FMS Lab Values


Valuing storytelling     /    Valuing storytelling     /    Valuing storytelling     /    Valuing storytelling     /    Valuing storytelling     /    Valuing storytelling     /    Valuing storytelling     /    

Recognizing and resisting settler sense-making    /    Recognizing and resisting settler sense-making    /    Recognizing and resisting settler sense-making    /    Recognizing and resisting settler sense-making    /    Recognizing and resisting settler sense-making    /    

Grounding aesthetics in politics     /    Grounding aesthetics in politics      /    Grounding aesthetics in politics      /    Grounding aesthetics in politics      /    Grounding aesthetics in politics      /    Grounding aesthetics in politics      /    Grounding aesthetics in politics      /    

Practicing queer and trans* politics     /    Practicing queer and trans* politics     /    Practicing queer and trans* politics     /    Practicing queer and trans* politics     /    Practicing queer and trans* politics     /    Practicing queer and trans* politics     /    Practicing queer and trans* politics     /    

Fostering spaces of refuge     /    Fostering spaces of refuge     /    Fostering spaces of refuge     /    Fostering spaces of refuge     /    Fostering spaces of refuge     /    Fostering spaces of refuge     /    Fostering spaces of refuge    /    Fostering spaces of refuge     /    

Centering practices of care     /    Centering practices of care     /    Centering practices of care     /    Centering practices of care     /    Centering practices of care     /    Centering practices of care     /    Centering practices of care    /    Centering practices of care     /    

Making space to fail      /    Making space to fail     /    Making space to fail     /    Making space to fail     /    Making space to fail     /    Making space to fail     /    Making space to fail    /    Making space to fail     /    

Connectivity and relationality     /    Connectivity and relationality     /    Connectivity and relationality     /    Connectivity and relationality     /    Connectivity and relationality     /    Connectivity and relationality     /    Connectivity and relationality    /    Connectivity and relationality     /    

A constellation of feedback    /    A constellation of feedback    /    A constellation of feedback    /    A constellation of feedback    /    A constellation of feedback    /    A constellation of feedback    /    A constellation of feedback    /    A constellation of feedback    /        


This statement is a living document of the shared values guiding our feminist thinking and doing at the FMS. Collectively authored by our members across a series of meetings grounded in building our feminist library—BaFL, the identified values stand at the core of the work we aim to do here. These values and how we define them will continue to evolve as does our membership, staff, and the feminist work we enact together.

Valuing Storytelling

Storytelling for us is a method, an ethic, and an invitation—both to ourselves and to those who will listen. Noticing whose stories are told and valued and whose are not is a deeply political commitment. Storytelling enters us into autoethnography, to “describe and systematically analyze (graphy) personal experiences (auto) in order to understand cultural experience (ethno)” (see Cuevas in Fournier 2021). In telling our own stories, we work to better understand our perspectives and positionalities. In listening to stories, we not only learn about others’ grounded experience but about the specificity of our own situated knowledge. Storytelling is a feminist research method in its allegiance to the personal: “To do research—of any kind—is not simply to ask questions; it is to let our curiosities drive us and allow them to ethically bind us; it is to tell stories and to pay attention not only to which stories we are telling and how we are telling them, but how they, through their very forms, are telling us” (see Loveless 2019). As a lab, we have come together to share texts vital to our work, and the stories that brought us to and through them. Our stories have been an entry point to collectively identify our shared feminist values, represented in this living document, which continue to expand and evolve through the telling and retelling of further stories. “Stories are much bigger than ideologies. In that is our hope.” (see Haraway 2003).

Fournier, Lauren. Autotheory as Feminist Practice in Art, Writing, and Criticism (2021)
Loveless, Natalie. How to Make Art at the End of the World (2019)
Haraway, Donna. The Companion Species Manifesto (2003)

Recognizing and resisting settler sense-making

We acknowledge the need to go beyond merely recognizing that colonialism is ongoing and rooted in our present. We commit to resisting the “domestication” of decolonial and anti-colonial language (see Tuck and Yang 2012) and avoid the use of non-performative decolonizing discourse (see: Ahmed 2006). To unsettle and undo settler colonial sense-making, we commit to self-reflexivity, inviting members to question how we benefit from (and/or are wounded by) colonial infrastructures. Questioning positionality also means adopting intersectional thinking, creating networks, dismantling hierarchies, and practicing uncommonality and discomfort. This is done to avoid re-centering whiteness and prevent the reproduction of epistemic and ontological violence through our work. We also invite all members to reflect on our relationship to the land we are on, and how this relationship influences, shapes, and supports our work. We acknowledge our debts to the land, and those who care for it, in our activities and outputs. Acknowledging the coloniality of knowledge rooted in and reproduced through educational institutions, we commit to resisting epistemic extractivism. Finally, we invite all members to think about and denounce the colonial infrastructures that are in place and continue to affect and displace communities across Turtle Island, Palestine, Abya Yala and the global community.

