Feature: Sharing Pain: Zines and Mental Illness

by Shelley Lloyd

In her introduction to Writing A Riot: Riot Grrrl Zines and Feminist Rhetorics, Rebekah J. Buchanan calls zines “messy, complex texts” not unlike the lives of the girls who engaged in the writing of zines (xxiii). Elaborating on the need for zines, Buchanan states that “Individuals participate in zine related activities to understand the world around them and situate themselves in specific cultural sites” (xxiv). Because “Zine work is active” every line, every doodle is placed in a page with the utmost care, as through these zines “writers determine what to present as well as how to present situations through a constant negotiation with self and audience” (xxiv). Creating a zine about mental health upends the understood relationships of power by engaging in alternate literacy practices that transform literacy into a performance and social practice.

Arthur W. Frank tells us that “the teller of chaos stories is, preeminently, the wounded storyteller, but [that] those who are truly living the chaos cannot tell [their stories] in words” (Frank 98). It would make sense then that those who suffer from depression would rely on alternate forms of writings if “such speech is quickly frustrated” and they are unable to adequately command words to tell their stories as they unfold they would fall back on the oldest form of communication: visuals. These zines “juxtapose the public with the private, publishing personal information on the web for an audience of voyeuristic strangers” as a way of fostering “a false sense of intimacy between the author and the reader” just as the traditionally published memoirs and autobiographies did before them.

While you cannot learn the language of depression the same way you would French or German, this language is vital for everyone. The language of depression, when we bother with it, has mostly been studied through the lens of pharmacology, giving us insights into the rhetorics of depression and the marketing of medications since the first SSRIs came on the market, but these rhetorics have done little to dissect the everyday language of depression as it is seen in the actual writings of those who suffer from it. Yet with an estimated 16.2 million adults in the United States suffering from some form of depression in 2016 we need this language more than ever, that we might write the story of depression (healthline.com). After all, “The language of depression implicates both healthy and ill individuals,” since the Food and Drug Administration relaxed the “rule obliging companies to offer a detailed list of side-effects in their infomercials” in 1997 that allowed for direct-to-consumer antidepressant medication advertisements for the first time (WHO.int). With this law change, the public has learned a very black and white definition of what depression is – and what it is not.

But how do we write the language of depression? If it cannot be taught through conventional means how do we –how can we be expected to – dive into the practice of studying texts written in this language?

Kimberly Emmons describes depression as sitting “at the intersection of physical, cognitive, and emotional realities” and states that “Without diagnostics such as blood tests or X-ray imaging, depression becomes visible or remains invisible through the language used to describe it” (1). Of course, this is in no way meant to act as a direct translation from the language of depression to the language used by those who are not similarly afflicted: English. We need not provide a direct translation, however, in order to get across the points being made.

The language of depression is practiced daily by those who suffer from its effects. To write this language means to don masks, and to give “oneself to writing” to be “in a position to do this work of digging, of unburying” (Cixous 6). The work of writing should not be easy or a comfort, yet the urge to share drives us down corridors we never imagined. In order to share we put on masks,masks we don’t remember assuming, masks  we all came by differently. It is from behind these masks that we communicate with the outside world. And it is through these masks that our language becomes something we don’t share with the rest of the world. Our masks act as modulators of that English, creating new dialects and facets of English that are more familiar to some than others. These modulators release the language of depression upon the world. We learn to read in a foreign language every time a healthy mind engages with the language of depression.

In true Riot Grrrl fashion, Reading in a Foreign Language — a zine I created as part of an altered book assignment in a Ph.D. course at Clemson University — seeks to not only disrupt what we think we know about depression and mental illness, but it also performs pain publicly. I gave the base text of my zine a new subtitle: An Exploration of/on Depression. The finished zine was divided into sections, with each section taking its title from a journal article that had been originally published in Reading in a Foreign Language.  As a way of organizing disparate and occasionally random seeming pages this method both aided and hindered me in the editing of my zine. The “chapter” pages contain a background of circuitry that continues at the bottom of the scanned book pages in order to give the book a uniform size.  I explore the reason for this and the Bride of Frankenstein imagery in the second section of the zine on a page taken from Kimberly Emmons’ Black Dogs and Blue Words: Depression and Gender in the Age of Self-Care. I write “My mom once compared me to a robot. I prefer to think of myself as a patchwork girl-cyborg hybrid.”  On this page of the zine Emmons quotes Andrew Solomon tells us that “It,” depression, “can be described only in metaphor and allegory” (qtd in Emmons 97). My green highlights on this page  focus on the use of figurative language in the rhetorics of depression while in the gutters of the page I scrawl inelegantly in metallic Sharpie about being a mish-mashed cyborg – the imagery I prefer to use when referencing myself in my most depressed states.

