reframing femininity
As the days ticked by until my wedding, morning twilight frequently found me sitting in pajamas with red spectacles and a messy bun, sipping from a large mug of coffee not quite large enough. October arrived, and my days kept starting earlier, often before sunrise as a random thought tied to the coming festivities stirred…
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Ash Wednesday. A chalked smearing of celebration tasted—now absent, ached for, and anticipated.
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“Have you tried online dating?”
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I’m not particularly self-contained when I am happy. “Graceful” would not be the word of choice. At my brightest moments, I tend to jump, bounce, giggle, fling, or shout.
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When a person experiences trauma, parts of the heart feel ripped loose, shattered, and blotted out.
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If I were asked to pick a single image that captures my heart concerning Christmas, I would pick a scene from one of my earliest holidays—you know, something that really set the tone for how I’ve held Christmas throughout my life.
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I’ve noticed something shifting lately; I can feel it deep inside me. It’s like the seasons slowly blending one into the next, my soul is shifting, and these are the verses that have been washing up on the shore of my heart over and over again like tireless waves against the rocks.
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The following is an excerpt that is abridged from my most recent book, Beauty and the Bitch: Grace for the Worst in Me, published by Bondfire Books.
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