Foodie

I am a foodie—and, I’m very ambivalent about that. I both love and excoriate myself for that. My food war is facilitated by my having dissociative identity disorder (DID). If you’re unfamiliar, DID is a survival mechanism of the mind in the face of great trauma. Imagine, if you will, the natural conflicting opinions of…

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Time Served

He died without ever paying his debt. Others in our family speak fondly of him even naming their children after him. I have a totally different memory of the man. I was always afraid of him. He was a big, gruff, crude, loud bully who shoved his weight around in every environment he was ever…

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Fault Lines

I think each person has a fault line. A crack-line under the skin. Maybe you remember the day it appeared to you, and it became visible to others. Perhaps it shows itself after an unexpected event. Like a death. Or a diagnosis, for example. I observe your eyes glossing over when I try to explain…

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Bombarded

I have been feeling bombarded. The news feed on my phone compounded with radio and television news shows have left me penned in with too much to bear. It’s weighed me down and made me hopeless and anxious.  The noise has caused me to feel anger, agitation and annoyance. It’s taken down the best part…

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Shell Shocked

It has been three years since The Anchor House flooded during Hurricane Matthew. I’d forgotten that milestone until Facebook memories popped up with pictures on my iPhone screen. I scrolled through the images, staring at the soggy carpet and water-stained walls, while sipping coffee and packing Asha’s lunch. I could not believe it has been…

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Individuation

I keep returning to the girl in the grave. Gray and without breath. With armor to protect her heart and masks to wear for any occasion. She knows the intrinsic ways of each role she is expected to play. I resurrect her when I fear love. She knows how to get through this life.

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Raising A Priest: My Son And Choosing Faith

It’s Fall. I’ve been reluctant to completely close my bedroom window, clinging to the birds’ chirps, and cold gusts of air. The fresh air wakes me and I pause before getting out of bed. I often encounter resistance to opening my door in the morning, wondering what I have to offer my children who are…

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Are We There Yet?

This past summer, Tyson and I spent a few weeks in Europe. We had sandwiches on the front lawn of Buckingham Palace. We napped underneath the Eiffel Tower while vendors tried to sell us overpriced champagne. We ate cannolis as we watched fellow American’s pay the overpriced rate to ride three minutes on a gondola,…

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Mystified

“Hello beautiful! What are you doing this afternoon? I’m Georgia bound, passing through Knoxville later today…” My friend’s text appeared as I was heading in to teach my first class of the day. She was en route to Dalton, a small town 104 miles to the south, to investigate stories she’d heard about a Bible…

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