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Jelly, Baby: Essays on Disability and Vulnerability
In this revelatory collection of lyrical and poetic essays, Therese Estacion explores vital themes relating to her life as a disabled person.Defying genre and constraint, Estacion conveys how ableism has impacted her disposition and self-esteem. She also confronts her own internalized ableism and unpacks how she has come to terms with disability in all its complexity.Jelly, Baby fearlessly uncovers the trauma, grief, and rage inherent to the struggle to accept one’s own vulnerability and reach a place of love. Inspired by Estacion’s psychotherapy training, this book is a tender examination of some of the most vulnerable aspects of the self, and a head-on challenge of self-loathing. The result is a beautiful and astute meditation on ableism and a transformative journey deep into the psyche.
93 pages, Paperback
Published April 28, 2026
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
October 25, 2026
Essay collections are usually a tough sell for me, to love them in their entirety is rare—but that wasn’t the case here! Estacion hits every nerve in her essay collection, “Jelly, Baby.” She doesn’t shy away from the discomfort, she tells her stories with such honesty, and invites the reader to not only be a bystander/bear witness to her daily life, but to see the struggle through her eyes and walk alongside her in her grief. So much care was put into this entire collection and it shows. Even down to the cover, which features the painting “shroud epipelagic visage (mother cyanea)” by Marigold Santos (highly recommend you look up the artist’s intentions). We as a society have so much more work to do in the world of inclusivity. What a beautiful, stark reminder this was.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
Jelly, Belly – On an Island of One
How did the book make me feel/think?
--- --- --- --- ---
I have some understanding of what it is like to feel erased. I do not compare my life to Therese’s. Doing so would be rude.
The book opened feelings inside of me.
Being an unwanted child, born into secrecy and familial shame, is not the same as losing limbs—but they share threads.
You feel alone. On an island of one.
You need to talk. But you don’t want to. The curiosity of others is often unknowingly cruel. A hundred people may ask what happened. Few take the time to live inside your pain. You might feel fetishized.
It might be easier to make a recording and press play. Unfortunately, every time you are asked about your plight, it can feel like erasure—again and again.
I understood Therese’s pain. Her frustration. Her solitude.
A few days ago, I was with a friend who has Parkinson’s. He said something I didn’t like. I was short with him.
Later, I thought about it. Not what he said—but what I hadn’t taken the time to understand.
Reading Jelly Baby felt like that. Learning something you should have known before you needed it. And realizing that understanding isn’t loud—it asks you to listen differently, and to carry that knowledge without making it about you.
Jelly Baby is an intense read. Therese has endured much. It is a blueprint of what ableism does to a person—the frustration, the anger, the slow erosion of being treated as if you are no longer here.
In one passage, Therese speaks candidly about her disdain for the happiness of childbirth—something taken from her. I understood that in my own way. Being unwanted, I have struggled, at times, to be around happy families with children.
Jelly Baby is a profound read. Not because it explains pain—but because it lets you feel it.
WRITTEN 14 April 2026
***** stars = unflinching, necessary, intimate, human.
How did the book make me feel/think?
--- --- --- --- ---
I have some understanding of what it is like to feel erased. I do not compare my life to Therese’s. Doing so would be rude.
The book opened feelings inside of me.
Being an unwanted child, born into secrecy and familial shame, is not the same as losing limbs—but they share threads.
You feel alone. On an island of one.
You need to talk. But you don’t want to. The curiosity of others is often unknowingly cruel. A hundred people may ask what happened. Few take the time to live inside your pain. You might feel fetishized.
It might be easier to make a recording and press play. Unfortunately, every time you are asked about your plight, it can feel like erasure—again and again.
I understood Therese’s pain. Her frustration. Her solitude.
A few days ago, I was with a friend who has Parkinson’s. He said something I didn’t like. I was short with him.
Later, I thought about it. Not what he said—but what I hadn’t taken the time to understand.
Reading Jelly Baby felt like that. Learning something you should have known before you needed it. And realizing that understanding isn’t loud—it asks you to listen differently, and to carry that knowledge without making it about you.
Jelly Baby is an intense read. Therese has endured much. It is a blueprint of what ableism does to a person—the frustration, the anger, the slow erosion of being treated as if you are no longer here.
In one passage, Therese speaks candidly about her disdain for the happiness of childbirth—something taken from her. I understood that in my own way. Being unwanted, I have struggled, at times, to be around happy families with children.
Jelly Baby is a profound read. Not because it explains pain—but because it lets you feel it.
WRITTEN 14 April 2026
***** stars = unflinching, necessary, intimate, human.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
A collection of short, poetic essays that feel both intimate and unflinching, Jelly, Baby explores the lived reality of ableism with so much honesty. Estacion writes with a raw vulnerability as she navigates the emotional and physical shifts of a new reality, never shying away from discomfort or contradiction. This is a powerful and beautifully written work—one that lingers for its sincerity and its refusal to look away.
Thank you bookhug press for sending me an advance copy of this work! 💕
Thank you bookhug press for sending me an advance copy of this work! 💕
April 30, 2026
Jelly, Baby! Unflinching and profound, the incomparable Therese Estacion does it again.
This collection of essays offer keen insight into the frustrations, grief and rage that comes with navigating the world while being disabled. Her voice manages to be both colloquial and poetic as she takes us through mundane moments rifed with ableism and blooming inner pain. Her Filipinx heritage is explored through her connection to the aswang, particularly the manananggal—“a monstrosity happened to me” captures her experience poignantly.
The ending felt like a release of sorts after you’ve held your breath for so long. Cathartic.
I’m beyond impressed.
This collection of essays offer keen insight into the frustrations, grief and rage that comes with navigating the world while being disabled. Her voice manages to be both colloquial and poetic as she takes us through mundane moments rifed with ableism and blooming inner pain. Her Filipinx heritage is explored through her connection to the aswang, particularly the manananggal—“a monstrosity happened to me” captures her experience poignantly.
The ending felt like a release of sorts after you’ve held your breath for so long. Cathartic.
I’m beyond impressed.
September 21, 2026
An EXTREMELY moving disability memoir that is a mix of prose and verse that is exceptionally poetic AND relatable for anyone who has experienced any kind of ableism or anti-disability reaction in their life. I loved how the author was able to express their emotions and experiences so succinctly and broil them down to words that resonated so strongly with me!! Heartfelt, honest and raw, these essays were profound and perfect for fans of authors like Alice Wong.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews