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We Grow the World Together: Parenting Toward Abolition
A vital anthology exploring the intersections between caregiving and abolition
Abolition has never been a proposal to simply tear things down. As Alexis Pauline Gumbs asks, “What if abolition is something that grows?” As we struggle to build a liberatory, caring, loving, abundant future, we have much to learn from the work of birthing, raising, caring for, and loving future generations.
In We Grow the World Together, abolitionists and organizers Maya Schenwar and Kim Wilson bring together a remarkable collection of voices revealing the complex tapestry of ways people are living abolition in their daily lives through parenting and caregiving. Ranging from personal narratives to policy-focused analysis to activist chronicles, these writers highlight how abolition is essential to any kind of parenting justice.
Contributors
Beth Richie
Harsha Walia
EJ, 6 years old
Dorothy Roberts
Ruth Wilson Gilmore
Dylan Rodríguez
Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn
Shira Hassan
Victoria Law
Mariame Kaba
The PDX Childcare Collective
adrienne maree brown and Autumn Brown
Abolition has never been a proposal to simply tear things down. As Alexis Pauline Gumbs asks, “What if abolition is something that grows?” As we struggle to build a liberatory, caring, loving, abundant future, we have much to learn from the work of birthing, raising, caring for, and loving future generations.
In We Grow the World Together, abolitionists and organizers Maya Schenwar and Kim Wilson bring together a remarkable collection of voices revealing the complex tapestry of ways people are living abolition in their daily lives through parenting and caregiving. Ranging from personal narratives to policy-focused analysis to activist chronicles, these writers highlight how abolition is essential to any kind of parenting justice.
Contributors
Beth Richie
Harsha Walia
EJ, 6 years old
Dorothy Roberts
Ruth Wilson Gilmore
Dylan Rodríguez
Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn
Shira Hassan
Victoria Law
Mariame Kaba
The PDX Childcare Collective
adrienne maree brown and Autumn Brown
288 pages, Paperback
Published November 19, 2024
68 people are currently reading
790 people want to read
About the author
Maya Schenwar
7 books142 followersMaya Schenwar is the coauthor of Prison by Any Other Name, author of Locked Down, Locked Out: Why Prison Doesn't Work and How We Can Do Better, and co-editor of Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect? She is also Editor-in-Chief of Truthout. She has written about the prison-industrial complex for Truthout, The New York Times, NBC News, The Guardian, The Nation, Salon, Ms. Magazine, and many others. She is the recipient of a Society of Professional Journalists Sigma Chi Award, an Independent Publisher Book Award, the Women's Prison Association's Sarah Powell Huntington Leadership Award, and a Lannan Residency Fellowship. Maya organizes with the Chicago-based abolitionist group Love & Protect and is a cofounder of the Chicago Community Bond Fund.
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
March 29, 2025
I like and admire so many of these writers, and it was a delight to read them gathered in one space. I thought some of the essays were extremely moving and helpful, particularly Schenwar’s, Wilson’s and Law’s, along with the Browns’. Others I found had good ideas but relied so much on academic phrasing that they were muddled and a lot less legible. Still, a worthwhile read for anyone parenting or caregiving.
June 1, 2025
This was my first book about abolition work, and it probably shouldn’t have been the starting point. Some fabulous essays, some not so much, but very few that talked as concretely about abolition- much less parenting towards abolition- as I needed for an entry point. I’ll definitely be reading more of Ruth Wilson Gilmore, Dorothy Roberts, and Holly Krig, though.
January 20, 2026
Like most essay collections, uneven. Worth reading -- mostly eloquent and sincere stumblings wrestling with questions that may be new to most of us.
Xiii When we lose (arguments, control, campaigns), our compassion has to be as strong as our rage, and we have to be ready and willing to meet the next wave, whatever it will bring.
2 I was an abolitionist – someone who believes that the racist, ableist, classist, cisheteropatriarchal systems of prison and policing must be dismantled, and that we must simultaneously build well-resourced and interconnected communities that support people’s survival, flourishing, and collective safety – before I was a parent.
11 We are doing “slow work in always urgent times.” […]
12 How can we care for each other, in spite of and because of the world’s heartbreak? […] How do we imagine a life-affirming world grounded in care, in spite of death-making forces all around us?
33 […] Mariame Kaba invites us to “begin our abolitionist journey not with the question, ‘What do we have now and how can we make it better?’” but instead with, “’What can we imagine for ourselves and the world?’
