In my chapter “Fragile Connections” in the book I am writing, Living a Feminist Life, I have been trying to think through the implications of how the histories that leave us fragile are often the histories that bring us to feminism.
Fragility: the quality of being easily breakable. We are all fragile; some of us are more fragile than others.
Can we value what is deemed broken? Can we appreciate those bodies, those things, which are deemed to have bits and pieces missing?
A history of breaking can be a history of making.
Things can happen; accidents can happen. Hap happens. We can be thrown by what we come up against.
In my earlier post on fragility I shared Ann Oakley’s story of breaking her hand in her wise book, Fractured: Adventures of a Broken Body (2007).
I have a story. Let me give you the bones of it.
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