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Eight years ago, I went to a friend of mine in distress. I had a lump or a bump or a cough or a premonition. “I am dying,” I told her. I was certain of it. “Or are you just about to put an album out?” she asked. My name is Charlee, and for the better part of twelve years, I’ve been a willing participant in the love-hate relationship most artists have with the music industry. The music industry is a peculiar trigger in my life. Anytime I move forward, I backwards dance into

Surrounded by echoes of doctors, nurses, fluorescent lights beaming above, the clatter of medical equipment, a flurry of instructions, sensations, reassurance, overflowing emotions, she lays there as her body and mind are going through unimaginable things, an embodiment of strength, ready to give birth. She feels confused, senses judgement and thinks: “How will I be able to do this?” Motherhood is often seen as a time of significant personal change, filled with both joy and

A diagnosis can feel like a key — unlocking understanding and access to help — or like a label that locks you into something you can’t escape. I was 35 when a psychiatrist gave me a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder (BPD)/ Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (EUPD). I am now 43, and I still have an ambivalent relationship with the diagnosis.