123 <>
144 Friendships and community may have overlap with chosen family -- but chosen family, in my experience, means a commitment to showing up and really seeing each other, believing in each other, investing in each other over time and with an acceptance and willingness to adjust. Friends and community may not + be able to always do that. Similarly, I want to name that organizations, movement spaces, and workspaces shouldn't really adopt a "chosen family" framework as a whole model within their groups. I have seen that become toxic and exploitative. There's a danger in organizations calling themselves families because it can become manipulative, and Leaders should not be thought to be "parent figures" or "all-knowing,"
[…] I think that our systems of collective care that go beyond friend-ship, that go beyond nuclear family, extend into this beautiful idea of choosing each other. What we invest in is our interdependence, our long-term healing, and the idea that we can build another system in another world that is values aligned. Some of us do come from families that are safe, biological nuclear families, or even just biological relationships that are safe, but not all of them are values aligned.
150 I feel like in queer chosen family, so much of what I learned is that the idea of this bullshit myth that we can't love anyone until we love ourselves is so enraging, because actually, what we do in queer chosen family is practice receiving love by how we love each other. We practice learning our sense of self through caring for each other.
Moving at the pace of belonging, and at the pace of mutual care,
means moving at the pace of each other's survival.
218 I have been thinking a lot about what else I will pass on. I remember the unknowing, the harsh words, the time-outs, the squeezing of a hand a little too tight. I stayed in my abusive marriage far longer than I should have and replicated the worst parts of my own childhood. It took me so long to get things mostly right.
229 AMB: So my vision of the future is one in which we adequately and appropriately feel all of the impacts of what we’re deciding to do. And that informs our decisions about our structures and how we behave. That’s all I really want. […]
Autumn: People keep talking about how to talk to children about mass shootings in age-appropriate ways, which is such a nonsense phrase.
232 AMB: How do we keep our love intact and available and possible?
233 Autumn: And I think that’s a big part of how we continue to love through this time: pausing and noticing. And if it happens to feel sacred as it’s happening or after the fact, that’s great – even if the sacred just comes later, that’s great. I’m gonna pause and notice.
235 Policing sustains much of its power by telling and retelling stories where cops are the only option: they are the line between our communities and complete chaos.
243 Throughout our lifetimes, different trends in parenting have garnered mainstream attention in the United States. From latchkey to helicoptering to the current call for gentle parenting, many of these approaches to caregiving fail to take into consideration the constellation of structural inequities that constrain working-class and racialized parents' capacity and time. Further, parenting styles that become popularized among predominantly middle-class and upper-class people reinforce the neoliberal tenet of individualism. Parents and families become cast as outside the environments that they occupy. Parenting somehow, magically, is immune to the turmoil of racial capitalism. We entered parenthood keenly aware that our environments and history impacted us as children and our parents as caregivers.
[…] we knew we had to make space for so much more than just ourselves. We had to work toward making the hidden visible. We had to learn not to fight our past pains and traumas, but to sit with them. Because when we fight something, it fights back.
244 We all carry the unspoken, hidden, layered trauma of our hurt elders. What we individually carry is not all ours.
[…] As parents, we often have feelings of failing or not being enough and we have learned to ask: What if these feelings are a fertile, tense space that means that old structures are crumbling and new shapes are becoming? Parenting with an abolitionist orientation, ethic, and spirit holds expansive space for the contradictions, the tensions, the complexities. That space is antithetical to capitalism and consumption, to binaries and urgency structures.
Parenting can become a place to work through the hidden layers of pain and meet the generational wounds that immediately show up in that caregiver/child role.
We are both teleported to our own childhoods constantly. We meet and remeet intergenerational wounds that are cratered into our spirit and we are offered opportunities to enact alternatives that we did not have access to as children. Oftentimes, parenting is an unthought space where punitive and carceral logics appear. The cop, or, more closely, the warden inside our heads can easily come out. When children are growing, they make plenty of tough decisions as they are learning the world and their place in it. Sometimes the choices they make can delay our family from getting out of the house on time. Sometimes the choices they make when they are learning about their own autonomy are irritating. […] It's easy to slip into seeing our children's growing pains as assaults on us as parents. We can begin to reproduce the notion of our children being perpetrators as opposed to just being.
What we have learned and continue to learn is the power of being curious and spacious with the child. Often, the demands that are placed on us as parents, caregivers, workers, organizers, and family members feel overwhelming. When we are stretched too thin, we become more carceral, sharper toward our child. And we have had to learn over and over again that that space is not generative.
