Eight Years Old

Alter Ego: The part of someone’s personality not usually seen by others. — Cambridge Dictionary This week I went away for five days to work on a writing project that I hope will emerge as book this year. In preparation I got some help to create a plan for how to spend my days as productively…

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The Shift from Survival to Sustainable

“We women in our late 40s need a scapegoat,” my doctor, who is the same age, said, “and hormones are usually a viable option.” I wasn’t prepared to hear my doctor use the term “scapegoat.” That’s a term usually reserved for my psychology and religious circles, where abuse is often the topic. But she knows…

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Finding Myself

On the wall in my yoga studio’s bathroom hangs a photo of Bob Dylan with his words: “All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” I smile every time I see it, feeling reaffirmed that after nearly four decades of life, I’m still figuring “me” out.  It’s ironic that these words that resonate…

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Her Anger Is a Gift

There’s a voice in my head that assesses how I perform in the realm of conflict—a land often riddled with regrets, betrayals, and loss. I can always count on the voice to determine how things should have gone in any situation. To highlight the choices she would have made instead of the ones that I made.…

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Their Stories, My Story

Depth of character in the women of scripture was not a famously taught concept when I was growing up. I have wondered if this was why, for so many years, I related more to men than women since the Bible was the primary source of my educational foundation, having grown up in private Christian schools.…

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The Helper

Growing up I loved personality tests. I would take and administer them to my friends and family constantly. I was obsessed with understanding more about myself and those around me. When I discovered the Enneagram, you better believe I went down that rabbit hole. The Enneagram helped me better understand my friends, my coworkers, my…

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The Truth of Our Incompleteness

We often sat in the little room that held the door to the elevator, blocked off by a small set of windows. The carpet wasn’t incredibly comfortable, just generic purple with a bit of a worn-down vibe. The room only saw high traffic on move-in weekends and with the occasional third-floor resident who was too…

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Utterly Unattainable

Who am I, and which part of me is real? It happens in the flick of a switch. The war within me between the “best version” and the “far-from-the-mark” mother. It doesn’t take much for this duality to be activated as pieces of my own story are stirred up. Both have a significant impact on…

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On Writing Myself Alive

First, I wrote Leyla. She was a teen I thought my own teen girls might like. Leyla was for them. A Turkish girl, wandering the old city, who falls into an epic adventure to uncover a secret passed among women for two millennia. As she learns to embrace her own strength, she must also accept…

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