At the bottom of the page Emmons’ claims that “the metaphors for depression encourage narrow practices of self-doctoring that fail to participate in social, community, or other dialogical responses to the illness experience” (97) tying it back to the first section of the zine in which I had taken a chunk of fiction I had written previously that centered around a dangerous self-harm situation and tossed in it alongside serious academic pages as well as some of my own poems and artwork. Titled “Lament From A Southern Rock Opera” the story – and the section sampled – tell the story of a young woman named Viv who cuts slightly too deep one night and is forced into counselling. As Viv tries to convince everyone that what she did was not a suicide attempt she finds that she does not have the language to explain the difference, just as I, as the author, found it extremely difficult to find the words necessary to separate self-harm from suicide. Ultimately, I – and Viv – failed. So, the story sat on my hard drive until I decided to sandwich it between pages from Emmons and from Ann Cvetkovich’s Depression: A Public Feeling.

Both the Emmons’ page and Cvetkovich’s spoke of writing the experience of depression, setting up the overall goal of the zine: attempting to write about depression and self-harm in a way that is both academic and accessible. Yet, on Cvetkovich’s page what I scrawled had nothing to do with writing. I simply asked the question “What is this madness anyway?” thus setting myself a secondary goal – one that I did not think about consciously until after I had completed each individual page and was putting it together after the final edits – defining “madness”.  Much like what happened with my fiction attempt, I’m not sure I accomplished this goal by the end of the zine.

The zine opens with a section entitled “1 Text as a vehicle for information: the classroom use of written texts in teaching a foreign language Tim Johns and Florence Davies” after the first article published in the source book. The Emmons’ page that opens the zine and prefaces “Lament From A Southern Rock Opera” sets the tone for much of the zine by establishing the difficulty that comes in trying to write fluently in the language of depression in such a way that it would be understandable to those who are not familiar with the language of depression. Emmons’ states on this page that to her “what is striking about the stories from this late twentieth-century period is their reliance on relatively simplistic identifications with rather than more critical revisions and elaborations of the depressed self” (127). I’m unsure if most of my problems with being able to write about my own depression – as opposed to depression in the abstract – is because I cannot even manage “relatively simplistic identifications” or if my exposure to Riot Grrrl and zine cultures at a young age made me less open to a simplistic “I suffer from depression therefore I am a depressed person and little else”. This page from Emmons dives deep into what depression memoirs looked like post SSRIs. 127 pages deep in her book, it is an interesting place to start a text, but it does set up – right away – both a problem and an excuse for the audience from the author. “I’m sorry if I don’t manage to accomplish everything that I set out to do with this project: it was hard.”

After a few attempts at writing depression I come back to this idea: “Is it possible to write a true depression memoir? Or does the madness make it impossible?” Scrawled on another page from Cvetkovich across from highlighted quotes that seem to dismantle Emmons’ idea that depression identities were – or have become – rather simplistic in depression memoirs written towards the end of the twentieth century: “these writers combine both scientific and cultural understandings and both personal narrative and scholarly research” (93). Perhaps this is due to Cvetkovich’s own experience with writing depression zines in the 1990s.

In relinking depression memoirs with medical fields and identity, this sets up the next section of the zine that questions definitions and how we phrase things in the language of depression. It also calls back to Frank’s chaos narrative and perhaps why it is so difficult to write about depression from the middle of treatment (or not, as the case was when I wrote this zine). By placing scribbled questions across from a page that introduces a critical of medication point of view — and in particular with my choice of wording in calling depression madness throughout the zine — this complicates any thoughts of treatment or how to live with depression. Especially considering the glitched photograph of an old prescription bottle towards the end of the zine. This seems to give the whole project a slightly helpless feeling. As though there is no fighting against depression, there is only living with it.


Buchanan, Rebekah J. Writing a Riot: Riot Grrrl Zines and Feminist Rhetorics. Peter Lang, 2018.

Cixous Hélène. Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing. Translated by Sarah Cornell and Susan Sellers, Columbia University Press, 1993.

