For two years I have been treading water in a sea of obscure neurological illness, an affliction that has felt like a serious and unrelenting flu, keeping me bedridden unless I make a major effort to get out. Dunia is most of what remains from my old life.
I’m not a gearhead, nor would I ever be mistaken for one. But this past February, I went to a monster truck rally with my wife and 3-year-old son Michael. We all loved it. A lot.
Clear eyes, sore ass, can't lose?
I married into the church. Here's why I reluctantly stayed for seven years, even after my divorce.
Now and then I seemed to glimpse, around an imaginary corner, the sadness that would come if my vision got worse.
The best part is that I genuinely have no idea what's going on.
A totally true account of a time I went offline.
"I need a new way to eat," I say. The nutritionist nods and says, "You want to lose some weight while we're at it, right?"
“I had to brush the dogs’ teeth, clean their ears, and give them vitamins each day. But I had to sleep on a dog bed in the living room.”
"I didn’t have the words then to proclaim through my grin, but now I do: Where is the lie?"
As I emerged from alcoholism, I had to face down a terrifying question.
Kate Leaver is a diagnosed insomniac. Here, she spends an entire month trying to find relief.
I have been reminded that sometimes love does conquer all. That teamwork does exist. That maybe, there can be a happy ending.
I suffered a rare stroke at age 32. Fortunately I had what most Americans don't: A deep bench of advocates to assist my recovery.
Leukemia and climate change have more in common than you might think.
Twenty-year-old Kaylee Muthart speaks out for the first time since the incident that made national news.
The problem is that I look like what I am — which is the American Dream incarnate who has never done a Jell-O shot and pays her mother’s bills and asks teenagers why they’re not at school when I see them at the mall in the early afternoon.
“That’s it! This has to stop!” my neighbor yelled as he marched into my yard, a vein seemingly ready to burst from his forehead. I was in my backyard innocently trying to push a Kia Rio out of a mud pit with my Jeep, but he was having none of it.
Mom would make excuses about not having cleaned the house. I knew they were lies. I knew her house was full.
Some advocate for always telling it like it is, but "radical honesty" is not necessarily the honest truth — and it does not affect everyone equally.
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