Tuck, Eve, & Yang, K. W. (2012). “Decolonization is not a metaphor.” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(2), 1–40. 

Ahmed, Sarah. (2006). “The Nonperformativity of Antiracism.” Meridians, 7(1), 104–126. 

Singh, Julietta. No Archive Will Restore You (2018)

Curiel, O.,  (2007). Crítica poscolonial desde las prácticas políticas del feminismo antirracista. Nómadas (Col),  (26), 92-101.

Grounding Aesthetics in Politics

As a lab, we maintain that aesthetics do political work. Together, we cultivate an “aesthetics of dissent”—an act of bringing tangles of things into relation with one another to pose (rather than answer) the question of their relation. We focus on art’s capacity to reveal things-in-relation through formal experimentation, performative actions, and public interventions. Our political-aesthetic actions are grounded in the urgency of displacement and occupation around the world, especially now in Palestine and on Turtle Island where the Studio itself occupies space on stolen land. We understand that a “politics of visibility” has served imperial aims within feminism. But we also see in “dis-placement” a key component of an aesthetics of dissent, creating temporary and shifting modes of inhabitation and intimacy, moving things out of the way to make room for other (more liberatory) forces. We turn to speculative fiction’s expressive capacity. We encourage art’s capacity to draw the contours of the space of politics in radical and capacious ways. We hone acts of noticing for aesthetics in everyday spaces and small acts. We refuse to be held accountable to neoliberal visions of the “artist” or the political economy of the “work of art”.

Practicing queer and trans* politics

A practice is something we do repeatedly over time, this repetition necessarily producing variation and ongoing differentiation. Practicing queer and trans politics suggests mobility and emergence, where the very terms “queer” and “trans” are continuously reconsidered and reimagined according to context and political necessity. The terms may be more or less aligned at different moments, working as forces that un-discipline closed definitions and fixed positions, pushing and pulling at established theoretical and material borders. We hope to explore the ways in which queer and trans* theories and practices can be mobilized to create space for process-oriented experimentation, embodied knowledge, movements without specific destinations, and the shattering of normative and hegemonic boundaries. Through both academic and aesthetic practices (including collective sensory experimentation, film, sound, performance, installation, etc.) we are especially interested in asking questions that help to un-discipline existing knowledge categories and formations. How, for example, does queer theory produce a disciplined version of anti-normativity, of subversion and subversiveness?  What are the aspects of transing (see Stryker, Curray & Moore) that bring productive challenges to queer theory’s disciplined versions, and to notions of binary gender as the only viable form of embodiment/expression? How might undisciplined practices embrace the messiness, tensions, frictions and relations within and between queer and trans* studies, theories and politics, allowing for productive deformation and refiguring/reassembly?

Stryker, S., Currah, P., & Moore, L. J. (2008). Introduction: Trans-, Trans, or Transgender? Women’s Studies Quarterly, 36(3/4), 11–22. 

Fostering spaces of refuge

Refugia can be ecological, cultural, political, and intimate. They provide spaces of respite and flourishing, as well as education, communion, and multispecies cohabitation. To find refuge amidst overlapping and ongoing crises and structures of othering creates belonging, drawing from ecologies of social and intellectual emancipation. We look closely at what it means to forge refuge in a settler state, on stolen lands; in a capitalist economy of precarious employment; and in patriarchal, military, and scientific structures of oppression. We also take up the practice of creating habitable sanctuaries across multiple projects of justice: indigenous sovereignty, housing, climate, epistemic justice, migrant rights, and activism. To us, “habitability” means to have the ability to rest, grieve, heal, and cultivate knowledge and joyful affects in an environment where failure is allowed, encouraged, and supported as a process of learning. We seek to foster safety from institutional pressure, slowing time to allow multivocal and multidimensional processes to emerge and lead. And finally, we seek to build partial and imperfect oases, providing forms of nourishment, respite, and collectively assembled toolkits and resources to continue resisting the erosion of refugia in and outside the university. 

