Top Stories
Stories in Confessions that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
My Barbie And I
When I was a child, Barbie fascinated me. I tenderly held the blonde-haired doll and admired her sleek, toned body. My tiny hands eased her into colorful pink day dresses, and even the occasional satiny evening gown. I combed her long, shining tresses, while I envied her wide, blue eyes enhanced by thick, painted eyelashes.
By C C Farley2 years ago in Confessions
Drowning In a Sea of Sin . Content Warning.
I watched the world go by in a blur outside the taxi window, I knew that only I could save myself. There was no one else to catch me, hold me, help me. If I had a family to surround and support me, a good mum or mother-in-law, then one or other would have looked after my children, put me to bed and perhaps I wouldn’t have felt so alone and lost, needing to make such a huge decision. But my own mother was long dead, and my mother-in-law may as well have been for all the love and assistance I’d got from her. She had never, ever lifted a finger to show me any kindness, help, thought or gratitude for having given her four beautiful grandchildren – all of whom she totally ignored – and been a loving and supportive wife to their son.
By Leeza-Bridget Cooper2 years ago in Confessions
The Delicate Art of Faking it. Content Warning.
What do you do when your skin doesn't fit? You can't hang it up in the back of the closet or return it to the rack. There's no refunds or exchanges. You get one body. One vessel to experience life with. And when that vessel malfunctions over and over again, the wires get crossed. The pieces and the parts get warped, their once shiny edges rusting. The cogs get harder and harder to turn. And for a lot of other chronically ill people, there's a Before and an After. Who I was before I got 'sick.' Who I am now. Who am I now?
By Sarah Marler2 years ago in Confessions
What My Therapist Doesn't Know
It's a freezing day in December, almost Christmas. My breath puffs out like clouds of cigarette smoke in the clear night air of the motel parking lot. At the moment, I wish it was cigarette smoke because I can't remember being this nervous in a very long time. Maybe the Christmas Eve service twenty years ago, when a pushy grandmother shoved her mini-skirted teen granddaughter up to the piano in our little Baptist Church and plopped an unfamiliar piece of music before me, stating, "Missy is going to sing. Play this."
By Tina D'Angelo2 years ago in Confessions
Too Black. Runner-Up in Identity Challenge.
I was pretty dark, even for a black kid, and the Texas sun I grew up playing in didn’t move me any closer to what the TV and the magazines said was beautiful. In elementary school, I was the constant subject of children’s jokes that began, “You’re so black that…”
By Carl L Lane2 years ago in Confessions
In Search of Reflection
I don't think we ever discover who we are. Identity is a never-ending book that continues to write new chapters as we experience life, and your story only ends when the pen is set down. When your story reaches a close, only you can describe everything. But there's no one word to sum up the life you lived and who you were. Others can title your story as they please and leave reviews, but you wrote every word of your story. So, on that last page, who do you think you'll be in your story? Did you become this person, or did you let this character you wanted to be, define where the story was headed?
By Davlin Knight2 years ago in Confessions
