It’s no surprise that I love seeing myself in my favorite stories. Take “Mass Effect,” for example, a science fiction media franchise by video game developer BioWare. One of my best friends, Sherry, has written several columns about the franchise, which she recently played from beginning to end. Every…
The Wolf Finally Frees Itself
— Brianna Albers
Brianna Albers (she/her) is a crip-cyborg storyteller living in Minneapolis-St. Paul. She was diagnosed with spinal muscular atrophy type 2 in 1996 and lives with co-occurring physical and mental health conditions. By day she works as an advocate, bridging disability and mental health awareness to empower people to live their best lives; by night, she dabbles in imagination, and is currently writing “An Angel in the Garden,” an adult space fantasy with #OwnVoices disability representation. Find her online at briannahopealbers.com and on social media @briehalbers.
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I knew things would change when my mom retired. For one thing, there was going to be a whole third person hanging around our house; for most of my life, it was just my dad and me, with my mom winning the proverbial bread every day of the week.
When thinking about disability pride — specifically the content I wanted to create for Disability Pride Month — I found myself returning to a quote from “Care Work: Dreaming Disability Justice” by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha. “[A] core part of disability justice work [is] making the next world, the…
I know that self-talk is important, including the words we use and our tone of voice. We’re usually trying to look out for ourselves, but more often than not, our good intentions are swallowed by feelings of shame. But it doesn’t matter how many posts I like on Instagram…
Everyone knows that I’m a “Star Wars” buff. Lately, I’ve been listening to “Star Wars” audiobooks, specifically the Old Republic series. I’d heard some not-so-great things about the first novel, “Revan,” but eventually, my curiosity won out. After all, if there’s one thing “Star Wars” audiobooks have going for them,…
Over the years, I’ve grown more reliant on friends, especially those who live with some sort of disability. Of course, I treasure all my friendships, but there is a bond between disabled folks that transcends most relationships. It’s a special kind of knowing, a wordless understanding that is reassuring. I…
It’s not just the closeness, the sudden proximity to people other than my parents. It’s not just the dearth of mask mandates. (You’ll pry mine from my stone-cold, long-dead hands.) It’s not even the sense of possibility — for the first time in over a year, I can go places,…
A few days ago, I linked my friend Sherry to an article on spatial abolition and disability justice. I knew a few paragraphs into the article that I would be sending it to Sherry. Given her interest in disability justice and accessibility, it seemed like a match made…
Content warning: The following contains a mention of suicide. If you know me at all, you know that I love Target. I’m not proud of it. If anything, I’m this close to canceling my RedCard and Shipt membership. But I can’t deny my years-long obsession with the retail store identified…
I spent the majority of high school — and middle school, and undergrad, for that matter — stressed about my skin. I’ve written about it several times, from my cystic acne saga to the wonders of Accutane (isotretinoin). I guess you could say I’m making up for those long years…
I’ll be honest. I wasn’t sure what to write about. To the point where I briefly considered skipping this week’s column. I try not to, because I’m an overachiever who likes the accomplishment that comes from marking something off my to-do list, but … I am wrung out. My head…
It’s not that I didn’t think I’d have side effects. I hoped. Just like I hoped that COVID-19 would wind down by late last summer; just like I hoped “The Rise of Skywalker” would be, like, tolerable. But I knew better. It was a vaccine, after all, and a gnarly…
Let’s talk about the green-eyed elephant in the room. I’m a naturally jealous person. The therapist in me is convinced that my childhood has something to do with it — all those hours on the playground watching the kids on the monkey bars, wishing quietly for a body like…
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