Eliana Osborn

My husband is worried about stigma, about Owen feeling different, about epilepsy being part of his identity. Those are sweet concerns, really. And I get it — I love the kid too. I’d never want to make his life harder in any way.

Really, you should thank me. I’m just protecting your future self.

How do you love someone who continually does things to hurt himself? I’ve been holding a phone with my stoned, sobbing brother on the other end for nearly 20 years. I keep picking up the pieces, keep having my heart break, because he’s my brother.

I look tired when I stay up too late. I also look tired if I get eight hours of sleep.

I wanted to write a book last summer. Then I realized what a terrible goal that was and modified accordingly.

I’m not there yet. But I need to be honest—I’m closer to 40 than any other multiple of five.

I’m terrified of wrongful imprisonment. To be the only one who knows the truth and have to live every day in a cell, wondering, why, god, why? [...] Sitting hooked up for gadgets to monitor every aspect of my mind and body, in a small room without any distraction, I see how a person could lose herself — or the truth — for a moment.

If you kill a tortoise, even on accident, you probably shouldn’t have children.

Self-care is important. Massages are a good form of self-care. Too bad I keep thinking about what I'm going to make for dinner.

If he were an a--hole to my kids, things would be easier. But he’s not. He’s good with them. He’s his best self. It makes me alternately happy and heartbroken.