reframing femininity
A few mornings ago, I woke with a heavy sense of dread, imbued by the nightmares that sometimes plague me. As I shuffled to the coffee pot, the clamoring needs of my children felt like alarm bells on an already fried nervous system. I was preoccupied with larger worries than “what’s for breakfast?”
Read More
I am crumpled up on my kitchen floor, head in hands, hiding beneath a soundtrack of Fernando Ortega and Bifrost Arts, hoping my kids don’t notice I am weeping, It’s holy ground, but it feels like falling apart.
Read More
Sometimes, it seems like a dream – a bad dream, catalogued in three years of notes in my therapist’s office – but a dream nonetheless. Other times I wake up, my brain dull and fuzzy.
Read More
I have three young children, but more often than not, I feel like the mother of four. There are many times I’ve wondered what God was thinking, orchestrating circumstances so that the most intensive period of my recovery overlapped with having two small children under the age of four, then adding pregnancy and a third…
Read More
It’s Wednesday morning and I’m screeching at my children. “Where are your socks? Why are they not on your feet!? Did you get your backpack like I told you to? We’re going to be late! Ahh!” My irritation with my children is compounded by the lingering censure of an e-mail I received earlier in the…
Read More