As a reader, you’ve noticed it, right? How when a woman writes a certain kind of story, one that shares the experience of a rape or sexual assault, there will be at least one insensitive and contrary comment left by a man?
This male reader may victim-blame the author, challenge her version of events (even though he wasn’t there), or even just tell her to get over it. You have to wonder, what kind of person does that to someone brave enough to share their trauma? …
Believe it or not, there was a time not so long ago where stalking wasn’t a thing. I mean, it was, but you had to be a celebrity to have one of them. Jodie Foster had a stalker, for example, a man named John Hinckley who was obsessed with her. That situation came to public light when Hinckley attempted to assassinate President Ronald Reagan in a bid for her attention.
Nowadays, any celebrity of any note (and those of no note) are likely to have a stalker or two. More to the point, anyone from any walk of life can…
You know how it is. You’ve written something over 600 words and you know it’s good. Or, at least not terrible. I mean, you ran it through Grammarly, credited the image, and managed some paragraph breaks. What more is there? Hey, just the fact you managed to write at all, right?
Especially after the dreadful week you just had, with that whole online identity fraud episode. Which, to be clear, was a simple misunderstanding and literally could have happened to anyone. I mean, no one got hurt.
The point is, reasons to celebrate are few and far between these days…
My mother is strong. Not emotionally, but physically, and the strength persists to this day, despite being in her mid-seventies. As I helped her support my unwell father, lifting him into a sit-up position, I could feel the difference in our capabilities, with her doing the lion’s share.
She was known for this strength. The times a child would appear at our door with a bottle or jar their own mother couldn’t open, but she could. It wasn’t a fine motor skill — my mother loathed crafts and needlework— but sheer, superior, physical power.
My mother was also known for…
You’ve got to hand it to the Australian government.
In July 2020, the Australian treasurer, Josh Frydenberg, stood up at the National Press Club, looking for all the world like an embarrassed schoolboy, and urged Australian women to have more babies, amid concerns the falling birth rate has compromised the future tax base of the nation.
His timing, if not his cluelessness, was nothing short of spectacular.
After all, nothing says strategic quite like asking the nation’s women to gestate and populate, just as they double down at home with remote work, running a household and family, while home-schooling the…
The local grade school our daughter went to, boasted a program for Gifted and Talented children, boasted being the operative word.
Quietly contentious amongst parents, the program was never more so than when a Gifted and Talented child left and the search would go out for the next previously ordinary child, now identified as gifted, to fill the vacant spot.
By the time my daughter, Edie, was in fourth grade all her friends had been siphoned, one by one, from the mainstream classes into the Gifted and Talented stream. One-third of the area’s children were now considered Gifted and Talented…
As someone who has inhabited various low-status identities over time (think unemployed, think disability, think mixed-media visual artist), I’ve long been curious about the criteria for deciding who deserves status in our society and who doesn’t.
But generally speaking, proximity to money is key.
It sounds harsh but if your daily activities are bringing in little by way of financial reward, you are doing something society doesn’t value a great deal and being paid accordingly.
That is not to say your work isn’t necessary and important. It’s not to say you are not made of metaphorical gold. …
A few years back I found myself in a large university lecture theatre, filled with students half my age. It was weird to be back at university as a more mature student but I needed the unit for my graduate study, and so humbly sat in amongst kids taking notes on fancy devices, while I searched my bag for a usable pen.
The theatre must have sat 180 students, while others were left to stand or sit on the steps. A full house. But as I looked around, I noticed it was mostly young women taking this undergraduate writing course…
Since my Medium journey began, I have had many of you reach out, wanting to know how I have managed my writing success, aplenty. Many of you making contact with me specifically, in the hope I’ll share my success secrets.
“Help, me out Mia!” you’ve pleaded, “What are your success secrets?”
“Sure thing,” I say, “Gosh, though. Where to start? So many secrets. So much success”.
Okay, that conversation took place in my head. But it seemed quite real, so let’s continue. Where were we? Oh yes, the many requests for my advice.
Okay, maybe not many of you have…
I disclose an awkward, and decidedly shameful secret.
To my hairdresser.
“Before you begin with the cut, Katie, there’s something of weight you should probably know.”
Katie, of Boheme, wraps a nylon cape about my shoulders and stands back.
An itch starts up and I fight myself to remain still. Then I blurt it out all at once, my hand flying to my mouth, wishing immediately I could shove the words back in.
“I have phantom nits!”
In the mirror, I catch the look on Katie’s face: intrigued but with a healthy measure of WTF, underlined by the tentative backwards…
Recovering economist. I write about parenting, politics, health, and feminism. Sporadic attempts at humour. Curious to a fault.