death
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In therapy on Monday, I said to my therapist, “I’m done! I’m done.” And that was immediately followed by the expression, “I don’t even know what that means, because I am not going to kill myself, so I don’t know what I am done with, per se, or what I am quitting, exactly.” I’m relatively
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I’m not certain if control issues were inherited or ingrained, but my mother was the pinnacle of having things in order, and bits of her need to control all the things all the time were handed down to me, and I handed bits down to my daughter. It isn’t always a bad thing to want
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I was thinking a lot the past few days about what it is to be brave. I had a friend tell me that I am brave, and the next morning I was engaged in a guided meditation to help me be less afraid. I am always afraid, in a sense. PTSD keeps your system in
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I started bawling while I typed out a text to my daughter. She turns nineteen today. I can’t even wrap my head around that. That tiny seven pound bundle of smiles and tears that was placed in my arms all those years ago changed everything about life and love. And I know that lots of
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Sometimes, when I am explaining my symptoms to a new doctor or physical therapist, I use this expression of “dead leg”. It isn’t the pins and needles feeling that we commonly associate with numbness. It is more of a lack of a sensation than a sensation. It is like that portion of my body is
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I’m listening to Iron and Wine. It is a little depressing. It isn’t depressing because of the death aspect. The spreading of ashes around the yard doesn’t frighten me a bit. In fact, I am uncommonly comfortable with the concept of death. Maybe that is in part due to the losses that I have
Learning To Be Whole 