248 […] it does not ask us to shrink away or hide in shame because punishment is not welcomed here. The practice and vision of parenting toward abolition is a dream of healing and revolution. It is both a seed and a map for love that can create the conditions for expansiveness, release of trauma, and accountability when we share our stories.
[…] How do we show up with a spirit of dreaming, healing, seeding, and loving in a world rooted in violence and carcerality?
259 […] grappling with the big question of what it means to care for each other: the central question of abolition. We see you, and you have our love.
Xiii When we lose (arguments, control, campaigns), our compassion has to be as strong as our rage, and we have to be ready and willing to meet the next wave, whatever it will bring.
2 I was an abolitionist – someone who believes that the racist, ableist, classist, cisheteropatriarchal systems of prison and policing must be dismantled, and that we must simultaneously build well-resourced and interconnected communities that support people’s survival, flourishing, and collective safety – before I was a parent.
11 We are doing “slow work in always urgent times.” […]
12 How can we care for each other, in spite of and because of the world’s heartbreak? […] How do we imagine a life-affirming world grounded in care, in spite of death-making forces all around us?
33 […] Mariame Kaba invites us to “begin our abolitionist journey not with the question, ‘What do we have now and how can we make it better?’” but instead with, “’What can we imagine for ourselves and the world?’
123 <>
144 Friendships and community may have overlap with chosen family -- but chosen family, in my experience, means a commitment to showing up and really seeing each other, believing in each other, investing in each other over time and with an acceptance and willingness to adjust. Friends and community may not + be able to always do that. Similarly, I want to name that organizations, movement spaces, and workspaces shouldn't really adopt a "chosen family" framework as a whole model within their groups. I have seen that become toxic and exploitative. There's a danger in organizations calling themselves families because it can become manipulative, and Leaders should not be thought to be "parent figures" or "all-knowing,"
[…] I think that our systems of collective care that go beyond friend-ship, that go beyond nuclear family, extend into this beautiful idea of choosing each other. What we invest in is our interdependence, our long-term healing, and the idea that we can build another system in another world that is values aligned. Some of us do come from families that are safe, biological nuclear families, or even just biological relationships that are safe, but not all of them are values aligned.
150 I feel like in queer chosen family, so much of what I learned is that the idea of this bullshit myth that we can't love anyone until we love ourselves is so enraging, because actually, what we do in queer chosen family is practice receiving love by how we love each other. We practice learning our sense of self through caring for each other.
Moving at the pace of belonging, and at the pace of mutual care,
means moving at the pace of each other's survival.
218 I have been thinking a lot about what else I will pass on. I remember the unknowing, the harsh words, the time-outs, the squeezing of a hand a little too tight. I stayed in my abusive marriage far longer than I should have and replicated the worst parts of my own childhood. It took me so long to get things mostly right.
229 AMB: So my vision of the future is one in which we adequately and appropriately feel all of the impacts of what we’re deciding to do. And that informs our decisions about our structures and how we behave. That’s all I really want. […]
Autumn: People keep talking about how to talk to children about mass shootings in age-appropriate ways, which is such a nonsense phrase.
232 AMB: How do we keep our love intact and available and possible?
233 Autumn: And I think that’s a big part of how we continue to love through this time: pausing and noticing. And if it happens to feel sacred as it’s happening or after the fact, that’s great – even if the sacred just comes later, that’s great. I’m gonna pause and notice.
235 Policing sustains much of its power by telling and retelling stories where cops are the only option: they are the line between our communities and complete chaos.
243 Throughout our lifetimes, different trends in parenting have garnered mainstream attention in the United States. From latchkey to helicoptering to the current call for gentle parenting, many of these approaches to caregiving fail to take into consideration the constellation of structural inequities that constrain working-class and racialized parents' capacity and time. Further, parenting styles that become popularized among predominantly middle-class and upper-class people reinforce the neoliberal tenet of individualism. Parents and families become cast as outside the environments that they occupy. Parenting somehow, magically, is immune to the turmoil of racial capitalism. We entered parenthood keenly aware that our environments and history impacted us as children and our parents as caregivers.
[…] we knew we had to make space for so much more than just ourselves. We had to work toward making the hidden visible. We had to learn not to fight our past pains and traumas, but to sit with them. Because when we fight something, it fights back.
