Social media posts are bastard liars. They show a fraction of the roller coaster of life. I am not always smiling. I am not always confident. I struggle—often. Continue reading Behind the Smiles
I have reached an age where my heroes have become human.
There is a softer kind of magic to believe in now—
That a body can bend
That a heart can turn sour but ripen again
That friendships are meandering, and loyalty sometimes means dormancy and patience. Continue reading Your destination is on the left
I see this number in front of me that seems incongruous with my experience. I’m too young to be in my mid-forties already, but I’ve surely lived a dozen lives since I was born. Continue reading Another Year? (Birthdays After Forty!)
The other day I was giving my ‘elevator pitch’ about my coaching business to a woman in my networking group, and I mentioned my history with alcohol use. As soon as I said it, I could see a subtle shift as her face dropped into that expression of pity. She nodded her head sympathetically, “Oh yes, such a shame. My friend’s sister’s ex-husband is an … Continue reading Am I an alcoholic?
As I sink into my couch, inert and irritable once again, I read, over and over, this poem I wrote a few days ago. I know the words are trying to tell me something, but whatever-it-is keeps swirling out of reach. Continue reading Feet & Frontal Lobe: We are Capable of More than We Think
Dear Daughter,Here is what I need you to know: Your breath will always bring you home. It is your ruby slippers—just close your eyes, inhale deep into your belly, and follow it. Trust your breath to know the way back—every time. Let your heart be a lantern, not a vacancy sign. Hold it up and brave the darkness. Listen and it will reveal the beauty … Continue reading Dear Daughter
Sometimes a poem wakes you up in the middle of the night. Like a baby kicking, it’s inside you, dancing with its own consciousness, until you must throw open your eyes and acknowledge its existence. Continue reading The Healing Power of the Poem
I drew people to me who had vacant spaces where love should be, and I shoveled myself into those holes, sweating and aching with the effort it takes to fill the unfillable. Continue reading Job Title: Hole-Filler (a letter of resignation)
For me, poetry has the power to heal, to transform. It is how I shake out the cobwebs of past shame and through open the curtains to shine light upon my darkness. Continue reading Writing to Heal and Finding My Breath
Most of us know it well. You are scrolling though Facebook and there’s another one of her photos with her cute hair and happy kids. Your comparing mind starts piping up: “Ugh, she is always doing SOMETHING. Who has time for that? She’s so perky; how annoying. I’m probably a bad mom because I’m not taking my kids to the zoo every other day. I really should be better at that.” Continue reading Standing up to ‘The Comparing Mind’