfectionism



You say you like it when my voice is quiet, And I wonder how to make a cave From the softness of my throat. I don’t know how it began, this Contorting of myself into your shape, How I learned to swallow your shoes until They stood inside me, little men, Making me afraid of … Continue reading Wife


It seems strange to write for a friend, as if We write just for our lovers and their licks As if we don’t write for ones whose heads Are the howls and caverned places of our own. More than that, how can I thank you for ‘Sharing this path’ with me as if this Twist … Continue reading Lynn

To My Husband (Somewhat), On Why You Are Extraordinary

We used to have those fights. You know the ones. Who's more tired? Who's done more? Whose turn is it to do x,y,z, crawl out of bed, curse the other in our heads? Make the bottle, burn our fingers? We'd barely graced our twenties, still chased each other on trampolines. Two summers with you as the hot centre … Continue reading To My Husband (Somewhat), On Why You Are Extraordinary

Dear Oxford, I am sometimes afraid of you

I wish I could Venn-diagram my Oxford, place its attributes into circles of "like", "dislike", and "both". But my feelings are so conflicted, so kaleidoscopic, caffeinated and extreme that no easy edge will cradle them. I'm sitting, like so many Sundays, with my arms digging into a café table. My cheeks are still sticky from earlier, when I cried my way home and … Continue reading Dear Oxford, I am sometimes afraid of you

Odd Socks

via Daily Prompt: Uneven My baby girl wears odd socks. Right this minute, beneath red spotty leggings and little legs, are a pair of odd socks. Ask me any day what her sock style is and I’ll know, with three miles between us, that they’re odd. I may not know what style they are, having scrambled one from the […]