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.
That Kind of Girl
“She’s so crazy that she makes life fun. That kind of girl — fearless, playful, and full of life — reminds us of the little girl inside all of us. The ones who run wild, laugh loudly, explore boldly, and make every moment unforgettable.”
My son and his female best friend ran up to where her mom and I were standing after the bell rang. Excited, they wanted to know if she could come to our house to play after school. ‘Of course,’ we agreed. Excited, she ran off, my son watching her. Then he turned to her mom and said, “You know why I like her so much? Because she’s so crazy that she makes life fun.”
She’s so crazy that she makes life fun.
That kind of girl is my kind of girl.
Let us all choose to have more of those kinds of girls in our lives:
Girls that make life fun.
Girls that laugh from their bellies.
Girls that run wild in nature, unafraid of spiders, mud, and the unknown.
Girls that skinny-dip in open bodies of water.
Girls that are hot-tempered because they are passionate.
Girls that pop-over, uncaring of the social norms to ‘call first.’
Girls that tell a story that captivates the room.
Girls that swing high and jump from the top.
Girls that break bones and then rock the cast.
Girls that stand, front-row at the concert, and sing along on the top of their lungs.
Girls that book flights, leave, and do it alone.
Girls that set goals only to crush them.
Girls that make life fun.
I wanted to grab him, kiss him, and tell him to never let that standard go. Never. Because once you have that kind of girl in your life:
She’ll love you without reserve.
She’ll tell a story or joke that will bring you to tears.
She’ll explore with you, hold a caterpillar and marvel at it’s beauty.
She’ll have you naked and swimming with her before you can argue.
She’ll demand respect because she knows she deserves it.
She’ll make you soup when you’re sick.
She’ll open your eyes to the world and show you how she sees it.
She’ll cover your eyes and ask that you follow her.
She’ll get up, brush herself off, time and time again.
She’ll grab your hand and pull you in.
She’ll be spontaneous but calculating her her actions.
She’ll encourage you, no matter how lofty your goals.
She’ll create fun where no fun otherwise exists.
Here’s the thing, son:
That kind of girl will be an amazing mother.
That kind of girl will love those babies wildly.
That kind of girl will raise females who make life fun.
and little men who appreciate that kind of girl.
The Boy's Sister
I met a boy once, in Thailand, and we seemed cosmically destined to be in each others lives. He’s no longer in my life. I choose different. I went left - left him standing on a boarder, and choose to create this most amazing life that I currently have. I tell you this because that cosmic destiny may confuse you sometimes. Sometimes, you may not fully understand a person’s importance in your life, their meaning, until years or decades later.
This boy, he has a sister.
This. This is about her.
I met her young. She was filled with life - beautiful and ready to explore the world. She said she needed a nudge, advice, and reassurance that this path she wanted to take was a good one. She didn’t need any of that though. She needed to enter my life (and me into hers) and this was the universe setting up this beautiful sisterhood.
We had dinner, once. I marvelled at her courage, her intelligent questions, her excitement to enter a world that I was just exiting. She asked questions about relationships, the strain this might put on them. I never once sheltered her from the reality of the world she wanted to embark on. People, they come and go, and some will board your flight with you. He boarded the flight with her. I smiled because, I too, had loves follow me. These men, they see a woman who is confident, sure, and alive and they want to attach to that. He attached to that. It’s a beautiful thing.
My world shifted and I grew into my new roles, she a few years behind. I received texts from her continually, praising me for my position in life and how well I was managing my tiny humans. I don’t know if she knows how much those texts over the years meant to me - mean to me. Her support, I could never define. Then, it was my turn. My turn to praise her for her skills at motherhood. To send texts about what am amazing mother she is, to send encouragement and support during hard nights. I like to believe that I was there for her during some really hard times.
Now, I sit, miles away from the hug I’d like to give her. She is there and I am here. I want to run to her, wrap my sisterly arms around her and care for her - force her to eat and sleep. Her world is being ripped open and I sit, sideline to it, and offer my support. She’s strong though. We all are when we have no choice. Strength is our beauty, as women. Others are attracted to it, as if pulled in by some magnetic force. I have seen it. I have felt it. She’s got it - pure strength - and it will bode well for her.
So, here I sit, miles away and write. Write about that old love and how I realize he was just the vehicle for this bond I share with her, his sister. I maintain, we were put in each other’s life for a very specific reason. I am and always will be a support for her, even if it’s from miles away.
Write, Burn, Repeat
This site, first and foremost, is in defiance to that history.
This website is a culmination of a few things:
place for me to organize my thoughts, experiences, and opinions
to collect the people, places, and things that have impacted my world
a venture into a world so foreign to me that I shake just thinking about it,
and lastly, a defiance to the fear of putting my writing into the world
Organization is my jam. It’s what has driven me and saved me. When my world spins, I put everything in it’s place. The items in my house mean nothing to me in a purging rage, save a select few items I have attached intense meaning to. Yet my thoughts, my characters, my work is scattered. On this site they will all find a home.
I have collected stories, people, and experiences for the better part of 37 years and some of these moments, these characters and their defining features, need to be resurrected. I find myself, washing dishes, driving children to lessons, or grocery shopping (I know, my life is so luxurious) and these moments and characters will crop up in my mind. These characters will visit, almost begging to be saved from my subconscious. I vow to, over time, resurrect each and every one to them: an old boss and his habit of picking at the top of his scalp; a body guard from Syria, his kind eyes and gentle ways; the elevator attendant from the best hostel in Egypt; the man who broke into my bungalow in Thailand, only able to grunt as he got caught watching me sleep; a dynamic friendship of women who love each other without reserve; an old friend who misuses the past tense of see, another who can’t get it together despite extensive support. They will all emerge, over time. Stay with me and give me time.
I am in the process of shifting my world, my mindset, into a new place. I refuse to retire having followed policies that make no sense and blindly ignoring this voice inside that tells me to reach - reach for more. So, here I am, reaching, stretching outside of my comfort zone and putting faith into no one but myself. Is it exhausting? Absolutely! Is the path clear? Nope. But everyday I wake up driven and determined and for now, I guess, that’s all I need. As I learn and grow, my writing will change, this site will change. I’ve got plans and if you want to, please come along for the ride. It’s always a good time.
I have titled this site write burn repeat because I have, for the greater part of my life, deleted almost everything I have written. This site, first and foremost, is in defiance to that history. I refuse to delete. I refuse to be apologetic for my work. This small act, this defiance if you will, spans larger than my work or this site. I am unapologetically me - always have been and always will be. Most people enjoy that. Most people enjoy that I will tell them how I see it. My views, however strong on a subject have grown and shaped over time, true. With every experience I collect and every person who impacts my world I take from it/them and grow. What has not changed is my delivery. My delivery is typically accompanied with some sort of smart-assed comment or analogy in which you can’t understand until it’s concluded. “Stay with me,” I say, as I work it out not only for you, but for me too. Stay with me, I implore you. Stay with me, and most do.
Stay with me.
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?