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.

I have a story about a lizard and a cardinal but of course it’s about more than that.

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.

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 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.

There are no politics in addiction.

Kids living in an alcoholic family. Can they be spared the damage?

Dry January: Did You Know?

I Don’t Know Who I Used to Be

Shadow. The life of a woman.

Are we different people after life shreads us?