Cvetkovich, Ann. Depression: a Public Feeling. Duke University Press, 2012.

Direct-to-Consumer Advertising under Fire.” World Health Organization, World Health Organization, 4 Mar. 2011.

Emmons, Kimberly. Black Dogs and Blue Words: Depression and Gender in the Age of Self-Care. Rutgers University Press, 2014.

Frank, Arthur W. The Wounded Storyteller: Body, Illness, and Ethics. The University of Chicago Press, 2013.

Koskie, Brandi. “Depression: Facts, Statistics, and You.” Healthline, Healthline Media.



Feature: Maternity Stories as Social Change

by Sarah MacDonald

With the power of the #MeToo movement, more people are acknowledging the influence of women’s voices to affect lasting change. This same capacity of narratives has and continues to be utilized by women to stimulate changes in the medical community. Too often, women are dismissed by their doctors and others responsible for their care. Nowhere is this truer than during maternity. Many women have felt silenced and ignored during this time in their lives. In response, some have taken to writing their own stories to shed light on their experiences in the hopes that others will not have to undergo the same treatment. Sadly, while this problem and solution are seeing a new light, they are not new. Through a comparison of women’s life writing from the early 20th century and modern examples, it is clear that women still feel largely ignored and ill-informed about much of the childbearing process. It is essential that society, and especially the medical field, start to appreciate the knowledge and understanding women bring to their maternity experiences.

As early as the 1900s in Britain women collected their experiences to push for a transformation of patriarchal medicine. The Women’s Cooperative Guild compiled two fascinating pieces of political writing by working women from both identified and anonymous writers. The initial text, Maternity (1915), illustrates the enormous difficulties surrounding childbirth with limited available resources. The anonymous women shared sketches of their lives to encourage more governmental support for poverty-stricken women. The women answered a series of questions about their experiences in childbirth. The questions included the number of children they had that survived, how many did not, their household income, husband’s work, and general information on how much they knew about maternity as a whole.

Two pieces of introductory material highlight the purpose of the compilation. The first is the foreword by the Right Honorable Herbert Samuel M.P: “The Women’s Co-operative Guild, unresting in their efforts for the improvement of the conditions of working women, have rendered a most useful service in eliciting these letters and in making them public” (11-12). suggests the need for these individual voices that can speak for their own needs and offer suggestions to what will actually improve their childbearing life. The second piece is by the Guild itself:

The cry of a woman in travail has become a commonplace of literature, and the notion that pain and motherhood are inevitably connected has become so fixed that the world is shocked if a woman does not consider the pain as much a privilege as the motherhood. And this attitude of the world towards the pain of travail has been extended to all the sufferings attending motherhood. These letters show that this is the view of women themselves, for which doctors have been largely responsible. It is hardly too much to say that the ordinary professional attitude might have been summed up in the saying, “You’ll be worse before you’re better.” It would be foolish to cry aloud against the inevitable minimum of maternal suffering. (28)

We see in this introduction the basis for the problem women are still dealing with: that of a patriarchal medical community that decided women must endure any manner of pain, suffering, and trauma during pregnancy and childbirth for no other reason than tradition and the lingering impact of religious views. The letters mentioned, have a matter-of-fact tone that belies the suffering many of the women underwent. A representative letter reads as follows:

I can speak from experience. For fifteen years I was in a very poor state of health owing to continual pregnancy. As soon as I was over one trouble, it was all started over again. In one instance, I was unable to go further than the top of the street the whole time owing to bladder trouble, constant flow of water. With one, my leg was so terribly bad I had constantly to sit down in the road when out, and stand with my leg on a chair to do my washing. I have had four children and ten miscarriages, three before the first child, each of them between three and four months. No cause but weakness, and, I’m afraid, ignorance and neglect. I was in a very critical state for years; my sufferings were very great from acute weakness. I now see a great deal of this agony ought never to have been, with proper attention. It is good to see some of our women waking up to this fact. It is help and attention during pregnancy that is wanted, and I hope my own dear daughter, if she ever marries, will be one to benefit with others, by our experience. I do hope this letter is something of what you are wishing for, hoping for good results of our Guild work in this manner. Wages 25s; four children, ten miscarriages. (62)

Ten miscarriages was above average according to the rest of the letters, however, the lack of information that caused the author’s distress was typical. The women sought, more than anything else, education about the entire process from birth control through pregnancy and postpartum health. Some writers blamed taboos surrounding women’s health and bodies, quite prevalent in Victorian England, for their ignorance of childbirth and health. The collection’s purpose was to augment readers’ understanding of maternity.

