When we think of women writers, certain celebrated names come to mind: Didion, Woolf, Bronte, Alcott, Gabaldon, Angelou. But when we stop and consider all women writers, we need simply look around. They are teachers, housewives, mothers, doctors, lawyers, bus drivers and sea captains. They tend to gardens. They heal the wounded. They are all of us. We are all of them.
“All the kings horses and all the kings men couldn’t put Stacey together again.”
The bathroom floor is where Stacey found herself when her slow descent into a special kind of mental hell began, culminating in a “checking out” of sorts. The chaos and exhaustion of her fifteen-year marriage had taken its toll, her disintegration disrupting the lives of her boys who needed her more than ever. It’s taken years for her to dissect the pieces of her dysfunctional puzzle, confirming that it wasn’t just one event, but many which sent her down the rabbit hole. Grateful that she’s still around to share her story in this extraordinary book of very personal essays, Stacey shows us how ignoring mental health issues can lead to some serious shit.
The bathroom floor is where Stacey found herself when her slow descent into a special kind of mental hell began, culminating in a “checking out” of sorts. The chaos and exhaustion of her fifteen-year marriage had taken its toll, her disintegration disrupting the lives of her boys who needed her more than ever. It’s taken years for her to dissect the pieces of her dysfunctional puzzle, confirming that it wasn’t just one event, but many which sent her down the rabbit hole. Grateful that she’s still around to share her story in this extraordinary book of very personal essays, Stacey shows us how ignoring mental health issues can lead to some serious shit.