A Place of One’s Own

E. Black
5 min readOct 26, 2022
Photo by E. Black

When I was 14, I woke up one morning around 4am to hear my mother screaming and sobbing in the living room. I climbed out of bed and went out to find her on her knees with the phone pressed to her ear. For a little over a year, since my father left, she had been raising two teenagers, working her regular full-time job as a preschool teacher and then spending her nights, seven days a week, delivering newspapers.

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E. Black

Top writer in Feminism. Writer and Translator. Living in a cabin by a creek in the North Country. http://www.followtherivernorth.substack.com