If we now turn to modern discussions of maternity online, we see the need to be heard and appreciated as whole people is still something women are striving for. There are numerous websites and discussion boards devoted to women sharing their experiences with childbirth and how they felt their input was not wanted or included in decisions that intimately involved them. A small sampling for testimonials from the sites, ImprovingBirth, Babygaga, and Human Rights in Childbirth, show the continued need women feel to share their experience: “Every woman has the right to access the healthcare support that she, personally, needs for a healthy birth. Every woman has the right to be respected as the decision-maker about her own care and her baby’s care.” (HRiC-emphasis in original); “I knew deep down inside that things about my birth were wrong but everyone around me said I should just “get over it”, but I couldn’t.” Kimberly Turbin (ImprovingBirth); and “We typically all grow up with a “doctor knows best” mentality. It’s often difficult to understand that they too are working within a broken system that is built on fear of liability, a system that has significant financial motivators and a system that has come to the conclusion that more interventions solve both of those issues and it’s up to us to make sure it changes.” (ImprovingBirth) The last quote especially highlights the disconnect many women feel between their bodies and the medical community. Additionally, the crowd-sourced documentary, “Mother May I” also shares the stories of women’s traumatic birth experiences: “When women start telling their stories, there is so much power in that,” she said. Its trailer shows women speaking out about going through procedures without their consent during birth, facing pressure and ultimatums in the delivery room and more. “Mother May I?” (Pittman). The documentary materials are quite similar to an article in Babygaga that suggests women are experiences trauma during childbirth at an alarming rate. The stories told by these women all deal with traumatic births, which consists of the following:  

What constitutes birth trauma? It varies. Some women may end up feeling like they were coerced into interventions during their birth that they weren’t emotionally or mentally on board with. Others might feel as though they weren’t given informed consent, or even a chance to consent, to medical procedures. Some women are reeling over the C-section they never planned on having that they don’t think they needed in hindsight. Others feel sexually assaulted by doctors who insert their hands into their vaginas without permission. In fact, it appears it’s happening more and more. Between 25 and 34 percent of mothers identify with having a traumatic birth. As a result, women are speaking up and speaking out. (Bosley)

It is again this call for more knowledge and involvement that women are craving, just like they did in the cooperative text. Women are more than the vessel for a child, despite that being the treatment many have received as acknowledged by these narratives.  

One has to wonder how many compilations of narratives women have to share in order to receive the changes they demand. Childbirth should not be this traumatic and separated from a women’s body and mind, yet with the current system, having developed from the medical community from the 1900s, women are still considered less than the autonomous being that they were before pregnancy, are during their pregnancy, and will be after.


Bosley, Danielle. “14 Women Share The Heartwrenching Details Of Their Birth Trauma.” BabyGaga, 25 Apr. 2017.


Human Rights in Childbirthhttp://www.humanrightsinchildbirth.org/

Pittman, Taylor. “Inside The Documentary Uncovering Traumatic Birth Experiences.” The Huffington Post, TheHuffingtonPost.com, 9 June 2018.

Women’s Co-Operative Guild. Maternity; letters from working-women. Collected by the Women’s Co-operative Guild, with a preface by the Right Hon. Herbert Samuel, G. Bell, 1915.

Feature: The ART of Infertility: A Community Project Reimagining Reproduction Advocacy

by Maria Novotny, PhD

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reports that 1 in 8 couples in the U.S. will receive an infertility diagnosis, impacting an estimated 12% of women who are of reproductive age (15-44 years old) (“Facts About Infertility,” 2015). Of this, it is estimated that one-third of infertility cases are the result of male reproductive issues, one-third a result of female reproductive issues, and one-third either a combination of both sexes or unexplained (“How Common is Male Infertility, and What are Its Causes?,” 2016). Through advancements in reproductive technologies, options for treating impairments causing infertility as well as new developments in assisted reproductive technologies (ART) have helped patients successfully create families.

