PublicSource | News for a better Pittsburgh (https://www.publicsource.org/category/first-person/page/2/)
My arms were constantly in motion, as if I were conducting a never-ending orchestra. Sometimes the movements were fluid, smooth even, but other times my right arm looked as though it were climbing an invisible jungle gym, my muscles contracting and tensing in uncomfortable positions. It was the tangible evidence of years of internalized ableism and shame.
Letting yourself feel vulnerable is one of the hardest things in the world to do, with or without autism. But opening up is the only way your story will be told.
To put in perspective how widespread mental health conditions are, consider this: About one in eight women in the United States will develop breast cancer during her lifetime. Mental illness will affect one in five Americans at some point during their lifetime.
Yes, the entire community should grieve over this tragedy. But why is there such a double standard? If all lives matter, why aren’t Black lives mourned this way? I felt isolated by these thoughts and wondered if I was alone.
Compelling personal stories
told by the people living them. I served roughly 16 years in the Muncy State Correctional Institution for possession with intent to deliver crack cocaine. All those years in prison pale in comparison to the 17 days I spent in solitary in 1992. Only two months into my time, I was sent to the segregated housing unit [the SHU]. My infraction: I had two onions in my room.
Compelling personal stories
told by the people living them. My 5-year-old son was angry and shouting and clingy all last week. Every night from Monday onward, he called me to come into his bed to sleep or asked to come into ours. It’s not his typical behavior. But nothing was typical about last week in Pittsburgh.
I was 23 years old when I learned about my family’s history with anti-Semitic violence. Before last year, I had thought there was no significant family history of experiencing anti-Semitic violence. There is, but no one in my family ever talks about it.
Compelling personal stories
told by the people living them. I might have been half joking when I told my family I wanted a genetic-spit test instead of a cake to celebrate my 46th birthday. But what better way to face a midlife crisis than to discover new mysteries lurking inside my DNA? Then 11 people died a spitting distance from my living room at the Tree of Life synagogue, and I now believe genetic introspection may be a key for us all, as a society, to come to terms with what we really are. I come from a city on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey, and it was a winding journey that took me to my home now in Squirrel Hill.
What happened this weekend is an abomination. A sacred space, a sanctuary, desecrated.
Edoukou Aka-Ezoua reflects on her experience meeting other young black women at the 3rd Annual Equity Summit.
