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sea.ess.em.jay

notes from underneath the table

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I can’t wish you a Happy Birthday
Dear Mum, The last time I got to wish you a Happy Birthday was when you turned 67. In 2010. You would not live much longer. But how much time is “much longer”? Well, for this particular scenario, it was less than 4 months. By that time, you ...
The Language of Letting Go
I’ve always maintained that parenting hit me like a brick and a cushion. A brick, because the jarring, unyielding, transformations that you go through are neither kind nor easy. And, a cushion, because there is ethereal comfort to be found in creating and sustaining a whole life beyond ...
10 Things.
Traditionally, I’ve written a lot to myself (into the void), or passed notes from underneath the table to others. Those letters, written to everyone from my parents, to my child, to my husband, to my friends, are the things I often can’t say in person, but have to ...
Fixing My Face [A Thursday Plantation Review]
[sponsored] I was one of those annoying teenagers: perfect skin, serious attitude, and a determined defiance of authority. Two of those things followed me into adulthood, but it’s the perfect skin I miss the most. Before I turned 18, I experienced the excruciating pain of a pimple exactly ...
Notes, from underneath the leaves in the Midlands.
Over the years, people have quizzically asked me why this blog has always included a reference to being from “underneath the table.” It’s taken on many forms, over time, as sometimes I’m writing from underneath the table of a whole life, or from underneath the table of parenting, ...

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