244 We all carry the unspoken, hidden, layered trauma of our hurt elders. What we individually carry is not all ours.
[…] As parents, we often have feelings of failing or not being enough and we have learned to ask: What if these feelings are a fertile, tense space that means that old structures are crumbling and new shapes are becoming? Parenting with an abolitionist orientation, ethic, and spirit holds expansive space for the contradictions, the tensions, the complexities. That space is antithetical to capitalism and consumption, to binaries and urgency structures.
Parenting can become a place to work through the hidden layers of pain and meet the generational wounds that immediately show up in that caregiver/child role.
We are both teleported to our own childhoods constantly. We meet and remeet intergenerational wounds that are cratered into our spirit and we are offered opportunities to enact alternatives that we did not have access to as children. Oftentimes, parenting is an unthought space where punitive and carceral logics appear. The cop, or, more closely, the warden inside our heads can easily come out. When children are growing, they make plenty of tough decisions as they are learning the world and their place in it. Sometimes the choices they make can delay our family from getting out of the house on time. Sometimes the choices they make when they are learning about their own autonomy are irritating. […] It's easy to slip into seeing our children's growing pains as assaults on us as parents. We can begin to reproduce the notion of our children being perpetrators as opposed to just being.
What we have learned and continue to learn is the power of being curious and spacious with the child. Often, the demands that are placed on us as parents, caregivers, workers, organizers, and family members feel overwhelming. When we are stretched too thin, we become more carceral, sharper toward our child. And we have had to learn over and over again that that space is not generative.
248 […] it does not ask us to shrink away or hide in shame because punishment is not welcomed here. The practice and vision of parenting toward abolition is a dream of healing and revolution. It is both a seed and a map for love that can create the conditions for expansiveness, release of trauma, and accountability when we share our stories.
[…] How do we show up with a spirit of dreaming, healing, seeding, and loving in a world rooted in violence and carcerality?
259 […] grappling with the big question of what it means to care for each other: the central question of abolition. We see you, and you have our love.
February 26, 2025
I really enjoyed this book & its reflections, even as a non-parent, but someone who does consider having children one day. I thought it offered a great view into community building and making sure to include children in that process & how to cultivate abolition in children’s lives and of course how much we can learn from children in the abolition space as well.
January 17, 2025
“If we care about kids, then we must destroy the bars and walls and chains that forcibly separate people who love each other. And we must also dedicate ourselves to abolition’s central commitment, which dovetails profoundly with caregiving: the creation and growth of practices, resources, and ways of being that are life-affirming and generative instead of death-dealing and violent.”
Thank you to NetGalley and Haymarket Books for the eARC! This collection was released in the US in November 2024.
We Grow the World Together: Parenting Toward Abolition, edited by Maya Schenwar and Kim Wilson, is a luminous and crucial collection of essays interrogating the intersections of parenting and abolition. This anthology does not simply advocate for a world without prisons—it insists on the creative, imaginative, constructive, and generative potential of abolition, showing how parenting itself can be a radical act of world-building.
What makes this collection so compelling is its commitment to interdependence as a guiding principle. Many of the contributors are directly impacted by incarceration, whether they are currently or formerly incarcerated or have loved ones trapped in the carceral system. Their essays expose the cruelty of state-imposed family separation, raising essential questions: Who benefits from the destruction of families? What does it mean to parent from behind bars? How do we extend our care beyond our own children and into the wider world?
One of the strongest throughlines in this collection is the assertion that children naturally embody abolitionist conflict resolution strategies. Several essays reflect on the ways children instinctively seek repair, how they model care, and how they offer blueprints for futures rooted in justice rather than punishment. The authors explore how to respect and honor children's autonomy, suggesting that learning to defer to children can be a crucial exercise in dismantling power imbalances. This challenges deeply ingrained hierarchies within families, positioning parenting not as an authoritarian role but as a practice of solidarity, reciprocity, and communal care.
The book is unflinching in its critique of the family policing system—what is often referred to as the “child welfare system”—and its entanglement with carceral logic. Many essays explicitly confront the racism inherent in these institutions, exposing how they disproportionately harm Black and brown families. Parenting toward abolition, these writers argue, is not just about raising individual children with abolitionist values; it is about resisting the state’s relentless attempts to surveil, control, and destroy marginalized families.
Perhaps one of the most moving aspects of this collection is its insistence that abolition is fundamentally about love. Several authors explore parental love as an act of resistance, a force that refuses disposability and insists on the dignity of all children. Others highlight the role of solidarity in parenting—solidarity with incarcerated parents, with Palestinian mothers, with all caregivers resisting state violence. This expansive definition of love is not sentimental; it is rigorous, urgent, and revolutionary.