Centering practices of care

As a response to the uncaring models and structures of neoliberalism, we commit to placing care at the center of all activities that take place both within and coming out of the Studio. This involves creating horizontal and non-transactional circles of care within the lab and working to ensure that lab members feel seen and heard. We foster spaces in which members can come as they are, to experiment, speculate and engage in collective thinking without judgment and without the need to deliver a “perfect” academic/artistic performance (see Making Space to Fail). At the same time, we refuse to entertain or condone racist, sexist, transphobic, or ableist claims. We see this refusal as a form of care. We also recognize that care is not always akin to comfort, and may in fact require some of us to sit with and move through forms of discomfort as acts of care, such as confronting whiteness and other forms of privilege (see Recognizing and Resisting Settler Sense Making). We understand that “care” is also an essential practice to build, maintain, and repair our world, and explore what it means to foster and engage in alternative caring kinships (with each other, nature, living beings, and other-than-humans) (See Fostering Spaces of Refuge).

Making Space to Fail

The academic mindset rarely admits failure. Everything must be meaningful and significant. We know that failing hurts and can’t simply be celebrated as a “queer art” in and of itself without work, a support structure, and deep kinship. We ask ourselves what it takes to fail safely, to fail and land, to fail and learn. To create safe spaces for failure, we focus on process and experimentation over polished or successful outputs and structure generative feedback focused on a “constellation” of responses (see: A Constellation of Feedback). Failing gives us access to new narratives (see Abdul Hadi), not new as in original or never done, but new as in reshaped, transformed, adapted against establishment. New as in other voices never considered. We also know that failing safely involves those with power in the lab (white, tenured professors, for instance) giving cover and space for more vulnerable members to fail beautifully and radically, in a space of learning and feminist exploration, that takes our work in new directions or down risky paths. We see failure as a pathway to messiness, experimentation, and unsettling settled ideas. We seek to fail at neoliberal success. We fail with compassion and in good company.

Abdul Hadi, S. (2020). Take care of your self: the art and cultures of care and liberation. Common Notions. 

Connectivity and Relationality

“Common goods” are political and economic extractivist strategies (see: Blaser & de la Cadena 2017). Commons are not unitary, they contain paradoxes. Capitalism exacerbates these contradictions through binarisms that serve the market's logic, reducing diverse forms of life and living into commodified objects (see: Federici & Linebaugh 2019). Exploring ideas of commoning might lead to understanding uncommonalities, which can generate discomfort and uncertainty, and unsettle false allyships in the common flag of decolonization (see: Recognizing and resisting settler sense-making).  What ethics should be followed to explore the (un)common, transforming the everyday into the lab? What constitutes feminist critique as an active principle in the ongoing relationship of the (un)commons?

Blaser, M., & de la Cadena, M. (2017). The Uncommons: An Introduction. Anthropologica, 59(2), 185–193. 

Federici, S., & Linebaugh, P. (2019). Re-enchanting the World: Feminism and the Politics of the Commons. PM Press.

A Constellation of Feedback

Moving away from “paranoid” forms of reading, we ally with Eve Sedgwick’s focus on reparative reading, particularly in the feedback we give each other on work in progress. Devised by FMS Director Krista Lynes, our feedback begins with forms of “Constellation Mapping”, describing the topic, insight, question, or argument back to the author/maker rather than making judgments about good or bad characteristics (see: Storytelling). Next, our feedback identifies “Bright lights” (what is exciting to me, resonates with me, strikes me as worth pursuing, a new insight, a key argument?); “Dim lights” (What’s in the background I want to hear more about? Missing dimensions of this topic? Other things to consider?); “Distractive flashes, or satellites mistaken for shooting stars (What’s here that’s distracting? Doesn’t fit? Draws me towards other things unproductively?); and “Eclipses” (What’s obscured? Blocked from view? Needs illumination?). These mechanisms work to structure a generative response structure that supports work in process as a process of feminist collaboration, support and care (see: Centering Practices of Care).


