Cassandra Branch

Never wanting to look into my reflection, perhaps not knowing how, I allowed my personhood to rest in the hands of others.

Over time, by choosing to love myself, I have come to see that I’m not responsible for the way that people perceive me.

It took me 22 years to embrace my actual identity and understand that what I thought was an attraction to men was actually an outright addiction to the male gaze.

As I sit down to write these articles, I find within myself the profound conviction to be radically soft.

Part of me cannot help but wonder if this is what getting older is: a constant sacrifice of a personal life in pursuit of accomplishments.

When people tell me that they think Halloween is a peculiar date for an anniversary, I think I’ll start responding by saying: “Is it really?”

I struggled to surrender myself to my femininity; without realizing it, I was bringing the defensiveness I met the outside world with into our studio.

This wouldn't be the last time I haphazardly gave my body to somebody whose name I didn’t know. Desperately, I wanted to feel desired.

She said to me, “You are my home,” and we cried until we couldn’t tell the chlorinated water apart from the tears streaming down our faces.