cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
“We were not meant for endings.”* The first time I heard these words I was attending a women’s workshop in Washington. I didn’t just hear these words but felt them in the pit of my soul. Endings have marked me and my story since the beginning of my life here on this earth. One of…
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Over two decades ago, I spoke what I thought was a final goodbye to my mother. I am easily transported back to the stark hospital room, the four of us adult children gathered together with our families. This ending followed her battle with a dreadful disease that ravaged her body for over six years. She…
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How powerful it would be to name the truth: That as a little girl I was full of goodness and beauty And the people around me— bullies on playgrounds, abusers in dark bedrooms, and addicts— consumed me.
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“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 It was somewhat outdated with older speckled carpet and ten to twelve cushioned metal chairs lined up along the exterior of the space.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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