Nonetheless, as fertility treatments develop and become more advanced, how patients afford these treatments and who has access has not undergone much growth. Currently, only 16 states in the U.S. mandate full or partial insurance coverage of fertility-related treatment (“Infertility Coverage by State,” 2018). These limited options to accessibility and affordability are important, especially as The Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) reported in 2015 that two-thirds of patients must undergo six rounds of in vitro fertilization (IVF) before achieving a successful outcome, which they define as giving birth to a living infant. Such a finding reveals the extreme costs of fertility treatment -— financial, emotional, and physical. For example, one round of of IVF (including medications and the procedure) costs on average nearly $20,000. Multiply that by the JAMA’s findings and that total cost to build a family accumulates to over $100,000. Additionally, such financial costs can enhance already present mental and emotional stress of fertility procedures (Gana & Jakubowska, 2016; Greil et al., 2010; Jaffe & Diamond, 2011).

While financial and emotional strains are often correlated with fertility treatments, discussions of access to fertility care must also be understood by examining who has access. For example, a National Survey of Family Growth from 2006 to 2010 reported that married black women are nearly twice as likely to be diagnosed with infertility than married white women. Yet, women of color frequently do not seek treatment. According to data from the Department of Health and Human Services and from the National Center for Health Statistics, part of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, fifteen percent of white women ages 25 to 44 in the United States have sought medical help to get pregnant, compared to 7.6 percent of Hispanic women and 8 percent of black women. These studies help emphasize that access to care remains not only a financial barrier but is a social justice health issue connected to particular racial demographics.  

Sociocultural Silencing & Invisibility of Infertility

The issues described above which concern access to fertility care, however, remain absent in public discourse. Much of this is the result of a cultural silencing around infertility and similar forms of reproductive loss, such as miscarriages and stillbirths. Rather than normalize these experiences of loss, sociocultural practices continue to confine these discussions to the hospital room and/or private home.

The idea that infertility is a rhetorical and physical act that should remain silent or limited to private conversations within the domestic or medical sphere can be traced to historical notions of propriety and fertility. For example, Robin Jensen (2015) notes that nineteenth-century notions of fertility were rooted in medical models of care that viewed the reproductive aspects of a woman’s body as machine-like “parts” that needed to be “fixed” in order to operate (Jensen, p. 27-36). This approach situated the reproductive features of a woman’s body in two distinct categories: If the female reproductive system were “broken,” (i.e., infertile) then discourses around the body should be limited to the home or medical sphere until the situation could be remedied (i.e., a woman became pregnant). By contrast, evidence that a woman’s reproductive system was “working” (i.e., pregnancy) shifted rhetorical conversations around reproduction from the silos of the domestic and medical realms to the public sphere, where individuals could openly disclose and celebrate a woman for her fertility.

Jensen’s work offers a historical perspective on infertility and how it is rhetorically constructed as a private matter that should be quietly dealt with — either within the home or a medical facility. However, as Jensen notes, “it is difficult not to draw parallels between these discourses of the past and discourses of the present day” (p. 42). In other words, the rhetorical machinations of the past that celebrate pregnancy and closet infertility are very much present today.

Similarly, cultural rhetorician Kristin Arola (2011) in her reflective video essay “Rhetoric, Christmas cards, and Infertility” suggests that discourses of infertility are publicly silenced and circulate almost exclusively within the private sphere. She contends that, unlike stories of fertility, narratives of infertility “remain silent” and are removed from our public “life narrative” because “we are not comfortable with infertility” (min 4:00-4:49). Nonetheless, for the nearly 7.5 million women who rely upon fertility services to build their families, experiences of reproductive loss and questions of self-identity become deeply woven into their life narrative. Infertility becomes an embodied identity that is all to often under-recognized and misunderstood by more dominant sociocultural narratives that presume the female body as naturally a fertile body. Such a presumption, however, is simply false.

Given how predominant experiences of infertility and reproductive loss are in our society, how may we begin to disrupt its cultural silencing?

One answer: art.

The ART of Infertility is a traveling art exhibit and oral history project portraying intimate moments of grief that have led fertility patients to create. The exhibit reveals the often unseen and everyday encounters of infertility told from the perspectives of women and men who have suddenly found themselves confronting unanticipated paths of family-building. For some in the exhibit, infertility is a disease to be conquered, to be beaten. For others, infertility is a social construction that does not define them. Other stories represent more of a liminality, individuals still processing: their diagnosis, their next step of action, their definition of family, and, ultimately happiness. Assembled together, this exhibit represents the spectrums of living with infertility and is a statement on how artistic creation can become a source of comfort when confronted by the body’s unpredictability. Two examples shown below illustrate both the range of experiences, mediums, and embodied translations that occur when making experiences of reproductive loss and infertility visible to others.


