It’s time for my annual Word of the Year post. I like to start off the year not with resolutions, but with a word that I can focus on as … Continue reading Joy.
Tag: trauma recovery
Everything.
Dearest daughter. I want to tell you everything. Everything that came before you. Everything that came to be you, from my side at least. I want you to know more … Continue reading Everything.
The Great Sweater Caper, and Other Mysterious Thought Patterns.
Some of you may recall a post I’d shared recently about a very special sweater I’ve had for ages that I’d discovered had gone missing. I mourned the loss of … Continue reading The Great Sweater Caper, and Other Mysterious Thought Patterns.
Thanksgiving and the “Yes/And” Rule.
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.
Orphan vibes.
“Do I give off orphan vibes?” I asked my therapist today. They weren’t really the right words to try to explain my quandary, but it got me close enough to … Continue reading Orphan vibes.
Things I won’t apologize for on Yom Kippur.
Okay, some of the items on the above list might seem a bit silly, and it’s okay to chuckle at them. Here’s the point, though. Yom Kippur is a time … Continue reading Things I won’t apologize for on Yom Kippur.
Saving yourself.
My five year old daughter recently told me that she loves Elsa, from Frozen, because, “she saves herself.” It gave me pause. I told her that I loved that idea, … Continue reading Saving yourself.
Feeling seen.
Last night I had the strangest dream. Which is saying something, for me, as my dreams are frequently vivid and peculiar. My birthday is coming up, and so in the … Continue reading Feeling seen.
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.
Journeys in the Dark 