Embodiment (Madhubanti)

At 10, I was told that to master this piece, I would have to try to be the river. I was confused, how could I be one thing when I was another? Always pushed to be in-dependent, self-sufficient, I was not sure how to imagine being outside my body, or my mind. Did being in my body imply a place or time? Whose body do I dis-place to make space for my own, who is next to me, and how do I hold myself in relation to them? I thought of the river, of dancing with my friends, our bodies entangled in each other, woven together through the air we gasped for, the water we drank when panting for breath. What kept our bodies, cared for them? Thinking with, through my body, I am displaced from the here and now, to the then, and there. A winding thread binds the ones with me now, daring to place our bodies as a demand, a claim; to us then, being taught how to dance and become something ‘other’ than ourselves, each of us moving in different directions away from that imperative—radiating circles, or threads branching out to be tugged on later. 

Non-linear (Krista)

The line is a method, or a deadline. It is a recession of yellow dashes down the road to a degree or a job or a life. The line is: one can pass, or one can’t pass. The line is one fails. The line is: this happens before that, or something has to hold water; a water line, a tap of words, but it leaks and drips drops all day. Non-linear doesn’t toe the line; it meanders. It gathers anxiety and free reign in both fists. It is an anti-discipline. It streets its way; it paths but does not pass. 

Failure (Krista)

Much talk of queer arts but it stings, even when it’s mostly in your head and no one is around to notice anyway. It serves us cruelly – works at the delicate ego, tempers the best and worst impulses, resists the extractive work that might be needed to make a “something”. It likes to refuse; it’s a good contrarian. It sits at your table and wags its finger at you as you drink coffee and sob because it’s right. Because it hates perfectionism and virtuosity. It ravages pride and non-relation. It likes the taste of iteration, the sound of “start again”. 

Speculation (Piper)

Lately I find myself thinking about the future, having conversations during car rides, burning fossil fuels and admiring the road side beauty and ugliness of lands stolen and maimed, crossing real distances to get to made-up places.

I am thinking about the future on my own, with friends, and with thinkers I haven’t (yet) met, like Julietta Singh who imagines a future with and for her daughter, and Rebecca Solnit who reminds us to hope. Can we build a future without a map, a plan, a strategy? How do I hope for a future I can’t see, while tempering utopic expectations, while spurring action, while wanting to want to get out of bed? (And having to, whether I want to or not.)

It feels necessary to imagine a future. To speculate. To think and rethink and act out these thoughts. How do our speculations become our realities?

How do the past and present point to the future? How do I diverge from imaginary lines of linear progress while confronting the unrelenting march of time? On, on, on. Do we need to know where we are going to start moving?

Are speculative futures where imagination and knowledge converge, conflict, and co-create?

Taking the time (Natalia)

Last year, I silenced the clock inside me. 

A time-measuring machine that was not me, but that had been ticking inside me to make me speed. 

It wasn’t a clock of flesh and matter, but a clock of induced self-surveillance, production, and guilt. 

A clock that never stopped ticking; 

and with each tick or tock asked me to turn myself and the world around me into endless exploitable resources. 

This refusal, which is also a privilege, can only last so long, and be performed in particular spaces, but this taste of slowness makes me wonder about the possibility, if it exists, of inventing new collective times. 

Poetics (Amelle)

Thinking with poetics is crouching down, as if to observe the curled leaf of a fern. Bending down and tapping on genre, on form, on structure, tapping on words, sounds, images, on the curled fern leaf and asking hello? What do you contain? Poetics are a reminder of the malleability of language, and the sensoriality of its interpretation. Twist a kaleidoscope once and bring your eye close to split the world into glimmers of crystal. Twist it again and the multiplication of beauty continues, the world composed of so many different lights, each of them a voice, laughing, moaning, singing. 

Taking the time (Alba)

Queer time, crip time, decolonial time, cyclical time, deep time, quantum time. A method for finding refuge from capitalist temporality is easy. In your own time, let yourself sink.  

The fastest moving water  

is on the surface,  

each successive layer  

of water toward the bottom  

flows slower than the layer above it.  

Time extends before, after, beyond us, it remains in the room when we’re not there. Mold, dust, soil, stone, a gust of wind. What happens when we let ‘other’ times move us? A warm gaze between comrades, a body held, a blossom, a story, a sense of place.

Storytelling (Piper)

If I tell you a story, will you listen?

Will you hear my embellishments and omissions?

Will you glean some truth of what I value?

In the telling, I (re)shape my world.

