I’ve recently found a great new blog: FWD/Forward.  It’s incredibly new and, though I forget how I found them, I’ve really been enjoying the voices of the contributing authors.  And, yet, every time I go to comment (which is not something I usually do, I’m a great lurker), I hesitate.  I hesitate because FWD is for Feminists with Disabilities.  I struggle with both of those labels.  Because I’ve been a good cultural sponge and I know that women are *suppose* to be quiet and well-behaved and people are *suppose* to be healthy.

But I have and express my opinions.  But my health, or lack thereof, impacts my life.  More than that, when I read posts like this one on narcotic pain medication I hear echoes of my story (you all remember The Headache?).

So I’ve been thinking about labels and what they mean.  About the truth.  About my life.

And I’ve been commenting and thinking and being slightly less alone in some of the muddle that is, rather frequently, my life.

And all of this, alongside FWD, is good.