Welcome to My Reflective Practice
For as long as I can remember, I’ve turned to writing as a way to make sense of both the ordinary and the extraordinary moments of life. These pages hold years of letters, poems, and candid reflections; pieces of me working through love, loss, change, and possibility.
I invite you to explore, wander, and search for the words that resonate. May you find something here that meets you right where you are.
One-Woman Show
There exists no one-woman show.
There exists no one-woman show.
A collection of women emerge from behind the curtain to arrive on our doorstep. Uninvited, they have come to share a feeling with us. Their desire to reach out to us, to have us share in their internal wince, is palpable. So naturally, we join them. Instinctively our bodies recoil at the sight of your show, but our eyes are fixed. This beautiful collection of women, with whom I now join, are fixed upon your solo endeavours. That is until we eventually laugh the cringe off and the spell is broken.
I’ve collected women all of my life. It’s with these new additions that I feel especially at home. They are strong and assertive, yet kind and compassionate. Your exit opened the seat for me at this table. I’m told I belong here and I feel it too. We discuss a variety of topics but one thing we all agree upon is the fact that there exists no one-woman show.
I am a collection of women: those who paved the way, those with whom I open myself, and the young who are watching your silly show.
Witchy Like That
“I’m just witchy like that,” I tell you.
It’s an indescribable feeling. In only a moment, a wash rolls over my body and I am infused with a knowing. Most wouldn’t even notice that it happened to me. Often escaping my body as a sigh or a shiver, I just know that something has washed over me.
We are sitting at the kitchen table, the cribbage board between us. We are at ease together, you and I. It’s the most comfortable either of us has been with another. Facing you, my guard is down and my leg is up, toes tucked slightly under your thigh. We are connected and laughing, one hundred percent present on this beautiful Saturday evening.
My guard is down, I’m an easy target.
You see the shift in that one instant. In the time it took for me to sigh, you could see that something was exploding behind my eyes. They are, after all, the gateway to my soul.
In that moment, a knowing washed over me and my sadness was comforted. In that one sigh, a knowing washed over me and I accepted fate. In that one moment, I was reassured that I can handle it.
I know that I will be okay.
In that one moment, a message was placed inside my heart: spend time and make memories.
You asked what I was thinking about.I imagine you didn't expect that response! I’m witchy like that. I tell you that this happens sometimes, always has. We talk about it and carry on with our game.
We play out the next hand; the final hand of the game. We lay our cards down, realizing that our cards are identical. We each have two kings and two fives. A secondary wash confirms the existence of the first.
I tear up a little.
Hello, my tiny love.
Graduation Day
When I woke up, I was already sobbing.
She told me later that she heard me apologize to you before the weeping began.
She woke me up, pulled me from the dream but not from the sadness.
Into her, I turned and wept.
I told her it was you that I was dreaming about.
I don’t remember the dream, but I felt you in that moment.
There I lay, this morning at 4am, and bawled.
Fetal and raw, tears ran down my face and onto my pillow.
I practiced my breath-work to slow the fun little 4am Menty-B I was having.
I have been practicing my breath-work all week
When, photo after photo, I am bombarded with the reminders:
You should be graduating.
You should be here.
But, you aren’t.
I watch and smile at all the photos of the babies, now grown, who are graduating.
I rubbed their mother’s tummy, as they rubbed mine.
We are all connected.
You see, all week I would open my social media only to close it.
The gown.
The caps.
The smiles on living children.
It all hurt far too much.
So I closed the apps and thought I was good.
I thought I was good until I wasn’t.
Breathwork helped. It always does.
As I turned to lay my head back down, I grabbed my phone.
A new text.
Your sister had texted me at 11:30 the night before.
It seems that you visited her as well.
She said:
“Mom
I just realized something while trying to fall asleep
Today Penelope would have graduated.
It’s the 8th grade Graduation day.”
So, my firstborn.
My love.
My graduate.
I have loved you since the moment I knew of your existence and I will love you until the end of mine (and for eons after).
Now, toss that cap high into the sky and I’ll turn my gaze up to see if I might be able to see.
Happy Graduation Day, Sweet Baby P.
There exists no one-woman show.
“If I could, I’d like just a minute longer with you. A minute longer to sit on that couch, to play this out, to understand why your laugh, your eyes, and the way you placed your hand on my arm have me spinning. The night is ending, but I’m still trying to figure out why I need more time with you.”
It’s a beautiful existence, jumping in with both feet.
Perhaps I didn’t need the book as much as I needed to remember who my people are.
Tackle the hard stuff
Move through it all with kindness
Sadness and kindness
It’s possible to be both sad and kind
To lament on the way it was
While rejoicing in all that remains
I had no idea why I was in there. I just knew that it felt safe. Smaller. Or maybe it was because I felt larger.
The green sea glass is my favourite, and, even though it’s simply the remnants of Heineken bottle, we act like it’s a rare jewel, because you never know.
You scan the faces waiting for you; family, friends, and lovers all gone long before. You tell them to wait, finding the smallest one, wrapping your warm arms around her and ushering her back through to me.
Number lines are stupid and cross-multiplication is bomb. Keep that knowledge to yourself and in September do it whatever way your teacher asks for you to do it.
I don’t know who it was for, the display of anger, because it was never put on for others. I guess, in effect, It was just for me. Look at this, look at how broken you are. Fucking clean it up.
Each year my children’s’ eyes become wider and more skilled at interpretation, for every year that I age, they do too.
Sometimes there is value in letting you vent, feel powerful, and moving forward. You’re fucking welcome.
That echo can forever live in the darkness; some messages were never intended to be received, the delay too great.
In that exhale, the feeling of defeat escaped with it - a breathy fuuuuuuuck of sorts.
These pieces, I tear off willingly, proudly, defining myself by the beauty of my imperfect and exhausted soul.
A long time ago, we would meet halfway, feet on the earth, shoes in hand, and walk together.
It’s been a minute.
Too many options can create confusion, the freezer is simply a microcosm of our larger society in all of its excess and waste.
I needed to fill some time as I watched the ambulance’s GPS tick, tick, tick along my computer screen, towards her residence.
But a little man? Where would I place my focus? How could I guarantee to bring out the good man that lies inside of this tiny human?