For most of my life, I believed that something about me was "wrong". I was the child who seemed capable but inconsistent, bright yet distracted, enthusiastic but unfocused. They observed unfinished thoughts, wandering attention, and an imagination that appeared to drift far from the classroom. What they did not see, because we lacked the language for it then, was ADHD.
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Most conversations about abuse focus on the moment it occurs. But for many women, the greater impact lies in what follows. The silence. The minimising. The expectation to move on. But the body does not move on simply because the mind decides to.
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At its thematic core, Fiamma is an exploration of absence — specifically, the enduring psychological imprint of losing a parent during formative years. Neri's prose is richly metaphorical, often bordering on poetic.
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A space intentionally created for those seeking growth, clarity, and a deeper understanding of what it means to build a meaningful life — at the intersection of creativity, personal development, and mindset.
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The day before Nyepi, windows begin to be blacked out and open venues are shuttered from view. Most mobile networks are switched off. Many visitors embrace this as a 24-hour digital detox.
DWC Magazine connects you with a loyal, engaged audience of women aged 40 and above — across digital and print. Our readers are established, decisive, and actively seeking services, products and support that speak directly to their lives. Be found. Be trusted. Be seen.
She smelled like lavender and emotional vulnerability. Her socks had embroidered cats. Her fridge had three kinds of cheese and one very expired yogurt. She was perfect. One meow, a tail wrap around her ankle, and a dramatic flop onto my side — voilà! I had secured a human.
"I knew you'd come back," she whispered. Come… back? Darling, I've never been here before in my entire nine-lifed existence. And yet… the place felt familiar. Like I'd napped here in a former life. Or in a dream. Or during a tuna-induced hallucination.
For I, Sir Archibald Fluffington III — Fluff of House Biscuit, Emperor of the Side Table Realm, Undisputed Duke of Disdain — have just endured a harrowing, soul-shattering encounter with true evil. No, not the toddler from next door who once attempted to feed me a crayon. I speak of her.
We like to believe that women — mothers especially — are wired to protect. That somewhere deep inside us there's a primal code that says no one touches my child.
And yet, time after time, we see women who do know, or at least sense, and still stay quiet. They convince themselves it's not happening. They hope it will stop. They don't want to believe the man they chose could be capable of it. They fear losing their home, their reputation, their sense of control.
Maybe it's conditioning. Maybe it's terror. Maybe it's centuries of messages telling us to keep the peace, keep the man, keep the life together.
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