Renaming Myself

It took some time before I uttered the words. It was much like new lovers who hesitate to speak a risky “I love you.” It was a courageous declaration. A couple of years after I’d begun to write for public consumption, I had to submit an updated “bio” for an introduction. After reviewing my extracts,…

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Born to Be Wild

One night, sitting in front of the family television, for the first time in my life, I sobbed at the end of a touching movie. The year was 1966, and the film Born Free aired in homes across America. The movie, based on a true story, tells of a lioness named Elsa, an orphaned lion…

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Learning from the Wild One

There is a black-and-white photo that sits in my office. The photo is of a favorite four-year-old. In it, she is outside. Even in black and white, I know the sky in the photo is brilliant blue. She is looking straight into the camera lens. Her lovely little face fills the frame, blonde strands of…

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You Are Worth More

In honor of the tenth anniversary of Red Tent Living, we are featuring a monthly legacy post written by one of our regular contributors from the past decade. Jan Meyers Proett is one of the original ten writers. The presence of her words, both here and in her books, has been life giving and restorative…

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Opening the Door

I, like many others, get by with a little help from my therapist. Each week, I find a quiet space to meet with her online, and I close the door. Sometimes it’s my car door as it sits in the driveway, sometimes it’s the door to my daughter’s bedroom while she’s at daycare. A quiet…

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Everyday Heroes

As I walk along the road that meanders beside the waterfront of my hometown, I take in the sights and sounds of an early spring day in the Pacific Northwest: the gradient gray sky, the salty Salish Sea mist, the snow-capped Olympic mountains, the sporadic groupings of daffodils brightly declaring spring. I’ve walked this stretch…

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Faced

Twelve-plus years of pain, longing for relief. Some would say that I do not own the pain. Technically, they would be correct. My body does not own the pain; still, it ravages me. My husband grapples with a disease that demands daily attention to pain and loss. Sometimes the volume is turned down, but it…

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Wonder Woman

We sit at the table she and I. Our weekly ritual of alcohol pads needles liquid chemo deep breaths band aids and painted toenails. She is well-acquainted with bellyaches on the way to 
another three-hour round of joint exams, therapies 
and phlebotomists. Another school day away from friends.

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