As if I needed any more proof that I can do hard things – I returned to the belly of the beast this weekend. (I guess a refresher course is … Continue reading Belly of the beast.
Tag: painful memories
Tang.
This week I made a chocolate mayonnaise cake. That’s right. A chocolate MAYONNAISE cake. It’s a vintage recipe that sounds exceptionally gross, and yet, is totally NOT! It results in … Continue reading Tang.
Breaking point. (TW: bodily injury, mention of miscarriage)
I don’t remember the exact day, or week, or month, which held my last conversation with my mother. It’s fuzzy. I know it was sometime in 2018, because it was … Continue reading Breaking point. (TW: bodily injury, mention of miscarriage)
The blood we choose.
“Blood is thicker than water.” We hear that all the time, don’t we? A colloquialism that implies we should put family above all else. (If you’ve been reading some of … Continue reading The blood we choose.
No going back.
“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back?” -Frodo, … Continue reading No going back.
Look down. Look back.
Don’t look down, they say. Don’t look back. Keep your eyes straight ahead toward where you’re going, rather than focusing on everything you’re putting behind you. I think the intention … Continue reading Look down. Look back.
Just somebody.
That feeling when your daughter comes across your old photo album full of family pictures, and wants to look through it to see you as a baby, and you start … Continue reading Just somebody.
Learning to function. (TW: assault, rape, aftermath)
I had a dentist appointment this morning. Routine, but overdue, I’d had to reschedule it several times over the last three months. My hygienist was at the reception desk when … Continue reading Learning to function. (TW: assault, rape, aftermath)
Hippo birdie days.
Some days are just fucking hard. All days have their challenges, some small, some massive, and a variety in between. And I do believe that no challenge is insurmountable, even … Continue reading Hippo birdie days.
Happy and haunted.
My father died 15 years ago. I was 18. I am in contact with exceedingly few people these days who knew him. Even then, that contact is sparse (no judgment, … Continue reading Happy and haunted.
Journeys in the Dark 