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I've become far more transparent as I get older. Those close to me know that I have struggled a bit more than normal the last few months. Summer was definitely quite rough. I experienced bouts of sadness coupled with anxiety. I remember one particularly bad morning, I started crying and literally couldn't stop. My mister came home from work early to find me curled up in a fetal position, sobbing, and I didn't even know why.

Then, towards the end of July, what I have feared since losing over one hundred pounds happened: An extremely stressful situation occurred, and I reverted back to all of those unhealthy habits that accompanies emotional eating. I started to eat to fill a void, instead of eating to fuel my body. I would eat when I wasn't hungry and I would eat all of the high fat, high sugar foods. I would overeat, too. Sad = eat. Bored = eat. Anxious = eat. Stressed or overwhelmed? Eat. Eat. Eat. And, the weight has crept back up. And I fell so defeated.

Last week wa…
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Heard (conclusion)

And so it went. Without her voice, the little girl retreated inward. She imagined a different reality for herself, where she was seen. Where she was loved. One day, when it all became too much, she left the home that held her captive and rode her rusty bicycle to the end of the street. There, she would stage an accident. She waited in that dirty pile of leaves. Waiting for someone or something to rescue her.

Eventually, a lady stopped and asked the girl lying in the leaves if she was okay.


All she could muster was 'Fine.'

She was always fine.

The girl's mother had a bad track record when it came to men. Her second husband was no exception, and he, like the others, wouldn't last long.

And it was like a miracle. Finally the prayer she prayed to her favorite Tears for Fears song was being answered {nothing ever lasts forever}

And for the first time in two years, the girl tried to reassure herself that the nightmares were only in her head, not in the middle of the ni…


Forty-three years and some odd months and I am still trying to find my voice. Circumstances have all but forced me to rip this from my heart, or else claw away at my very flesh.

Her youngest memories are like the pictures in an old photo album. The kind with embroidery and ribbons adorning the cover. Delicate and beautiful on the outside. Inside, however, were the yellowing pages and faded faces which appear to be smiling. Just snapshots in time. Christmases. First days of school. Backyard kiddie pools. Pictures of houses that no longer stood, where she would stand on swirling wooden stairs and marvel at the dust in the sunbeams, like it was sent from another realm.
She was a quiet and painfully shy girl. They said she suffered in silence, like it was something brave and not a learned behavior out of desperation. Before she was ten, another upheaval. New city. New stepfather. New siblings. 
Her mother was talking too loudly one day about how the house she rented had been…


Shortly after the New Year, I took about a three week break from Facebook, deleting the app from my phone. I felt that it was in my best interest. As a whole, it made me feel wretched about myself (or bitter, or judgmental, or a slew of other negative emotions). Not to mention the amount of time I wasted.

It was hard at first, as most habits are, to break. But, as the days went on, it became easier, and I had more time to be engaged in the present. I was looking less at my phone for the red notifications. However, there were certain things I missed, such as seeing pictures of those that live far away, or sharing in others' happy news.

So, after some time, and after I felt like I had found some balance, I decided to log back in. It was the day after the inauguration and the day of the women's march. Two of my best friends and I went together. We joined about 5,000 others in Riverside. People of differing beliefs and backgrounds came together in solidarity, each person choosing …

when you are done

This will probably read more like a quick update instead of my usual posts. It's been a while. I am not entirely sure when I last wrote, or what I wrote about. Probably Grace. Or thanksgiving. And I am sure there was certainly some angst woven somewhere in there. Maybe even a curse word or two.

I can be all about the angst. Sure, there is a time and place, but it's heavy, man. I mean, it's a lot for one person to carry. All. The, Time.

I think it is inherently good to be honest about areas of necessary growth. A huge area for me {although it can be a positive thing} is my emotions. They own me. I feel things deeply. For all the things. All. The. Time. This can be problematic when I have been wounded, or when my emotions are overspent on the same scenarios.

But, with the New Year we ventured back out into the pews or chairs. Among the old and the new. Heavy with liturgy or twinkling with lights under purposely exposed ducts.

I began to feel like Edward Norton's Narrator…

The Unattainable

November is probably my favorite month. I adore autumn. And Thanksgiving. Late this afternoon, as I was leaving work, the sun was starting its early descent and there was a distinct, crisp bite to the air as storm clouds rolled across the sky. I breathed in deeply and felt invigorated, like in that brief second, I believed that anything was possible.

Sometimes, I feel stuck. I start things, and for whatever reason, I don't finish them. Maybe it's just part of my quirky personality. I lose interest. Or simply move on. Some things, however, feel unfinished. I think about these things as if they were completely unattainable. But, you know what? They're not.

Tonight I drove by the plaza and the sight of the Christmas tree surprised me. It reminded me that seasons eventually change. Abruptly, even. The days eventually get shorter. In a few weeks I will turn 41. A new year. A fresh start of sorts. And I want to make the most of it because these years are going by at breakneck sp…

The Unexpected

It was supposed to be a quick check-in with my doctor. My foot was bothering me. My ankle would swell and all of my walking I had done in Washington seemed to have exasperated the issue. My doctor told me my arch had fallen. She instructed me to stop wearing flats and get some inserts. Easy enough. As I was checking out, she reminded me that since I was 40, I should stop in for my first mammogram.

I had already been gone longer than I had wanted. After all, school was gearing back up and I had so much to do. I didn't want to take any more time. I don't know why, but I decided to go anyway.

It was very routine. The "squeeze" didn't hurt as much as I had anticipated. As I wrapped the open-in-the-front gown around me, the technician said I'd get the all-clear postcard in the mail.

I did not receive that postcard, but a call instead. They suspected something and asked that I come back in nine days to have the images redone. I tried not to think too much about it,…