Who gets the 'right' to write a life?
Every institution kept a record.
Police.
Teachers.
Social workers.
Doctors.
Judges.
Together, they built an archive of my life.
Their files tell a truth.
Mine begins in the white space between the paragraphs—
where silence gathered,
where memory hid,
and where a child waited for someone
to ask a different question.
EXHIBIT: A
✦ CASE NOTE: ORIGIN OF FLIGHT ✦
Every story has a beginning.
Mine is often told through knives,
blood,
police reports,
and adults.
But before I became the girl who walked out of the house,
I was the girl who thought about it.
This is the first time I remember trying to leave.
✦✦✦
"The sea remembered my name."
"I was raised by the weather."
"The file wasn't the final draft"
"Joy is a counter archive."
Jade G. Thomas
Writer • Poet • Teacher • Speaker • PhD Researcher • Founder of The Aftercare Project
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I've spent much of my life searching for home. I write because stories can become places to belong. Through memoir, poetry and The Aftercare Project, I explore care, identity, neurodiversity and the quiet possibility of hope.
AUDIO TRANSCRIPT
[Voice note 0001C]
“The bathtub wasn’t just a place.
It was a coffin.
A cradle.
Porcelain and silence.
The kind of stillness that waits to be broken.”
“They left us.
And we waited.
Because that’s what children do.
We wait for love,
even when it never arrives.”
✦✦✦
""This'll sweeten your tongue," she'd say. "So the bitterness won't stay."
Please take your time.
Every institution asked me to hurry.
This archive doesn't.
To whoever is reading this—
For a long time I believed I had to explain myself.
Now I'd rather invite you to witness.
What you'll find here isn't the whole story.
It's a living collection of questions, memories, poems, performances, and voices that continue to change—
including my own.
Thank you for spending a little of your time here.
POETIC INSERT — TWO COINS AND A BABY
Hope doesn’t always roar.
Sometimes it clinks.
Sometimes it’s round, warm,
passed from one woman’s palm
to another’s trembling fingers.
Sometimes it says:
I see you.
And that’s enough to keep walking.
✦✦✦
"This'll sweeten your tongue", she'd say. "So the bitterness won't stay."
FOUND OBJECT
"My grandmother tucked lavender into drawers and beneath pillows. For years, I thought love was something that smelled faintly of lavender."
✖ STRIKEOUT REPORT #009
I was born into love.
I was a miracle.
I was wanted.
No.
I was born from a wound.
Left behind by silence.
And placed in the hands of someone
who had already buried too many things
to cry out loud.
✦✦✦
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