Joined the dating apps to find a man, ended up decentering them instead.

Let me paint you a scenario: a mom gives birth, and her tiny baby’s tiny little nasal passages sound stuffed up. This concerns her; she has a problem, and she needs a solution. Then, she remembered her favourite influencer had just posted about a tool she uses to help with this very thing – yes, a literal nose-picking product for babies, marketed to mothers. The thing is, though, that this wasn’t a new mom. She had already gone through three births and dealt with tiny nasal p

I’m walking along a corridor, one I’ve paced a hundred times before in bouts of broody contemplation, when a door catches my eye. I hadn’t realized how deep in thought I really was until I had to unfurrow my brows, only to furrow them again at the unexpected sight. The door isn’t covered in dust or cobwebs, but I can tell it hasn’t been opened before. A visceral game of internal tug-of-war commences; I know I need to open it but something in me is adamant about protecting me

​Since the early days of girlhood, the colour pink has been thrust upon me the way it has for most born females in the last decade. I remember a time I rejected it; growing tired of the magentas, dusty roses, and the ever-horrible fuchsias. There was a time I protested by showing favour to the only colour I could think of more opposite, more horrible – lime green. I painted nearly every piece of furniture lime green, and every accent pillow and decoration had that headache-in