I bend down and attach the leash to her halter. Her whole body wags in anticipation and she looks up at me with chocolate eyes, her fluffy ears cocked.
Unlatch the gate and we’re off. Where will we go?
This is not a charming neighborhood. These are small, mid-century, single level homes. You are more likely to come across a chain link fence than a picket fence. There are no neatly manicured lawns. What you’ll find is xeriscape out of necessity (renters don’t mow) and funky steel sculptures that someone made in their backyard shed or got at the swap meet.
I guess there’s a certain charm in that. Read More
In our part of the country we’ve already been on summer vacation for a month so while some of you are just getting started, I’m already knee deep in “I’m bored.” And it’s been really hot here – like 110 degrees – so most days we’re just trying to not combust. My kids are 5 and 6 so in addition to keeping them alive, they look to me to be their entertainment committee. Some days I’m all about enriching their lives with memory-making activities and other days it’s all about Minecraft and YouTube toy review videos. But just because they’re tiny doesn’t mean they can’t contribute. Here are some examples of what I’ve learned from them this week: Read More
My husband is a really private man, which is why I don’t write about him much. He’s my biggest fan and supporter but it hasn’t always been easy for him to watch me blog so openly about my experiences. It goes against his private nature. I’ve had countless people tell me that they think I’m brave to write about this stuff but I’m only brave because I’m so deeply and completely sustained and encouraged by him.
The first night we met he asked me, “Do you want to go on an adventure?” I already felt like I’d known him for years so I said yes. We’ve been together 22 years, married for 20 and I’m not sure if the adventure was what he thought it would be. Read More
I’ve been angry since my sister died last September. And sad, of course. Confused. Broken open in new places (as if I needed more breaking…see, there’s that anger).
Right after she died, there were signs everywhere. I felt her presence. I could hear her voice say, “Karen…”. To me, it was the way you call someone’s name when you want to gently but urgently wake them up.
A couple of months after she died, the signs began to come less frequently. Her constant presence was fading. I started reading a book, Barbara Brown Taylor’s Learning to Walk in the Dark. As soon as I started to read the words, I realized that I had been seeking the dark for months, even before my sister died, maybe even as far back as when my grandpa died. Read More
Last month, I got to attend Press Publish, a one-day blogging conference put on by WordPress. They provided speakers who shared their expertise on the technical aspects of blogging on WordPress as well as an eclectic group of popular bloggers who spoke about their blogs and what inspires them.
There was a common theme that wove its way through the sessions: The importance of connection. The bloggers who spoke all talked about blogging as a way to connect to others, to ease loneliness, to bring about understanding and to form a community through shared experiences. It was inspiring and gave me a much needed boost to keep writing. Read More
I usually don’t post a piece until after I’ve had some distance and have been able to gain clarity around the emotions. I have struggled with whether or not to post this one because I’m still in the midst of the experience. I’m still sick over it, I’m still trying to get in touch with my body and its signals. As I write this, I have a horrible cold. Maybe it’s because I caught it from my kids or maybe it’s because being sick is the only way I can let myself rest. Either way, I’ve never been as grateful for my body as I am right now, for what it knows and what it’s helping me confront.
I’m reading a book called The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk, MD. This book has been a revelation to me and is helping me to put this experience into perspective and move another step closer to healing the whole me. All phrases in italics are quotes from this book. Read More
I’m a big fan of The Sisterwives and am always floored by the courage and fearlessness of the people who share their stories there. Now it’s my turn and I’m both excited and a little nervous.
I keep thinking…
I needed to share this.
What the hell am I doing?
There are too many details.
This barely scratches the surface.
I can’t do this.
I can’t not do this.
It’s a story about abuse but also a story about recovery because the two are inextricably linked in my life. I hope you’ll head over to The Sisterwives today. I’d love to see some friendly faces!
Every so often I read a book that sticks with me, makes me remember where I came from and reminds me of the resiliency of the human spirit. Wounds of the Father: A True Story of Child Abuse, Betrayal, and Redemption by Elizabeth Garrison is such a book. Elizabeth suffered unspeakable childhood abuse but what she focuses on in her book is her descent into drug and alcohol addiction and how she managed to save her own life against all odds. Her story is harrowing and was a tough read for me because it brought back memories of the way I treated myself as a consequence of the abuse I suffered. But like me and so many other survivors, Elizabeth found the courage to believe she was worth more than she had been led to believe and she fought for her recovery. Read More
It’s hard to describe what I feel when I read a post like this. Sad, of course, but there’s so much more. I feel like God is lifting me up, I feel hope and I feel renewed sense of purpose. These cousins are amazingly brave and whether you’ve found your voice or are still trying to find it, I pray this post gives you wings.
Our intention was to dance on his grave.
My beautiful cousin, who I’d not seen in 35 years, and I set out to dance on our grandfather’s grave. Our first dilemma was, of course, song choice. You have to have the right song. We bandied a few song titles about, Alanis Morrisette was a front runner.
We drove to the town where he lived, and where he is buried. We drove to the town where we were abused. Driving down the picturesque New England roads, I felt a little faint. Mary felt a little barfy. We pulled into a store parking lot, and Mary spent some quality time behind a dumpster, hurling. It happens.
We weren’t entirely sure where the cemetery was, so we pulled into a police station to ask for directions. I said, jokingly, We should go in and file a police report. Mary said, What would…
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There’s a line I read in a Liane Moriarty book where the character is looking around a cafe and thinking, If only I were here, which is odd because she actually is there. It’s a feeling I instantly related to because I’ve often had a sense of being disconnected, as if I’m observing my life from a distance and thinking that it would be a beautiful place to be. I’m longing to be right in the middle of that life, but, of course, I am right there. Read More