I’m an Art teacher. That’s such an amazing, thrilling thing to be able to say. Up to now, I have taught art classes and projects to children and adults. I … Continue reading Arrival.
Tag: painful memories
Progress.
Today was a day of several firsts. It was my daughter’s first day of pre-K. (She had a great day!) It was my first time teaching Art class. That is, … Continue reading Progress.
Staying present.
I’m having a, “I CAN’T KEEP CALM, I’M A TEACHER AND SEPTEMBER STARTS TOMORROW!” sort of moment. It’s been a hell of a week, this week of constant meetings and … Continue reading Staying present.
Eat the frog.
(*No frogs were harmed in the writing of this blog post.*) In my most recent therapy session, I was lamenting to my therapist the list of chores I needed to … Continue reading Eat the frog.
For better or worse.
Seven years. I’ve been seeing my therapist for seven years. Actually it’s officially seven years this month. (Cheers, doc!) (I actually never call her that, but in the interest of … Continue reading For better or worse.
Space invaders. (TW: sexual abuse)
Mad. So much mad. Every version of me, from neglected child me to abused teen me to gaslit young adult me to present-day wide awake me, are all white-hot mad. … Continue reading Space invaders. (TW: sexual abuse)
Permanent ink.
I had intended this evening to write a relatively simple post about my experience today with getting my very first tattoo. However, more important material presented itself. We’ll see if … Continue reading Permanent ink.
Highways go both ways.
One of my favorite things about therapy — other than being able more and more to talk about therapy unselfconsciously, without fear of stigma — is that I can frequently … Continue reading Highways go both ways.
Point of view.
This week’s Parsha (the section of the Torah that we are reading from) is an interesting one. We are at the point in the story where twelve spies are sent … Continue reading Point of view.
Lost.
When all is dark, and reality feels like little more than tendrils of smoke. When your deepest trauma is a locked box inside the locked box. When your deepest trauma … Continue reading Lost.
Journeys in the Dark 