Tuesday was my brother’s birthday. He turned 38. How is it that my own birthday doesn’t really make me feel old (not yet, or not most of the time), but … Continue reading Thanksgiving and the “Yes/And” Rule.
Tag: toxicity
The taste of well-loved.
I know all too well what well-loved people look like. I grew up staring hungrily at them, wishing for a taste of the enveloping warmth they had the luxury of … Continue reading The taste of well-loved.
The sweater.
Once upon a time, long ago, my mother and I bought a few sweaters at Walmart. Nothing fancy (obviously), just some stretchy cable knits. We each got a black one … Continue reading The sweater.
The devil you know.
One of the figures of speech I frequently keep in mind is that the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know. It means that sometimes, a … Continue reading The devil you know.
I’ll be here.
There’s a certain idea about arguments, and taking breaks from people. I even read a version of it in a meme just this morning. Let’s see if I can do … Continue reading I’ll be here.
Things I won’t apologize for on Yom Kippur.
Having feelings. Healing from my trauma. Standing up for myself. Setting boundaries, and holding fast to them. Being Jewish, and caring about Israel and the Jewish people. Being Jewish, and … Continue reading Things I won’t apologize for on Yom Kippur.
Taking stock, and I’m missing a limb.
I had a brother, once. I now live happily with my husband and daughter and speak to no immediate family members of my own at all, in order to keep … Continue reading Taking stock, and I’m missing a limb.
Cherophobia.
Cherophobia is the fear of happiness. We hear jokes in movies and on television all the time about how a relationship went sour because one or both parties were miserable … Continue reading Cherophobia.
Short.
You gotta hand it to short people. Because usually they can’t reach it themselves, even with the step stool. I kid, I kid! …Not really though. My father was six … Continue reading Short.
Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.
I had to become the villain in others’ stories so I could live freely as the hero in my own. I’ve been thinking lately about the concept of heroes and … Continue reading Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.
