Stream of Consciousness: When my grandma was 19, my mom was one year old. When I was 19, my great aunt gave me an afghan blanket crocheted by her aunt, my great great aunt. At my mom’s 57th birthday party, my great aunt told me she had to save my great great aunt from an abuser. My great grandma died when she was 87. I still don’t know my great grandpas first name, but I know he was an abusive alcoholic. When my mom was 32 she gave birth to my sister with a medically advised c-section. I still don’t know what medical condition led my mom have to have a c-section, but I think I’ll have the same thing. When I was 21 I had a piece of plastic inserted into my uterus. I didn’t know it was going to hurt so bad. I couldn’t walk for a day and the swelling was so bad I looked like I was 6 months pregnant. When my grandma was 21 she had her IUD removed, she didn’t know it could cause ectopic pregnancies. I love my afgahn blanket and I love that I inherited it. It makes me feel closer to my female relatives that I didn’t know and the ones that have passed away. But I also inherited a shield, an amor, and sharp underpinning of secrecy. Secrecy that helps me forget about my own abusers. Armor that protects me from the violence of truth. Secrecy that protects abusers and perpetuates a system of non-transparency in women’s health. It’s an amor and a disabler, protection and a crutch. The afghan blanket to me feels like a representation of all the love, care, femininity, bonds, trauma, and secrets in my family.