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.
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.
Depleted Momentum • The Art of Weaponized Truth
Everytime the phone rings lately and it’s my mother on the other end, I think back to the times when she was not a phone call away but instead all in my face and in my personal space. I do not wish those days back.
You Had One Job – 5 Mistakes My Brother Made After My Divorce
I drove 1400 miles to my brother's apartment after the divorce because I thought he was safe. He was not a safe space. Thirteen years later, here's the full accounting.
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.
