Asha Dore

Jan 14, 2025 | thecut.com | Asha Dore

Photo-Illustration: Jared Bartman I knew I had to finally cut ties with my mother the morning she called my 7-year-old son a monster. It happened a year and a half ago. My mom had lived with me on and off for the last decade. When she lived with me, she helped get my kids ready for school in the morning so I could leave early for work. On the way to the bus that day, my son asked Mom for an extra granola bar, and she snapped.

Nov 24, 2024 | slate.com | Asha Dore

This is One Thing, a column with tips on how to live. The morning before my daughter was released from the hospital to recover from scoliosis surgery, a heat wave hit. Like most Seattle homes, ours doesn’t have central air conditioning. In the past, we made do with fans and ice water. But this time, my kid would be stuck, resting, sweating—and hopefully healing—in 100-plus-degree heat. I bailed on a handful of work meetings to join the droves of people hunting for standalone A/C units.

Nov 3, 2024 | yahoo.com | Asha Dore

I didn't know I was neurodivergent until I was 37 year old. I only found out after taking my son to get diagnosed. I appear to be an organized person, I spend hours mapping my day and running to do lists in my head. As a special educator working with neurodiverse students for a decade, I didn't realize I was neurodivergent myself until I was 37. My son always had high energy compared to his siblings, but he didn't have typical signs of ADHD or autism.

Jul 15, 2024 | memoirland.substack.com | Richard Kelly Kemick |Jonny Diamond |Asha Dore |Andrea Skinner

Welcome to Memoir Land—a newsletter edited by , now featuring four verticals:Memoir Monday, a weekly curation of the best personal essays from around the web brought to you by Narratively, The Rumpus,  Granta, Guernica, Oldster Magazine, Literary Hub, Orion Magazine, The Walrus, and Electric Literature. Below is this week’s curation. First Person Singular, featuring original personal essays. Recently I reprinted “A Numbers Game” by .

Jul 11, 2024 | electricliterature.com | Asha Dore

Personal Narrative I worked my ass off to pay the bills and feed my toddler and get through the next shift I was the worst mother in the world that Tuesday night when Maggie was two months old. She was exactly the weight—pounds and ounces—she’d been the moment she was born. I boiled water for Lise’s butter noodles and wore Maggie strapped to my chest in a baby wrap, the fabric stretchy, cornflower blue and dotted with spilled milk. The wrap smelled a bit sour. For over a week, I’d been...