Issue 45: Once a Therapist by Christina Berke | Artwork by April Dauscha
Once a therapist scoffed when you said you think you might maybe you dunno…have an eating disorder? You said it as you usually did, in that nervous-smile shy and quiet way if you talk about hard...
Once a Therapist by Christina Berke | Artwork by April Dauscha
Once a therapist scoffed when you said you think you might maybe you dunno…have an eating disorder? You said it as you usually did, in that nervous-smile shy and quiet way if you talk about hard things. And he, the therapist, the PhD, said, but look at you, look at that tiny waist!
Look at that tiny waist. Once a therapist tells you something, it roots down to the soil of your belly, you’ll water it for years until it blossoms and hopefully, finally, mercifully, dies.
The therapist tells you it’s all about calories in and calories out, as if the secret to your recovery, your salvation, lies in hooded wait with a simple math equation. Only it was not so effortless in your head, all this counting of how many calories in a taste of sauce on the stove, a garden carrot, a forkful of potato, and how much were you supposed to subtract for that brisk ninety minute walk, but not vigorous enough to sweat when it was all flat surfaces with no inclines and on pavement not asphalt which is supposed to burn more, and what about that hour long barre class but then you were so jealous of all those tiny perfect bodies surrounding you so you rage-binged in the pulsing private of your kitchen cupboards and didn’t log it, pretended the calories didn’t exist if no one saw and instead went back to the gym again, effort of erasure. But look at that tiny waist.
No. It wasn’t just about calories but also fiber and macros and fat grams, no—you mean saturated fat, no—bad fats, no— it was about what time you ate, no, actually it’s about combining certain foods, no, superfoods, no, negative calories, chewing celery slowly like a leisurely field cow, no, you mean you mean you mean no no no. Look at that tiny waist….
Read Once a Therapist.
Christina Berke is a Chilean-American writer based in Los Angeles. She’s been supported by Tin House, Sewanee, Hedgebrook, Storyknife and elsewhere. Her memoir, Well, Body, was Longlisted with Disquiet Literary International.
Born and raised in Louisville, Kentucky, April Dauscha received her BFA in fashion design at the International Academy of Design and Technology and her MFA in fiber from Virginia Commonwealth University. April has served on the board of directors for the Surface Design Association (SDA) and is one of the founding members of Tiger Strikes Asteroid Greenville (TSA GVL). She has been represented by Page Bond Gallery in Richmond, Virginia and her work has been featured in Vogue Portugal. She has exhibited her work nationally, at the Fuller Craft Museum, MANA Contemporary, and Tracey Morgan Gallery, and internationally in Berlin, Cape Town, Jerusalem, and Belgrade. She is currently heading the fiber arts program at the Fine Arts Center, a performing and visual arts high school, in Greenville, South Carolina.
Issue 45 Highlights
Issue 45: twenty twenty something by Featured Writer Eloghosa Osunde
Issue 45: Mal du Siècle by Raja’a Khalid | Artwork by Kate Molloy
Issue 45: The World Below the Brine by Featured Artist Neha Misra
Issue 45: Alert Circles by Ella deCastro Baron | Artwork by Vex Kaztro
Issue 45: Through the Looking Glass by Isra Hassan | Artwork by fanjoy labrenz
Issue 45: Once a Therapist by Christina Berke | Artwork by April Dauscha
Artists and Writers
In case you missed it….
This summer, we’re opening the doors to a seasonal series—three Summer Special Editions, each one shaped around a single word. This is an invitation to send us work that shimmers, lingers, glows. Art that refuses to explain itself too quickly.
🌈 JUNE — PRIDE
Queer joy. Chosen family. Hidden histories. The shimmer of becoming and quiet revolutions. We’re drawn to what pulses beneath the surface of celebration. The stories we tell and the ones we live.
🔥 JULY — HEAT
Swelter, sizzle, burn. We looking for fever-dreamed, sweat-soaked, summer-scorched work that simmers and ignites. Literal heat. Emotional heat. Climate heat. Erotic heat. Longing, pressure, combustion. Bring us the burn.
⚡ AUGUST — FLASH
Micro. Sudden. Sharp. Send us your shortest work—fiction, micro-essays, poetry, fragments, dispatches. We’re talking itty-bitty, under 500 words. We’re listening for the echo.
How it works:
Submissions open today and close on August 1. To be considered for the PRIDE Issue, please send your work no later than June 10. In your note, please mention the name of the issue the work is intended for (Pride, Heat, Flash).
Submit up to 3 pieces per theme.
Maximum 2K words for PRIDE AND HEAT; maximum 500 words for FLASH.
Previously unpublished work only, please. Simultaneous submissions are fine—just keep us in the loop.
We welcome emerging and established voices—poetry, short prose (maximum 2K), hybrid forms, visual art, and unclassifiable experiments.
Surprise us. Seduce us. Leave something behind.
Can’t wait to see what you’ve got on the burner.
If you love what you’re seeing, please subscribe, share, tweet, retweet, and post, and KHÔRA will be back soon with more from Issue 45.
With galactic gratitude,
Leigh Hopkins
and the Corporeal/KHÔRA squad