Brianna Albers (she/her) is a crip cyborg storyteller living in Minneapolis-St. Paul. In 2016, she founded Monstering, a magazine for disabled women and nonbinary people. She consults as a patient ambassador for SMA My Way and writes the column “The Wolf Finally Frees Itself” for SMA News Today. She is currently revising THE SAINT AND THE SPIDER, an adult space fantasy with #OwnVoices disability representation. Find her on social media @briehalbers.
In the stillness of my room, a voice says to me, “You should quit social media.” It’s not the first time I’ve heard this voice. But it’s the first I’ve given it any sort of consideration. It’s 4 a.m. and my brain is a pinball machine, bouncing between thoughts. I’m…
On a rainy day in April, I write the final words of my third novel: “The End.” If you follow me on social media, you’ll know this book has not been without its hiccups. I won’t get into the nitty-gritty of it, largely because I chronicled everything on Substack,…
I’m listening to my caregiver’s daughter talk about life as a first grader when I realize … I’m old. I don’t know when it happened. One minute, I was graduating high school, and the next I was turning 30. The thought is terrifying. Where did all that time go?…
Every once in a while, I’m seized with unbearable jealousy. That’s not true. It isn’t jealousy so much as a sense of falling behind. Social media, while great for some things, is horrid when it comes to self-comparison. Every day, we come face to face with the many ways…
Jokes are my coping mechanism of choice. If there’s tension in the room, you can bet I’m trying to come up with some way to lighten the mood. I pride myself on staying as chipper as possible, even in difficult situations, like getting stuck repeatedly with needles. It’s amazing what…
Content warning: This column discusses medical trauma. Last in a series. Read part one here. I knew something was wrong when I started throwing up. After an eight-hour wait in an emergency room far from home, I’d finally gotten my feeding tube replaced — not by a medical professional,…
Content warning: This column discusses medical trauma. First in a series. Who really knows what time it is? 11? 12? 1? Time blurs when you’re on the precipice of something that will throw a wrench in all of your plans. I’m lying in bed in our newly purchased recreational…
When I chose my theme for 2024, I didn’t expect to take it for a spin before the year even started. Every December, I start thinking about a word or phrase that will guide me through the next 12 months. I usually pick a theme and stick with it, but…
On a Sunday morning in mid-November, I opened my email to a newsletter from one of my favorite writers, Catherine Andrews. In it, she named the past 15 years of her life as being particularly contractive. She struggled with everything, from her relationship with alcohol to dating and creativity.
The clock ticked accusingly on the wall. A lab technician had been inspecting my arm for the better part of 10 minutes, all in search of a vein that would put out a nominal amount of blood. Normally, I trek all the way downtown for lab work. Because of…
