cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
“You’re too young to be married,” said Lottie to my husband after we returned from our honeymoon. Lottie, one of our clinical supervisors in our Master of Counseling program was speaking of his developmental age, not his biological age. “You are still a little boy looking for a mom,” she said.
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*This post is from a sexual abuse survivor; it may be triggering for some readers. This is my Red Tent truth, my Red Tent story. This is and was “The Mother” in my life. The person who birthed me, whose publicly portrayed image I adored, but whose private reality would horrorify any humane person. I…
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When I was a little girl, I had a best friend. He called me “Little Princess.” His hugs were protective. His smile was warm. He adored me and I adored him. We loved each other, and we both knew it. There was pure delight between us when we interacted. Then, one day, he moved away. Far away. I went from…
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Oh, precious little one. Sweet pea. Can I sit on the floor with you so I can see your pretty little face and be with you? Honey girl, I want to tell you about how brave you have been. Your courage has saved my life and now gives me life.
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I remember the room well. It was somewhat outdated with older speckled carpet and ten to twelve cushioned metal chairs lined up along the exterior of the space. A padded divider separated the area from a little kitchenette. The receptionist’s desk was visible through the narrow opening in the wall on the far side. It…
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Lottie Hillard wrote an article called “The Shame of Needing” that could have been written about me. Fifteen years ago when I was in graduate school for counseling, I recall one of the advisors saying that my shame was gregarious. I carried an air of confidence, moving in relationships with classmates and clients with charm and…
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“If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one.” – Spotlight “The vocal minority” is a common, troubling saying we have in America. I’d like to explore the other side of the coin: the silent majority. As a society, we’re unable to hold suffering or the reality of atrocities committed…
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I was born aboard the Titanic many years ago. The ship that “even God himself cannot sink” according to its builders. What Man has pieced together, let nothing put it under – the cold North Seas.
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Today I saw a caterpillar smashed on the sidewalk. She met her demise before she met her destiny. Sometimes, I want to be that caterpillar. Pleading that my life might somehow end. This desire for eternal rest comes because emptiness has found her way back to me again. I try relentlessly to fill her but…
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As a child, I loved being outside. It was a safe place to be; it was freedom. I could run and yell and get dirty. The smell of sweat and dirt, combined with the never healing skinned knees, was just the sign of a day well spent. I didn’t worry when I was free. Fear…
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