Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.

Virginia Woolf

MAY’S POEM OF THE MONTH


May 11, 2020

Modern mom takes selfie before entering into a virtual therapy session, Pandemic 2020.

Test Closet lighting is weak AF, right?⁣

Every Monday for the past 6 years I have joined a group of women to process, to share, and to give support to one another. Even during a pandemic. From my closet. With my own box of tissues.⁣

It was with them that I learned that my story is not unlike that of many other struggles that women go through…mine just came to me in a box labeled MOTHEROOD.⁣

Many of us are sensitive to the cascade of hormones that flood our bodies in a regular month. Add pregnancy, postpartum, and breastfeeding to that mix and it can be disastrous. Women’s health has been one of the last frontiers of science in many ways, mostly because we have not had much time to champion our causes from the classrooms, the pulpits, or the boardrooms.⁣

For my daughter and future generations, I know that will change.⁣

But what about mothers now? How can we make our voices be heard for ourselves and for the voiceless? Head over to my Instagram and begin following some of the account linked there on this post.

These groups have inspired me to tell my story, to uplift the voices of the voiceless, and to believe that no mother has to hold her 3 month old hopeless, afraid, and ashamed. ⁣

Help can be affordable, accessible, and equitable. And our generation can make that happen. Much love ❤⁣


April 24, 2020

I once told a wise woman about some unhealthy patterns I’d fallen into. A week later she came back with this: instructions to draw straight lines, then curvy lines, then circles, then stars. “Just follow what your hand wants to do.” So I did. It was chaos.
Then she told me to look at the chaos and find a pattern. Staring back at a complete mess the patterns did not appear immediately. Colored pencil in hand, I began filling in spaces at a maddening pace. The sound of color to paper was deafening. Suddenly there were beautiful holes and gaps for me to fill and fill is what I did.

And this is what we do. Our minds create patterns where there are none so we can make sense of this messy world. Pretty soon if we aren’t careful the patterns take hold of us and suddenly purple has to touch pink, then blue has to touch green. And what does this look like after years of mindless coloring? Who created these patterns? Who adopted them? Where am I coloring someone else’s pattern? When am I shading out regions of myself to the paint by number scheme set by another? When did I decide that orange boxes must bump up against green circles?

Is that still working for me?

Is that still working for you?


January 20, 2020

Growing up I often heard things like, “you are too emotional”, “people that think that way are fools”, “you have no sense of humor”, and “just be happy and things will turn around.” I heard it so often that sometimes I say these graceless things to myself, and that’s where the real work remains. Sound familiar?

A dear friend visiting from far away taught me about mercy earlier this month. She cracked my heart wide open and let me be me for a few hours, and that reminded me that there are other humans out there doing the work. It often feels very lonely and isolating in these necessary caves. So the post today is just a reminder that we all have the capacity to feel deeply, and there is no reason to be ashamed of who we are. ❤

Sending love to all the parts of you that you’re still collecting and integrating. I’m here doing the work too. We got this. 💪

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