Wednesday, March 7, 2018


She woke up alone and uncomfortable, again.  
The dark of a day before it begins shining through her window.  
Sleep is often escaping these days.  
Her belly and the baby inside it make difficult to roll over and get up.  
she rises, 
to her feet.  
Down the stairs and out of the door she sees him.  
The same wrought iron chair she has found him in many pre-dawns before.  
This time, like most times, she just watches, feeling the familiar sinking of sadness. 
The weight of unasked and unanswered questions heavy inside her.  
Uncomfortable and alone she climbs the stairs, returning to the covers that warm her and the silence she's grown accustomed to.  

Even with the fullness of life inside her, she has never felt so alone.

Dear Universe

Yesterday I asked for a favor, from the Universe.  
I opened myself up to the World, I let go, and I asked to be shown what is in my highest interest.  I relinquished my control, and asked for a sign.  My bargain was that I would be open, I would be willing, and that I would pay attention.
Later in the day I received an email from Creative Oasis.  These weekly emails are always read and often pushed aside.  This particular email explained a Creative Color Walk.  Images in an assortment of reds filled the page along with the description of her Color walk.  She chose red and walked about, paying attention, and photographing all things of her color.
|Paying attention.|

The Universe provided me something that I was meant to see, and today I was willing to see it.  

Here is my Color Walk in images.  I chose white.

And, as it turns out white contains all wavelengths of visible light, encompasses all color, symbolizes beginnings and renewal, purity and innocence.  I chose white not because of those things, white chose me because of them.

I've been on what I am going to lovingly refer to as a Search for my Creative Soul; for my Self, for a while now.  Once I was ready to take physical steps 'into' this journey (last year) I took my first creative class led by the Creative Oasis, where I learned that there is always time that can be borrowed, and that self care is necessary, not shameful. I am currently taking a course on The Artist's Way by Julie Cameron called Creating with Heart which is teaching and inspiring me to open myself up,to do the work, and to be brave. I am also half way through a 12 week Enneagram Journey class which is helping me become a more healthy Helper.  All that to say that doing the work, trusting the process, and opening myself up to the Universe is what has provided me creative ideas and has led me back to writing; something that I love and have missed so.

Thursday, October 19, 2017


Today I sat with a woman, forty-some-odd years my elder, and heard her story.  A story even her late husband never knew. A story rooted in immense shame carried both deep within her and on her sleeve.  With tears laying low in her eyes she begins by telling me how touched she has been by the media stories of #metoo.  Then, almost abruptly, she laughed a bit, adding that 'it's about time'. Continuing, she dryly explained to me how no woman up spoke "in her day".
Silence sits between us for a minute as she wrangles with what, and how much of her story she should tell.  As her friend, I listen to her silence. Then I hear her words, words about a man, the president of a large company she worked for, abusing her repeatedly, forcefully kissing her in an elevator, the brief descent dominated by his agenda and her fear.
Stories began to piggy back each other. The next, of Christmas gifts given to female workers year after year, but given only to the ones who kissed the boss.  An instance she witnessed a co-worker being yanked behind the door of his office, and the "of course" scoff she received from the other co-worker whom she asked "has he ever come on to you?"  That was the reaction of the only person she ever dared to ask, and until now the only person she dared to tell.  Another scene was set on the street corner where an artist asked her to lunch.  A lunch where The Artist used all of his persuasion, aside from brute force, to take her back to his hotel.  I watched her as I listened, seeing her mull over all the other times, one leading to another in her head, as she combed through them all.
Then, a tear fell.  Only one, quickly wiped away, and immediately followed by; "I was so dumb.  So young."
After saying the only response I knew to say: "I am so sorry you had to go through all of that", she explained that "that's just the way it was, we were all afraid to talk, we were afraid they would take everything away from us."
I hugged her.
I hugged the most independent, outspoken, and self reliant woman I've ever known, and she let me.

When so many brave people posted #metoo, I didn't.
I felt undeserving.  Although I hadn't yet heard her story, I felt that I was undeserving of #metoo because I never had it 'as bad as she did'. After all, she deserves to say that statement, to feel the connection and community of all the others that deserved the same, the ones who also had it 'that bad.'
Not me.
But, that's not true.  That is simply a perpetuation of the cultural and world wide problem of sexism and abuse that exists.  I, because of my conditioning, don't immediately see the truth that was sexual harassment for me.  That 'friend' who reached his hand up my skirt uninvited, the young man that forced himself inside my car and inches from my face demanding I kiss him, the countless lewd comments thrown my way in countless situations, the seemingly unintended advances, all of those things deserve my #metoo, because they are all wrong, and demeaning, and discriminatory, and vulgar, hurtful, egotistical, and belittling. I am so very thankful that I didn't 'have it worse', but I was indeed missing the point.  The point is that there is such a deep injustice against women, and one that so deeply needs a voice, many voices from all stories, to speak up and out against it. 
My generation; two removed from hers, has made progress.  Progress because of the brave women who stood and spoke and fought before me.  I am so thankful for those women and for the women now who are moving forward and outward. And to all of the women, and minorities, and bullied, and abused, lets keep speaking up and out.  Lets see what we can do.

