This journal is where I explore the quieter questions, the unresolved thoughts that enter my mind, and the ways the world intrudes with confusing perspectives on emotional health.
When is Abuse a Public Matter?
What is the line between private matters and public matters when women are being abused? How many around Epstein, Wexner, Chopra, Gates, Swalwell, Gonzales, etc, etc, etc. had knowledge of ugliness yet stayed quiet? Ignoring the NDA issue for a moment, it’s impossible to believe horrendous behavior was completely hidden from view.
When do open secrets become our responsibility to address? We are failing women. And we all have hard questions to ask.
My Husband Was a Self-centered Prick. I’m Glad.
There are times when harsh moments nudge us into new, important, and necessary change.
This article is a reflection back on a scene from my memoir at a time when the experience was too raw to appreciate its significance.
The Day I Lost My Voice
This is a scene I didn’t include in my memoir but can’t let go of. It occurred during Family Week at my former husband’s rehab center. It stays close because I can’t explain my choice to stay silent. It felt like a failure then and feels like one still. It occurred during Family Week at my former husband’s rehab center. And my silence in that glaring pain still haunts me. I’d like to think it’s a sign that I would never be silent now.
Silence is a False Security Blanket
Some of us freeze simply because we’re caught off-guard by the ask and fear fumbling the answer. Or we don’t yet know how we feel about the subject at hand, so we mumble something inane or shrug, hoping to avoid the subject.
But I want to talk about another kind of silence, vulnerability silence. Trauma silence.
A Lizard and a Cardinal
I have a story about a lizard and a cardinal but of course it’s about more than that.
Courage or Fear? That is Always the Choice
A new trauma has struck, requiring a new version of silence and a new way to find my voice. Can I balance the part of silence that my grief requires against my need to not deny my voice? Only time will show me if I’ve learned.
Why Was I so Willing to Discard Myself?
I set myself aside I now realize years later. Shouldn’t our psyche’s be conscious of the moment we lost ourselves? Why did I fail me in the process?
Why is He Nameless?
Why didn’t I name my husband in my memoir? “Are you protecting him? Why not just make-up a name? Call him Bob or something?” No, protection has nothing to do with it.