For what am I but a collection of stories? Not a compendium, concise and systematic in its form, but a shoebox archive, scraps and remnants of the absurd and mundane thrown unceremoniously together to be poured out and poured over at some later time.

Whose stories do we value? What stories line our shelves and which do we discard? 

If I tell you a story, will you listen?

Queering (Piper)

Someone asked me recently why we’re always trying to queer everything. “How is a map straight?” Shocked, I barely had a response.

But on reflection, it does seem silly. Living in a culture so dominantly cis, het, white, able-bodied, patriarchal, of course it gets into everything.

Queer goes beyond gender or sexuality, but it’s that too. It’s a disruption of “normal.” Queerness looks at hegemony and says, not for me, thanks. It’s an existence in the margins, in between and outside. Queer is messy, embodied, a failure in normalcy. It’s a celebration of other ways of being, becoming, knowing, and doing.

Failure (Piper)

We don’t fail until we give up. I think I’m paraphrasing someone. In activism especially, outsiders are so ready to point at a movement and say, “that failed.” But change can be slow, non-linear, incremental. Failure means we’re trying, and that’s not really failure. We haven’t really failed until it’s over, and it isn’t over until we’ve won or given up.

I take this into my own work. In some ways I feel like I’ve never really failed. I chip away. Give up for a moment before coming back with renewed drive and fresh perspectives, informed by my so-called failure.

Storytelling (Piper)

It matters what stories tell stories, and it matters who tells them. I feel driven to tell my stories through memes. At first it was just a way of letting go. Shouting into the void. Who really cares what I have to say? Especially about myself? But in doing so, I realized how important our most mundane stories are. Life happens in the everyday. What I thought of as a picture of myself became a mirror for others. How much we all have in common, in the most bizarre and boring ways. Storytelling bridges gaps we might not even see.

Centering practices of care (Madhubanti)

I don’t remember the name of the woman who brought me a plate of biryani that night I first went to Shaheen Bagh, but she reminded me of my slightly overbearing grandmother. Not only in her gesture of feeding me, but what her action evoked: feeling loved, and its accompanying discomfort. We were intimately linked in that moment, both of us aware of the deep asymmetry between us as we sat under the same tent. She told me how she went from nurturing a family to organizing her community; I’ve never had a large appetite, but savoured every last crumb. }

Refusal (Cristina)

AMERICA was not discovered, and it had Indigenous names ignored by the European seafarers. 

I have crossed out the word AMERICA in The Breaks so often that I ended up understanding why Julietta talks about AMERICA as a “highly skilled” nation that creates monsters. 

In their implacable authority, the US and other settler states create several types of monstrous abjections: outsiders who don’t fit, intruders in the impenetrable collective, and intruders in the relationship between the inside, the outside, and the territory—the North, Center, and South. 

Monsters in the edges, the borders and thresholds. 

But a monster can be a line, a drop, a continuous and discontinuous being of forms.

Archives of frontline mothers -fronts of fire- like discarded bodies

between the guns, the children, and the maps.


I refuse and resist as the song says clearly: 

-Disorder unleashed, Who’ll be alive?-

I refuse the syndrome, the impostor, the excuse. I resist in this present of a globalized world.

I resist extraction, mining, and oil. 

I resist the cannibal monster, the swallowing desire, and the fiction of golden stolen lands.

Are you still believing in nation-states?

Monsters are mad, rad, bad, anti

fabulating a break

burning everything alive

(Singh, 2018-2021) (Sepultura, 1993)

Acts of Joy (Melina Campos)

Having a plentiful breakfast before the sun goes up. Going through two years of printed articles on the lookout for something. Packing my swimming gear for later. Wearing thick wool socks. Walking under a mild snowstorm. Listening to the kids playing in the schoolyard after weeks of silence. Commuting for an hour. Encountering a dear friend halfway through. Eating warm lentil soup out of my thermos. Showing up at a meeting where I don’t know anyone. Nervous sighting. Discussing feminist ways of being and doing. Secretly smiling. Trying to explain in one hundred words how this feels.

Storytelling/ Embodiment

It is hard to hold grief in your body in an empty house. Five of us looked at each other, we told stories - some we knew, some we did not. Laughing together, holding her contradictions up to the light, time started passing again. Language struggles to fill the jagged hole, but we remember her infuriatingly stubborn chin, her big heart embracing others' pain, the poetry she left each one of us, and the way we managed to defend joy for each other changed. Trying to account for the illegibility of loss, stumbling into new ways to show care.