Ultimately, We Grow the World Together is a testament to the transformative potential of caregiving as a political practice. It calls on us to reject carcerality in all its forms—not just in the prisons we recognize but in the punitive, hierarchical relationships we enact daily. It reminds us that abolition is not only about dismantling the systems that harm—it is about growing new ways of being, loving, and caring. It is about making mistakes, learning, and trying again. For our children, and for ourselves.
📖 Recommended For: Readers invested in abolitionist thought, caregivers and parents reimagining justice, those drawn to lyrical and urgent prose, anyone seeking radical visions of care and interdependence, fans of Mariame Kaba and Adrienne Maree Brown.
🔑 Key Themes: Abolitionist Parenting, Interdependence and Mutual Aid, Anti-Carceral Justice, Family Policing and State Violence, Child Autonomy and Power, Love as Resistance.
Content / Trigger Warnings: Police Brutality (minor), Drug Abuse (minor), Death (minor), Animal Death (minor), Cancer (minor), Racism (minor).
Thank you to NetGalley and Haymarket Books for the eARC! This collection was released in the US in November 2024.
We Grow the World Together: Parenting Toward Abolition, edited by Maya Schenwar and Kim Wilson, is a luminous and crucial collection of essays interrogating the intersections of parenting and abolition. This anthology does not simply advocate for a world without prisons—it insists on the creative, imaginative, constructive, and generative potential of abolition, showing how parenting itself can be a radical act of world-building.
What makes this collection so compelling is its commitment to interdependence as a guiding principle. Many of the contributors are directly impacted by incarceration, whether they are currently or formerly incarcerated or have loved ones trapped in the carceral system. Their essays expose the cruelty of state-imposed family separation, raising essential questions: Who benefits from the destruction of families? What does it mean to parent from behind bars? How do we extend our care beyond our own children and into the wider world?
One of the strongest throughlines in this collection is the assertion that children naturally embody abolitionist conflict resolution strategies. Several essays reflect on the ways children instinctively seek repair, how they model care, and how they offer blueprints for futures rooted in justice rather than punishment. The authors explore how to respect and honor children's autonomy, suggesting that learning to defer to children can be a crucial exercise in dismantling power imbalances. This challenges deeply ingrained hierarchies within families, positioning parenting not as an authoritarian role but as a practice of solidarity, reciprocity, and communal care.
The book is unflinching in its critique of the family policing system—what is often referred to as the “child welfare system”—and its entanglement with carceral logic. Many essays explicitly confront the racism inherent in these institutions, exposing how they disproportionately harm Black and brown families. Parenting toward abolition, these writers argue, is not just about raising individual children with abolitionist values; it is about resisting the state’s relentless attempts to surveil, control, and destroy marginalized families.
Perhaps one of the most moving aspects of this collection is its insistence that abolition is fundamentally about love. Several authors explore parental love as an act of resistance, a force that refuses disposability and insists on the dignity of all children. Others highlight the role of solidarity in parenting—solidarity with incarcerated parents, with Palestinian mothers, with all caregivers resisting state violence. This expansive definition of love is not sentimental; it is rigorous, urgent, and revolutionary.
Ultimately, We Grow the World Together is a testament to the transformative potential of caregiving as a political practice. It calls on us to reject carcerality in all its forms—not just in the prisons we recognize but in the punitive, hierarchical relationships we enact daily. It reminds us that abolition is not only about dismantling the systems that harm—it is about growing new ways of being, loving, and caring. It is about making mistakes, learning, and trying again. For our children, and for ourselves.
📖 Recommended For: Readers invested in abolitionist thought, caregivers and parents reimagining justice, those drawn to lyrical and urgent prose, anyone seeking radical visions of care and interdependence, fans of Mariame Kaba and Adrienne Maree Brown.
🔑 Key Themes: Abolitionist Parenting, Interdependence and Mutual Aid, Anti-Carceral Justice, Family Policing and State Violence, Child Autonomy and Power, Love as Resistance.
Content / Trigger Warnings: Police Brutality (minor), Drug Abuse (minor), Death (minor), Animal Death (minor), Cancer (minor), Racism (minor).
January 17, 2025
We Grow the World Together: Parenting Toward Abolition, edited by Maya Schenwar and Kim Wilson, is an anthology of abolitionist thinkers exploring the critical intersection of abolition and parenting. This collection could not have arrived into the world at a more vital moment. As Maya states in her essay on learning from her toddler: ‘We must imagine outside the bounds of the "possible" because the current reality is, quite literally, lethal’.
