My teenage daughter and I temporarily tatted up for an inspiring local event called IGNITE, some years ago. We got inked with one word that intoned what I was ever longingly looking for at the time—purpose.
The only thing I’ve ever truly wanted to be without any doubt was a mom. Beyond raising my children, and being lucky to be able to, I was never sure what my life’s purpose was in addition to being a loving parent. Or how to find it. The problem was more often than not, this left me feeling unsettled and unfulfilled.
Continue reading “That thing that almost killed you? Well, it didn’t. So now it’s likely your new purpose in this life.”
Are you doing that thing again?
Where you focus solely on the daunting distance you’ve left to travel.
The granite-heavy workload you’ve still to muster.
The labor-intensive recovery yet unfinished.
Thus you forget to honor and celebrate just how far you’ve already come?
The obstacles you’ve already surmounted?
Continue reading “Feeling irrevocably stuck? You’re likely forgetting to remember to stop and do the most essential step in healing from your trauma.”
I was 10 years old when my ongoing sexual abuse at the hands of a male relative finally ended. I don’t remember how old I was when he began molesting me, only that I was too young to understand what was happening and what it was called. Or that it was criminal and demented and anything but ok.
My abuse ended not because I spoke up and told someone what was happening to me, but because my abuser was caught abusing another little girl. I so wish 6, 7, 8, or 9 years old me had been able to speak up, to put an end to the damage he was doing before he could do it to another.
I don’t recall the specific tactics my molester used to ensure I wouldn’t talk. Only that they worked for years. Had I not been asked point blank if he had touched me or hurt me I’m not sure if I ever would have disclosed the abuse of my own volition.
And here’s why.
Continue reading “The reason we end our silence and finally disclose our sexual abuse.”
It had become obvious our friendship had suffered a significant setback, but I had no idea why. So I asked my friend. She told me nothing was wrong, if anything, it was her, not me. She said she’d just been so busy and under so much stress and she knew she’d been a terrible friend. She insisted she loved me so much and would try hard to show it better and she was so sorry she’d made me feel this way.
In effect, she gave me the runaround. I know it was the runaround because after that conversation things just got worse.
Continue reading “What’s the best way to end a friendship? Asking for a friend.”
I adore looking back through vacation photos, even as soon as we return home from a trip. I smile and nod in cozy remembrance at each one; yep, we did that, yes, that was so much fun, wow, that was way cool! In an instant, I’m wistful and dreamy and in love with the trip all over again. Of course, this is only after I ruthlessly edit and crop, enhance and polish, or put a mob hit on any offending photo. After all, I want the best versions possible of the memories, not the shabby ones.
So when I saw this photo of myself, my immediate inclination was to delete it and then go about my life pretending I’d never seen it. But then I paused.
Continue reading “Does this jet ski make my butt look big? And other dumb things I’ve focused on.”