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.
The Choreographer
Push your body to the limits, and then push a little bit farther. You are capable of so much more than you think, sweet girl.
Never stop dancing, baby. Never. There will be people who judge how your body moves but if it feels right, keep moving. You are the choreographer, come alive in movement.
Close your eyes to the room and feel the beat, the rhythm of the world around you. Dance to your own tune if you find you struggle to hear anything else.
Push your body to the limits, and then push a little bit farther. You are capable of so much more than you think, sweet girl.
Start the dance floor at weddings. Grab someone and pull them into your world. Challenge others to let go of themselves and join you.
Dance while you clean, cook, and ready yourself – it’s called multitasking. Turn the mundane into a celebration of all that you are capable of.
Create soundtracks to your life. Let music and movement guide you through the good times and bad. Reflect often on how far you’ve come.
Keep moving, baby. Movement is the key to life and you’ve already mastered it. The goal now is to never forget. Move forward and only turn back to reflect on how far you’ve come.
Imposter
She’s a light; flickering and alive.
You, you were just a moth drawn to the flame.
You imagined who you could have been with her. You liked that person. You didn’t like her, you liked the idea of her. You liked the idea of you with someone like her. The reality is, you are not that person. You are not that person because you didn’t grow with her to become that person.
You asked all of her favourite things. You asked and nearly fell off your chair as she answered. There was no wrong answer for her. You were so unhappy in your own world that anything she said made you envision a life with those favourite things. She said all the right things without even trying.
You watched her movements - her freedoms with her limbs - a direct reflection of how she operates. You watched her move around, fluttering almost. You imagined a world in which you fit into those movements. But, you don’t. You don’t fit in among those movements because you didn’t grow that way.
When you spoke she heard the things you didn’t say. You pulled you out of you. She asked questions of your soul, awakened something. Conversation was alive and nothing she asked was off limits. With her, you felt yourself wide open and exposed. She evaluated your answers, making mental notes. It appeared to her as if you’d never been challenged, as if you craved the challenge.
The beautiful thing about her is how she makes people feel. In her presence others come alive; if they don’t, she doesn't waste another moment there. You felt yourself come alive next to her. In her presence you saw who you might have been if you grew so tended to, challenged, and free. You took from her light and offered up glimpses of who you could be, who you wanted to be, but not who you are.
She’s a light; flickering and alive.
You - you were just a moth drawn to the flame.
Not Very Good At Math
In a classroom, many years ago, she saw my hair and my dress and sighed, ‘You’re not very good at math, Virginia.”
She told me I wasn’t very good at math. In a classroom, many years ago, she saw my hair and my dress and sighed, ‘You’re not very good at math, Virginia.” Eventually she started laughing as she said it. She played it off as if it were cute, darling, or an okay statement to make about a little girl who has her whole future ahead of her.
She repeated that statement to me over and over until I accepted it as my truth. It remained my truth until, at 36 and entirely fed up with the workplace patriarchy, I enrolled back into school. I needed a switch; craving control over my future and physically sick of feeling undervalued.
She sat with me in both Linear Algebra and Methods of Calculus, whispering in my ear every time she heard me sigh in frustration. She sensed my desire to quit. “You’re not very good at math, V.” I heard her as I jotted notes on the corner of my page. Except this time, I ignored her and pushed on.
A world now lays before me. A world that is not open to girls who are ‘not very good at math.’ I opened that door, leaving her on the outside of this new world. She’s not welcome in my new world. She’s a lying bitch.
She told me I wasn’t very good at math, but it turns out:
(a) she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about, and
(b) she’s pretty fucking good at math.
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?