Stories of escape, reinvention, and radical clarity from the edge of the familiar.
I’m Joan—a recovering educator, mother, and writer in transition. After leaving everything behind, I started writing to trace the raw truth of what happens when you break free from a life that was never yours. These are my notes from the edge—where things fall apart and real freedom begins.
From the Journal
- There’s Nothing Wrong With Your Kid—Even Now
It’s hard right now.I’m out of the country, but yesterday I heard about a list being compiled by the U.S. government—people diagnosed, in their medical records, as being on the Autism Spectrum. My son is on that list. The realization carved out a hollow space in my chest. People are… Read more: There’s Nothing Wrong With Your Kid—Even Now - You Do Not Get to Name My Shit: Decolonizing the Narrative of Harm
Yesterday, I was given the gift of perspective. Some friends have been kind enough to let me stay at their cabin for the month of April. It’s beautiful—on a lake, in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know if I’ve ever known such peace. The ice on… Read more: You Do Not Get to Name My Shit: Decolonizing the Narrative of Harm - Hello, Friend.
Hello, friend. Thank you for the pictures.They’re the only ones I have of myself after I gave birth to my children with another man. I never told you this, but I loved you more than my husband.I loved you more than the father of my children. I worked so, so… Read more: Hello, Friend. - She Just Didn’t Try Hard Enough
When I was in the depths of my marriage, I went back to college to become a special education teacher. At the end of two long years of classes, I had my Internship Year, which is known everywhere else as student teaching. My first semester was my special education placement,… Read more: She Just Didn’t Try Hard Enough - What I Left, What I’m Writing
I left a marriage, a country, and—maybe most of all—a version of myself I had to believe in to survive. I left safety that wasn’t safe. Roles that didn’t fit. Apologies I didn’t owe. Expectations I never agreed to but still carried like debt. I left spaces where I was… Read more: What I Left, What I’m Writing