The terror of turning a corner
It filled me with an unblinking feeling, the way I imagine people with good parents or healthy marriages feel.
Hi, friends,
I’m writing to share a newly published essay with you. In the essay (which, yes, is a climbing essay but also, I hope, something else), I try to ask myself: is it ableist if I hate myself for being sick?
At the end of the essay, I describe a phantom shoulder pain, which I’d long reduced to a pesky little manifestation of trauma. I was wrong.
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