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So Much to Say – Don’t Talk About It
I've been tired all week. Unusually so. I couldn't figure out why — until a phone call from La Llorona, a conversation with my BFF, and a Dave Matthews song I couldn't get out of my head told me everything I needed to know.
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My Own Prison
I've been held captive by the generational trauma of my mother. I wish it hadn't taken me so long to figure out just how deep in this prison I had been kept.
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Call Me Naive One More Time
Every time a man approaches me, the older women in my life lose their minds. They call it naive. I call it unbothered. There's a difference.
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Improper Expectations
We had only been in Guatemala two weeks, and my mother had already asked me three times if I was happy to be here. And each time I gave her the same answer: Yes, I was happy to be here.
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How to Exorcise Your Mother – Demon Be Gone
Two months since she left. One month to remember what sleeping through the night feels like. Zero regrets. Demon be gone.
