It is an amazing thing,” my father once told me after Christophe was born, “how much a child loves a parent. That kind of love terrifies me. - Roxane Gay

We live in a strange and terrible time for women. There are days when I think it has always been a strange and terrible time to be a woman.

This is what is so rarely said about unlikable women in fiction – that they aren't pretending, that they won't or can't pretend to be someone they are not. They have neither the energy for it nor the desire.

YOU RECOGNIZE THE TENSION BETWEEN “I AM A BODY” AND “I have a body,” but you are unable to resolve it. “Have” implies that this body is just a possession, that it can be lost or thrown away. That you can do without it. It implies, perhaps, that someone else could have your body and that your body would be not your own. That it would belong to another. That doesn’t feel quite right. But “am” doesn’t seem right either. To “be” a body suggests that you are only a body. You are meat and some blood. You are hard bones and flexing cartilage. You are tangled veins and skin. Is that all, though?