Having previously attended a virtual panel discussion featuring Maya, Kim, and two other contributors, I anticipated a thought-provoking read, and my expectations were not only met but exceeded. The range of voices and perspectives contained within this collection is astounding. I learned from, felt moved by, and took something meaningful away from every essay. I frequently found myself pausing in my feelings of appreciation and gratitude for the opportunity to glimpse into the minds and lives of abolitionist thinkers I might never have encountered otherwise. I am deeply thankful to Maya and Kim for imagining this project into existence in a world so desperately in need of it.
Some essays deeply influenced me, such as hearing from a six-year-old with an incarcerated parent, learning from Maya's toddler about the importance of imagination in transforming society, and gaining insights from Mariame Kaba on using children's books in abolition. As a collection this book offers countless practical examples and compelling calls to action.
As someone with a lot of love for ‘new beginners’ (as Sarah Tyson aptly puts it), who is not currently, and may never be, a ‘parent’ in the traditional sense, I often reflect on my role as a collective ‘co-parent’. Parenting, and specifically abolitionist parenting, is a shared duty. It is a call to action for all adults striving for a better, safer future for everyone. I am confident that this book is, and will continue to be, an essential resource for anyone committed to working collectively toward a freer future, with future adults in the lead.
I was incredibly fortunate to share this paradigm-shifting read with my favourite comrade, in reading, in thinking, in life and in the pursuit of collective freedom. I highly recommend experiencing this essay collection alongside a friend or two. Let’s continue engaging in critical conversations and collective action toward an abolitionist future. Let’s strive to grow the world together.
Thank you to NetGalley and Haymarket for the e-ARC. All opinions are my own.
TWs/CWs:
Moderate: Death, Racism, Suicide, Forced institutionalization, Police brutality, Grief, and Colonisation
Minor: Addiction, Drug use, Genocide, Hate crime, Racism, War, and Classism
Having previously attended a virtual panel discussion featuring Maya, Kim, and two other contributors, I anticipated a thought-provoking read, and my expectations were not only met but exceeded. The range of voices and perspectives contained within this collection is astounding. I learned from, felt moved by, and took something meaningful away from every essay. I frequently found myself pausing in my feelings of appreciation and gratitude for the opportunity to glimpse into the minds and lives of abolitionist thinkers I might never have encountered otherwise. I am deeply thankful to Maya and Kim for imagining this project into existence in a world so desperately in need of it.
Some essays deeply influenced me, such as hearing from a six-year-old with an incarcerated parent, learning from Maya's toddler about the importance of imagination in transforming society, and gaining insights from Mariame Kaba on using children's books in abolition. As a collection this book offers countless practical examples and compelling calls to action.
As someone with a lot of love for ‘new beginners’ (as Sarah Tyson aptly puts it), who is not currently, and may never be, a ‘parent’ in the traditional sense, I often reflect on my role as a collective ‘co-parent’. Parenting, and specifically abolitionist parenting, is a shared duty. It is a call to action for all adults striving for a better, safer future for everyone. I am confident that this book is, and will continue to be, an essential resource for anyone committed to working collectively toward a freer future, with future adults in the lead.
I was incredibly fortunate to share this paradigm-shifting read with my favourite comrade, in reading, in thinking, in life and in the pursuit of collective freedom. I highly recommend experiencing this essay collection alongside a friend or two. Let’s continue engaging in critical conversations and collective action toward an abolitionist future. Let’s strive to grow the world together.
Thank you to NetGalley and Haymarket for the e-ARC. All opinions are my own.
TWs/CWs:
Moderate: Death, Racism, Suicide, Forced institutionalization, Police brutality, Grief, and Colonisation
Minor: Addiction, Drug use, Genocide, Hate crime, Racism, War, and Classism
January 30, 2025
This is the book we all need. An incredible anthology, rich with diverse perspectives and a deep exploration of care, relationships, grief and hope.
Read
February 3, 2025Great perspectives from parents and families of different kinds in here. It's not a how-to manual but it gave me a lot to think about.
April 28, 2025
Heavy highlights in 3-4 entries and some highlights in half. Worth another look but not necessarily those that are blank.
May 26, 2025
Amazing and I loved it. I am a parent but anyone who encounters other humans will find a lot to think about and help guide you.
August 28, 2025
I'm never having kids, but this helps me to see how to approach these subjects with kids in my life and their parents.
September 28, 2025
*by Maya schenwar and Kim wilson
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews