cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Before the pandemic reached the US, there was news informing us, pumping fear into our veins as we anxiously tried to prepare. We watched as it moved closer and closer to home until we heard about the first case reported in our state and then learned about the first person we knew who was infected…
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I arrive at Starbucks, sit at a small round table, and wait for the barista to call me. I ordered iced green tea–no sugar, no cream. In the afternoon, I still want caffeine but pretend to be healthier by ordering tea instead of black coffee. Besides, I don’t appreciate the bitter roast of Starbucks. It’s…
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*The following is posted in honor of National Slavery and Human Trafficking Prevention Month. This post includes words that may be triggering for some trauma survivors. What comes to your mind when you see a woman standing on a corner alone, under the glow of a street lamp? Close your eyes for a moment.
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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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Since I was sixteen years old, I have felt betrayed by my body. Most of the battles I have fought with my body have been underneath my own skin. Potent diagnoses, mostly invisible to strangers, acquaintances, and loved ones alike.
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