Gilead

This is for the women that don't give a fuck I wrote an instagram post this morning about feeling messy. My skin is breaking out, I have a piercing bump I can't get rid of (and yes, if you're thinking of mentioning it I've probably tried it), my clothes felt too tight, my sink was full of dirty dishes, my hair was tangled and at that point in the day all I'd consumed was coffee. and I was tired of pretending I was fine or that I didn't care that my entire life was this mess. I just wanted to breathe for a second. So I posted it on the internet, which is clearly what sane people do when they want to scream. And I watched people respond with their nods of "Me too." This is for the women that seek relentless joy; the ones that know how to laugh with their whole souls Tonight I posted a follow up instagram post to the one I had posted this morning. It was unfiltered, unedited, my face after I'd washed off all the makeup. Looking at it made me wan...

I always remember saying that I would not live a life I didn't love. I told this to adults and they would always chuckle, reminding me that part of being an adult was going to work in a job you didn't always love and that sometimes you needed to do what you hated to pay the bills. I admire that about me, that optimism, that stubbornness and drive, that desire to create something more and the knowledge and faith that I could. Maybe that's why when I felt my 9-5 job sucking my soul and taking me down the path that all the adults had told me was just every day life and becoming something I didn't love I quit. And I created a job that I love, where I don't work 9-5, where I'm doing what makes me happy on my terms. I read a poem tonight by Janne Robinson and in her collection of poems she has one entitled Oh, you're a writer? On the top of the page in big, bold letters I wrote a letter to myself. It says simply "This is why you need to keep creating....

I was a codependent when I got married. I got married for a lot of reasons, one of those being to escape myself. I'm really good at handing control of my life over to other people and getting married felt like the next step. I'm not saying I didn't get married for love or that my marriage is a mistake but I knew before I even said I do that I didn't. I knew it wasn't supposed to feel like this. Something inside me knew I wasn't supposed to get married. But I thought if I pushed past the feeling long enough it would go away. It didn't go away. I got married and did everything I was supposed to do and then looked back on my textbook perfect life and wondered why it wasn't working. Even when I was planning my wedding I carefully manipulated each decision so it didn't feel like a wedding. I wondered why the whole thing felt to me like a mockery of love rather than a celebration of it. This is not going to be a post on how I saved my marriage. Becau...

It's been a while. Months filled with other people's stories that I'm not at liberty to write about. Months filled with burying down deep, staying quiet. Months of great change - some good and some not so good. And I've been hiding. Sometimes taking time out for solitude and reflection and healing is the greatest act of self care and I allowed myself that time. I allowed myself to live my story rather than write it, which is something I haven't done for a really long time. But I find myself missing the familiar feeling of my fingers against the keyboard and I can't seem to shake this feeling that I have a lot to share. Even deeper I know that showing up is a spiritual practice and it is something I'm called to do. I'm finding the balance between writing, reflecting and being so wildly present. I've thought of a hundred different ways to begin this post. I thought about doing a little life update but that didn't seem right. I don't want ...