Lisa Marie Basile

My happiness is what undid me, ironically. I worried so much about being OK with the happiness that I fell apart.

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When we think of foster care or wards of the state or orphans or homelessness, we hear poor. We hear the forgotten. We hear hopeless. We hear other. Let’s face it: we hear classism, trash, bad parents, drugs. The stigma cuts through the room, through the world, through the news reports we don’t read — and through our bodies.

So let’s get this out of the way now: Imagine not coming from a relatively typical family background, not having enough money to go on school trips, and knowing the structure of an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and watching your mother at the podium. Imagine going from homeless shelter to foster care, and imagine your main source of support as a teenager wasn’t your mother or father, but your social worker or your foster parent — a stranger, for all intents and purposes. Imagine keeping all of this quiet, because there’s no way high schoolers could ever understand. This was my life. Now you know.

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In this column, I talk about things other people think or say, but not out loud, and certainly not in public. No one wants to say, “People either love me or hate me” because it sounds ridiculous and arrogant and icky.

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No addiction or recovery story is the same. You don’t always kick the habit and you don’t always find the forgiveness which you seek. Around 60% of addicts relapse, according to the U.S. government. Others die. Others end up prison. Others lose their kids. Some make a full recovery.

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The Magical Writing Grimoire is a book of inclusive and accessible rituals and writing prompts for anyone who feels called to using words as a source of healing, empowerment, joy, generativity, and self-exploration. Read...

Some grief is inert. Some grief is an engine. Sometimes actively participating in grief, I’ve learned, is one small way we can learn to escape its riptide.

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The book was a doorway in, a doorway out, a personal threshold. Here’s what I learned, a year out, from writing it. Read...

When the spread was published, all the girls in the shot were small — small enough to notice their not-bigness. It was the first time I felt “othered,” the first time I noticed how some versions of thin weren’t thin enough.

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What do you do when your workplace is so toxic that it makes you sick? How do you take action then? What happens when you have nothing left to give?

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The older we get, the harder it is to make close friends.

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