Acts of Joy (Natalia)

To let go of the anxiety to be what I am not. 

To inhabit time through the body, not through the clock. 

To observe the dust floating in the rays of the sun coming through the window. 

To float with it. Timeless. 

To dwell on the air that goes up one nostril and comes out the other. 

To dissolve with it. 

To let the anxiety dissolve.

To let time dissolve. 

And accept the joy of slowness as a gift. 

Kindness as a duty. 

Care as a principle.

Refusing the rush of the productive. 

Letting go of the body turned machine. 

Staying with the Trouble (Teagan)

Tendencies, interests, pre-occupations. Structures, Aesthetics, Subjects. I attempt to represent full nuanced realities as they are, through tools that cannot fully encapsulate them. Have I succeeded? A matter of perception. More so a matter of knowledge. More so a matter of hindsight. I have managed, and I have failed. But I have yet to surrender. I am not “objective”, fence-sitting or avoidant. I struggle, I reflect, I chisel, I repeat. Set to learn from the discomfort of having run parallel to “it” while failing to touch it in the past. Graze it I will, perhaps, one day.

Process-based (Alexandra)

I am process-phobic. I am terrified to make this claim in a space where process-based is celebrated. Why do I hate the process so much? Process confronts me with failure. Failing at being productive. At being an academic who’s published in flagship journals. Will scientometrics dictate and shape my work, my creativity, my art? How to resist? A radical thought emerges “you are so much more than your productivity”. I want to believe it. To believe it in an embodied manner, to feel it in my gut. I want to be reminded of this on days where nothing is written.

The institution tells me otherwise; career advancement tells me otherwise. The infamous “publish or perish” haunts me and makes me want to quit. Resisting the process is what is breaking us. Embracing the process, accepting its different temporality seems imperative to get out of survival mode. Faster is not always better. To unlearn what the neoliberal and managerial university has imposed on our bodies. Slow movement. Slow theory. Taking the time. Taking Academia back. Swallowed by the cult of speed, craving for results, the process was eluded along the way. Process-based never informed my research, feminism offers this delightful possibility.

Auto-ethnography (Alexandra)

In the middle of the Mojave Desert, next to the small town of Barstow and other ghost towns of the Calico Mountains, is built Medina Wasl, a fake Middle Eastern town/he lost his glasses once again//Mosques, tea rooms, street markets, traditional houses shape the visual landscape, thereby transforming the northern part of the San Bernadino county into an immersive military training environment which intent to reproduce the cultural and religious landscapes from overseas on US soil/We are also looking for his keys, he showed me his wallet and cellphone, looking distraught, asking if it was what we were looking for.

My heart pinched, dementia is a hell of a disease. An object becomes another. Confusing shirt with pants, toothbrush with hairbrush. The harrowing new reality of becoming our father’s caregivers happened soon after our mom’s death. My sister – a trauma and PTSD therapist - was on her way to intervene with first responders after that bus crashed into the daycare in Laval, when the cops called: your dad was driving on the opposite side of the road, you’ve got to pick him up NOW! She was in the middle of a disaster; I was in the middle of an article.

The life of a caregiver is a story of disruptions. Time for academic research shrinks proportionally to the time dedicated to searching literal and banal objects in the house. From research objects to everyday objects. Looking for stuff in the freezer; buying air tags on Amazon (letting go a little piece of my soul in doing so). When the trackers won’t work, I turn towards Saint Antoine de Padoue, the Patron Saint of lost things. (My prayers are driving my atheist partner crazy – they don’t know I’ve recently added “Saint Dymphna” in my summons, the patroness of those who suffer from Alzheimer's. Her feast day is May 15th, 2 days after my dad’s birthday). I find something soothing in the cult of saints, secretly celebrating its pagan roots. Presence in absence, like my father’s mind.

Caregiving is an embodied experience. Tiredness, exhaustion, depression, psychological distress, grief, fear, frustration, guilt (especially guilt) circulate through the caregiver’s body. The unbearable guilt you feel when you practice self-care and ignore your duty. I need to end my auto-ethnographic chronicle before another interruption. Ironically, I need to continue my paper about warfare while there is an affective war going on in my heart too.


Participating Members