She was breathing heavy. It had been silent for a stretch and then she asked me if I even remember my childhood fondly? It took me by surprise, like a chess move when your opponent is not at the same skill level but makes a strategic move. I vacillated between telling her the truth and reassuring her.
Read moreDisconnected
Deb cut that cord this week, I would’ve done it a year ago without much thought to save money. As that line fell away, I sensed the end of an era; the releasing of an anchor I have carried for my entire life.
Read moreA Mirage
It is yet another mirage I try to set my sights on to to make this journey easier. I wish there was a way to release her. I wish there was a way she could release herself.
Read moreWeaving Words
I love writing so much: how a sentence can inspire me; how stringing words together feels like I’m weaving a blanket. Later I find myself wrapping up in the moment.
Read moreCapable
Don’t stay in the bubble of your busy mind.
Read moreSprung
Funny isn’t it, how some people control even time in this great game?
Read moreJungle of Thoughts
My mind runs wild through the jungle of memories and new stories I build about the past. It overtakes me.
Read moreVision
I fear I have no vision for how to traverse this wilderness but I have been caught in an eddy and must trust my instincts to survive in the flow.
Read moreBecoming Real
The story I told myself is that the way for me to be successful, make the most money, is to work for an organization, get benefits and impress leadership. I am a good employee and so they keep me complacent.
I have spent two years cocooning and trying to change the look of my life. I’ve dreamt about being a writer, making my money remotely, having a more fluid day, control over my schedule and true creativity. I thought the other day about how energizing it is for me to write. How I have felt an unseen presence coming through me. How I search for other writers out there. I am searching for myself. I’ve spent my whole life knowing this is my calling and then falling in line and doing the thing that needs to be done for stability.
My role as a mother intersects with all of this because I want to be available for my kids as much as possible. I also want to show them what staying true to your story is all about; what it looks like to respect your passion and hold space for it to come alive.
I’ve been so focused on work, the holidays and my mother, that I forgot how it feels to have this beautiful writing muse speaking through my pen strokes. This morning it came back; it has been months. I can’t control these words, they feel like they are coming through me rather than from me and I just let them roll. I struggle with all the words about my mother, and what to do with the content that I have written by now. It is so angry and not the energy I want to put out into this world. I keep asking myself how do I shape all of this into something worthy and beautiful for others to interact with? I keep wondering how will it become real?
I am also different. I’m drawn to things that stand outside the norm. I like counterculture. I crave not being like everyone else.
I have spent two years cocooning and trying to change the look of my life. I’ve dreamt about being a writer, making my money remotely, having a more fluid day, control over my schedule and true creativity. I thought the other day about how energizing it is for me to write. How I have felt an unseen presence coming through me. How I search for other writers out there. I am searching for myself. I’ve spent my whole life knowing this is my calling and then falling in line and doing the thing that needs to be done for stability.
My role as a mother intersects with all of this because I want to be available for my kids as much as possible. I also want to show them what staying true to your story is all about; what it looks like to respect your passion and hold space for it to come alive.
I’ve been so focused on work, the holidays and my mother, that I forgot how it feels to have this beautiful writing muse speaking through my pen strokes. This morning it came back; it has been months. I can’t control these words, they feel like they are coming through me rather than from me and I just let them roll. I struggle with all the words about my mother, and what to do with the content that I have written by now. It is so angry and not the energy I want to put out into this world. I keep asking myself how do I shape all of this into something worthy and beautiful for others to interact with? I keep wondering how will it become real?