HeyJaredLittle Flames
Essays and Interviews on disability, motherhood, and remaking a life––by a memoirist navigating survival with unflinching honesty and a touch of humour.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 4
- Latest publication
- Sep 22, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 14, 2026
Latest issues
Mind the Wreckage. I Wrote it Myself. (opens the original)
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I pulled myself upright, my muscles trembling — weak, failing, human, mine. The Periphery stretched out around me, the same metallic air, the same broken skyline, the same generator hum pulsing as if a heartbeat. — Mel Williams, “Peripheral Bodies”<a class="image-link image2 is-viewable-img" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!mgfm!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F654000f4-184e-44ad-9f24-04860ea5cbe1_3024x30
Little Flames Contributor Series (opens the original)
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Welcome to Little Flames Contributor Series.In Part One of my conversation with Benjamin Kwarteng, we talked about his spinal cord injury, the realities of navigating the world as a wheelchair user, and what Ben refers to as “disability privilege.”In Part Two, our conversation moves from the challenges of disability to the innovations they’ve inspired for Ben, exploring his entrepreneurial side—building a caregiver app and creating an adaptive fashion line. And, finally, we discuss his volun
Little Flames Contributor Series (opens the original)
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Welcome to Little Flames Contributor Series.When Benjamin Kwarteng sustained a cervical spinal cord injury in 2008, his life changed instantly. Today, he’s an entrepreneur, mentor, and disability advocate who is focused on creating practical solutions that encourage independence, dignity, and inclusion.In Part One of my conversation with Ben, we talk about his spinal cord injury, the realities of navigating the world as a wheelchair user and what Ben refers to as “disability privilege.” PROFILE
Before the Paralysis, There Was Monaco (opens the original)
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It’s odd the things we remember during the worst times, the moments we can’t forget, then return to over and over again. The traumatic memories of course. But also the events that might otherwise be unremarkable: the ordinary, the simple. These too arrive during struggle. They materialize like a sandstorm—a blinding, suffocating wall of memory particulates. As if to say: I am sacred too. Don’t forget me.A few days after my arrival at Toronto’s St. Michael’s Hospital ER, I awoke in their Medical-
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