Tuesday, March 15, 2016


my husband and i joke about my exorbitant knowledge of song lyrics.  in all honesty, i do often catch myself off guard with my accurate sing-a-long ability.
 'how do i know these words'?
 'where did that come from'?

 i have spent the last few years discovering things about myself which have always made up my being yet have never been acknowledged, by me.  and... let me just say how liberating it is.  my process has been little by little, and the overwhelming feelings that the word liberating evokes isn't necessarily what i have experienced but, little by little, i am being freed.  i am becoming me.  i am acknowledging my love of words.  the written word. the verbalized word.  the words so beautifully interpreted in song.
here is a song that resonates within me.  it is a song in which the lyrics have repeated in my mind regularly for a while now.
i recently shared it with a friend.  not only to have her hear it but to remind her that she too isn't alone.
it is beauty, and truth, for me.
and thank God for words.  the words that connect us.  the one's that touch us and shed light on what we can't yet see.

It really breaks my heart
To see a dear old friend
Go down in the worn old place again

Do you know the sound
Of a closing door?
Have you heard that sound somewhere before?

Do you wonder if she knows you anymore?

I wrapped your love around me like a chain
But I never was afraid that it would die
You can dance in a hurricane
But only if you’re standing in the eye

Where did you learn to walk?
Where did you learn to run?
Away from everything you love

Did you think the bottle
Would ever ease your pain?
Did you think that love’s a foolish game?

Did you find someone else to take the blame?

I wrapped your love around me like a chain
But I never was afraid that it would die
You can dance in a hurricane
But only if you’re standing in the eye
You can dance in a hurricane
But only if you’re standing in the eye

I am a sturdy soul
And there ain't no shame 
In lying down in the bed you've made
Can you fight the urge to run for another day?
You might make it further if you learn to stay 

I wrapped your love around me like a chain
But I never was afraid that it would die
You can dance in a hurricane
But only if you’re standing in the eye 
You can dance in a hurricane
But only if you’re standing in the eye

you can dance in a hurricane but only if you're standing in the eye.

Monday, April 6, 2015

Dear Diceman

Dear Diceman,
There are many things, and many someones that "saved" me during my "darkest hour."  Least of which is you.
Diceman house, if you only knew.
The walls you provided for me gave me more than a home.  You, my friend, were my safe place. Within your walls I learned to be a mother.  I learned to be a mother on my own. Within your walls I experienced loneliness like I've never imagined.  Yet, those same walls provided me peace, and joy and independence I never thought was possible.
I can remember those first nights we had together.
Those nights I will never forget.
I would venture, as far as my baby monitor would allow, and sit myself  in the middle of your yard, searching for my independence, watching stars, finding my place. I was trying to gain some sense of clarity within my chaos. Then after hours out there alone, I would collapse within your walls, and slide myself under the covers in her room, not mine.
But, those sessions grew shorter, my room became my haven, and I found myself busy creating a home.
Addy and I grew up. By trial and error we learned.  The greatest and worst of times were captured within you.  But, I will choose to remember the good; the good I learned from the greatest and the worst of times, within your walls.
Dear Diceman, I thank you.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014


I've been waiting for the bottom to fall out.
No, to say that I've been thinking that all was going to 'hell in a hand basket' any day now is false.  In fact, I know things are good for me right now.  Things are great for us right now.  But I've realized that somewhere in my mind I've been anticipating the fall.  The destruction.  As backwards as it may sound, I entered into a relationship with the mentality that "if all does go to hell then I will survive."  So, as much as I've denied it, to myself, I've been anticipating the destruction of all that is good, for me.

Here's what I've learned:
I got married far to young, for me.  I had no idea who I was or what my purpose was on this earth. But, I loved.  And, I loved hard.  That is what I knew how to do, and that's what I was good at.  I married a man who would seemingly move mountains for me, and I was as guilty as anyone of believing that.  We had our troubles. Many of them.  Hell, we dated 5 years before we were married, and  I "knew" him inside and out, but didn't.
Then, there was this one day.
And, everything changed.
I will never forget that day.
To be completely honest, in hindsight, it wasn't that one day, it was many days  before.
But there was this one day that I discovered the unthinkable.
He had lied.
He had been continuously lying to my family.
He had been continuously lying to me.
He was an addict.
He was a thief.
One day.
Never did I know he was taking pills.  Never did I know he was sneaking into my parents house to slowly steal, one by one, every piece of my mother's jewelry.  Never did I know that he was leaving the office and landing at the pawn shop with yet another of our family business' piece of equipment.

I believed him.
I believed what he said.
The excuses he made were my normal.  They were what I believed.

I said vows to this man, before God and everyone that could hear me.
I meant them.
I tried to hold them true.
And, I was defeated.
I don't think I've let myself realize the destruction that he caused, in it's full magnitude.  I have been more prideful in the survival than realizing the damage.
But, I did survive.  As many people do.  I kept on going, and by God, I was rewarded.
I have the most amazing daughter that I get the privilege of spending every day, and every tantrum, with.
A man has come into my life and given me the space to discover myself while supporting my every move.  A man that has shown me what love can be.
And, I have my family who have shown, by example, what it means to be a family.  They have shown me what it means to love, and what it means to be a parent, and sister, and brother in law, and grandparent, and aunt and uncle.
Because of that I survived.
And, because of her, and them, and my effort, I will continue to survive, and grow, and learn.
I was a fool to think that his actions would be forgotten.  They will always be in the fabric that makes me, and the fabric that makes my daughter.
But, I am a fool to think that that fabric will define me, or her.