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.

Trauma

Journal
My Husband Was a Self-centered Prick. I’m Glad.
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
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
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.

Identity

Journal
When is Abuse a Public Matter?
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.
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
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.

Addiction

Journal
My Husband Was a Self-centered Prick. I’m Glad.
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
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
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.