Amy C, Museum Education Professional, WRITER , ACTIVIST, QUEER.
A portfolio and online journal by Amy C, Museum Education Professional. Sharing original poetry, articles, artwork, and reflections on museum education, social justice, and personal values including feminism, LGBT+ rights, anti-racism, and equality. With over three years in learning and engagement roles, I contribute to Birmingham Museums Trust by fostering meaningful, inclusive experiences that celebrate diverse histories. My expertise lies in audience development, team management, and delivering creative programs that inspire a love of learning, particularly in the domains of feminism and the ancient world. At Birmingham Museums Trust, I led the development of impactful events such as the annual 'International Women and Girls in Science Day,' emphasizing collaboration and community engagement. My mission is to create accessible opportunities for learning while empowering teams and contributing to organizational growth.
Category: women
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does anyone see? hear? witness? the violation? the violence? the trauma? what they took from you? when they took your body. like it belonged to them. does anyone care? do the courts? the judges? what is justice? justice is something you have never known. they always walk free. there is always an exuse. They didnt…
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I am unfinished, unrefined. there is egg yolk in the cut on my finger. it stings. i really should stop gnawing at THEm. and i am TRYING, i PROMISE i am trying, to make sense of it ALL. trying To stop the constant, nervous DESTRUCTION, of the FRAGILE, aching paper SKIN, AROUnd my FINGERNAILS. (WHICh…
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There’s a fire in my bones, and a cacophony of noises in my head. so, i run. Throw on my shoes, and run. until my brain is empty, until I cannot feel anything, apart from the ringing in, and ache behind, my ears. Until, All I can hear, is the uneven RHYTHM of my feet…
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Nothing. You are nothing. There is nothing poetic, loveable or worth anything. not that you have been able to find. and you’ve searched, in vain, to find some goodness in your milky white bones. instead, your bones are made of ash and your internal organs have long decayed. there is a vacant, endless cavern in…
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the sun chases the car, ominous, lurking, spreading warmth, across fingertips, through bones and blood, through soft, pulsing tissue. the flat shakes, with the life teeming outside, it vibrates, buzzes, humanity, exterior, separate from these four walls. the wine brings a colour to their cheeks. framing the cluster of freckles, and the apples of their…
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Christmas day. You are being shouted at, again. And, as usual, you are forced to make yourself small. SHRiNKING and cowering. Ineffectual. Curled up, tightly, every muscle in your body hardened, like ice. Frozen, holding your breath. Praying, (if anyone, at all, is listening) for the harsh winter to pass. It never does.
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The truth is, you were more than enough for me, Until you decided, you were not. Before, I could even open my mouth to breathe a DISAGREEMENT. Embarassing, clichéd, and so terribly exhausting. And yet, i stay. Even as, it breaks me down, pulls me apart, little by little, thread by thread, piece by piece,…
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The Triple Burden: Race, Neurodivergence, and Birth Order Mixed-Race Identity Challenges: Generally, multiracial groups tended to have worse mental health than other racial groups. Discrimination and ethno-racial identity predicted mental health [Welldoing](https://welldoing.org/article/whats-the-relationship-neurodiveristy-trauma) . Mixed-race people make up only two percent of the UK population, making it natural to feel an urge to assimilate just to…
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So， It turns out, Playing dead does not work. It does not fool them. Not the real predators. Not the monsters in the closet, you were afraid of as a child. Playing dead, Is no defence. When you are face to face, Nose to nose, Breathing the same oxygen as, The seductive, Pull, Tug, Of…
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We should teach children. Girls. How little attention from ‘men’ means. That it does not signal your worth. You do not owe them gratitude. Their attention means nothing. It is hollow, empty. It will never repair the hole inside your chest. Only, Choosing yourself. Will begin that healing process.
