Red Tent Living

reframing femininity

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"katy johnson"

Be Quiet

My favorite place to argue used to be the bathroom. As a teenager filled with angst and a strong sense of the injustice wrought upon me by the world, I found the best place to decompress was under a steamy hot showerhead, verbally spewing all of the things I wished I could say out loud. Continue reading “Be Quiet”

If The Worst Should Happen

“What’s your deepest fear?” the survey asked.

I chuckled.

“All of the fears,” was my response. Continue reading “If The Worst Should Happen”

Here I Go.

Jumpy. That’s how I felt—like a skittish deer who thought she could make a break for the other side of the freeway, changed her mind at the very last second, and leapt back from the road to narrowly avoid a semi truck. Continue reading “Here I Go.”

Still Moving

I square myself to the lateral metal file cabinets, each with three safety-interlocking drawers filled with project files. Folders are tabbed in alphabetical order by client name and year—the painstaking work of someone far more meticulous than me. Continue reading “Still Moving”

Signs and Wonders.

Ash Wednesday.

A chalked smearing of celebration tasted—now absent, ached for, and anticipated. Continue reading “Signs and Wonders.”

Head and heart.

“Have you tried online dating?” Continue reading “Head and heart.”

Come play.

I’m not particularly self-contained when I am happy. “Graceful” would not be the word of choice. At my brightest moments, I tend to jump, bounce, giggle, fling, or shout. Continue reading “Come play.”


If I were asked to pick a single image that captures my heart concerning Christmas, I would pick a scene from one of my earliest holidays—you know, something that really set the tone for how I’ve held Christmas throughout my life. Continue reading “More.”

You belong.

3 months ago, in the sunny warmth of August, I blindly agreed to speak at youth group for the month of November. Continue reading “You belong.”

I love you.

I am not always great at asking for care. I think some of that lingers from childhood, growing up in a house where not making a mess or being a mess was considered a strength. Continue reading “I love you.”

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