Image 1. “Fertility Tornado” by Kristin Phasavath. Oil on canvas.

The piece above is titled “Fertility Tornado”. Kristin, the artist, describes the piece: “The fertility tornado is an easy place to get sucked into while going through your personal fertility journey. When you walk through the door of a fertility center, it’s about having a baby but when the road gets long and drawn out, it’s about conquering a problem. It’s about beating something. Navigating through this infertility world can leave you feeling like you have truly been drug through a tornado. It’s important to try and keep focused on why you started this journey in the first place.”


Image 2. “Left Behind” by Kevin Jordan. Photography.  

The piece above is titled “Left Behind”. Kevin Jordan submitted this piece and describes his photo: “This photo essay features my baby shoes, worn almost 32 years ago. Looking at them & photographing them naturally makes one think into the past and into the future. It has been almost 8 years since my wife and I started our infertility journey. At first, the infertility journey made me feel left behind, it had thrown my wife and I off course like we were wandering two seperate paths, and not together. It took years to get our bearings, find that common path again and turn that narrative upside down. We often find ourselves reflecting on how short life is, especially when unexpected events occur, which has pushed us to live genuinely and authentically. Ironically, now I feel as though we have left others behind; we can only hope to serve as role models who embody how precious life is.”

Art Disrupts Silence, Allows for Reproductive Loss to Be Validated

While recounting experiences of reproductive loss can be difficult to do with words, visual art serves as a method that translates these experiences into embodied representations. This allows both the artist and general public to view and find new perspectives on the challenges of alternative family-building. Feminist artists and art activists have a well-documented and exhibited history of confronting sociocultural attitudes towards motherhood, yet infertility and infertile bodies “remain largely invisible in both artistic practice and academic discourse” (McClure, 2014, p. 253).

Community art organizations that situate their focus around issues of infertility, like The ART of Infertility, assist at poking at the culturally embedded s/m/othering discourse by calling attention to the “misunderstandings of the complex reality of mothering and parenting experiences in all their expressions” (McClure, 2014, p. 253). This is achieved through strategically curated exhibits that assemble together a variety of voices, experiences, and representations of infertility and loss to — when taken in — illustrate the multitude of people touched by loss. Further, public art galleries allow for infertility experiences to be visualized and thus begins to make a sociocultural space for the public to recognize and validate these experiences. Art, I argue then, is one method that responds to the sociocultural silencing of infertility and begins to make visible these experiences so as to evoke greater public awareness surrounding the issues of access to fertility care.


Arola, K. L. (2011). Rhetoric, Christmas cards, and infertility: A season of silence. Harlot: A Revealing Look At The Arts Of Persuasion 6 (2011).

Chandra, A., Copen, C. E., & Stephen, E. H. (2014). Infertility service use in the United States: data from the National Survey of Family Growth, 1982-2010.

Facts About Infertility”. (2015, April 15). 

Gana, K., & Jakubowska, S. (2016). Relationship between infertility-related stress and emotional distress and marital satisfaction. Journal of health psychology, 21(6), 1043-1054.

Greil, A. L., Slauson‐Blevins, K., & McQuillan, J. (2010). The experience of infertility: a review of recent literature. Sociology of health & illness, 32(1), 140-162.

How Common is Male Infertility, and What are its Causes?”. (2016, Dec. 1). 

Infertility Coverage by State”. (2018). 

Jaffe, J., & Diamond, M. O. (2011). Reproductive trauma: Psychotherapy with infertility and pregnancy loss clients. American Psychological Association.

Jensen, R. (2015). From barren to sterile: The evolution of a mixed metaphor. Rhetoric Society Quarterly, 45(1), 25-46.

Lepkowski, J. M., Mosher, W. D., Davis, K. E., Groves, R. M., & Van, J. H. (2010). The 2006-2010 National Survey of Family Growth: sample design and analysis of a continuous survey. Vital and health statistics. Series 2, Data evaluation and methods research, (150), 1-36.

McClure, M. (2014). s/m/othering. Studies in Art Education, 55(3), 253-257.

Smith, A. D., Tilling, K., Nelson, S. M., & Lawlor, D. A. (2015). Live-birth rate associated with repeat in vitro fertilization treatment cycles. Jama, 314(24), 2654-2662.