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.
Notepad
Sometimes there is value in letting you vent, feel powerful, and moving forward. You’re fucking welcome.
Sometimes I craft my replies in Notepad. I craft them there because there is no send button. I don’t do well with temptation and love the removal of the urge to hit send. The momentary rush of fuck you in one simple button. That’s all it is – momentary. I can break your heart three sentences, shatter your reality in two, but I abstain.
Rather than use my words as weapons, I use them as a Band-Aid. They soothe my own soul. I know things that you don’t, things I choose not to share, things I have locked away inside. Not everything needs to be shared, explained, or replied to. Sometimes there is value in letting you vent, feel powerful, and moving forward. You’re fucking welcome.
So, instead of a crafted reply to for you, I open Notepad and remind myself that I am bigger than that. I pour my heart out, rage, vent, explain myself, and then ultimately close it, only to reopen and delete it when your words sting less, when I’m stronger and a minute wiser.
Closer to Fine
That echo can forever live in the darkness; some messages were never intended to be received, the delay too great.
I sat motionless beside the moving water and embraced the moment; stillness among such rage. I sat this way, silent and unmoving, while a foot ahead, the river raged on.
A breeze, in absence of any wind, on my exposed neck sent shivers down my spine. I felt open to the world around me – happily on the receiving end of whatever is intended for me.
I smiled, stood, and shook the earth that clung to my legs. It felt like the right time to move.
As I walked along the water’s edge, I consciously opened myself to the sounds around me. Some of them, I imagined, were carried along the river, meant just for my ears. They vibrated through me, bringing with them a focus I craved.
I made a sharp turn to climb up the embankment. Sweating now, the sun beat on my back and my legs burned from the incline. To my left, I spotted a cavernous area that I’d never noticed before.
I stood at the cave’s entrance; my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I scanned the inside. It was empty and cold and didn’t feel like somewhere I want to spend any more time.
‘Hello,’ I said sweetly into the darkness.
No answer.
“What? No answer?’ I shouted.
Once again, no response.
As I turned to leave the echo finally reached me, but I had committed to leaving the darkness. My eyes squinted and adjusted to the beautiful sunshine that hit my face. That echo can forever live in the darkness; some messages were never intended to be received, the delay too great.
The sun, and my resolve to move forward, towards it, added a little kick to my step. I made quick work of the rest of the hill and before I knew it, I was on the other side. My legs moved faster and faster underneath me as I descended, so as to avoid falling. I could feel my heart under the outer layers pounding, both from fear of falling and the exertion of the climb.
In the final stretch, a melody crept into my ear. I hummed along to its song - it’s an oldie, but a goodie. The lyrics came to me, piece by piece, like a puzzle I had been trying to solve. The song filled my head for the remainder of my walk home and when I cross the threshold I was in full song,
‘And I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine, yeah
The closer I am to fine, yeah’
Three children ran to me, their singing, smiling, refreshed mama. May they always remember me walking in the door this way – smiling and in song – arms outstretched for them.
Their little hands reached for mine; they pulled me further inside and as they did, they filled me in on everything that I had missed - stories saved just for me. The silence and stillness of the river, gone, replaced by the chaos of three littles talking over one another, excited that I am home.
I got the message; I felt it in a breeze, vibrations along the water, in a delayed echo, the rhythm of my heart, and in the deafening love of my three children. Every question that I had is answered with one simple truth – I don’t need answers. I don’t need anything; not from you.
And, with one walk, I am closer to fine.
I Guess We Walk Again
In that exhale, the feeling of defeat escaped with it - a breathy fuuuuuuuck of sorts.
I got the notification while standing at the rear of my car, lugging skates and helmets out for a fun family skate. I paused to pull my phone out of my pocket and read the message. My heart dropped and as it did a sound escaped my mouth. It was simply a longer breathe than normal but in it my daughter picked up on the change in my mood. In that exhale, the feeling of defeat escaped with it - a breathy fuuuuuuuck of sorts.
“What mama?” she asked me.
I’ve always been honest with the kids. This honesty has created some beautifully emotionally intelligent children. If she’s smart enough to know that something just shifted inside of her mama, she’s smart enough for me to share the news with.
“Remember mama’s friend that had cancer and we walked for her wearing all pink?”
“Yes, mama”
“Well, her cancer is back, babe, and mama just found out so I’m a little upset”. I tell her as a tear drops.
She paused, never breaking eye-contact with me. She took her own exaggerated breath as she thought on the news. Finally, she spoke following another long breath.
“Okay, well, I guess we just walk again”
I guess we just walk again.
If only we could view all of life’s obstacles as my 9-year-old does. Courage without fear. We know what needs to be done. We can intellectualize the steps for whatever life holds in front of us. But the fear, it’s the fear that keeps us paralyzed.
My sweet daughter saw the steps that needed to happen in simplest of terms - one foot in front of the next with all of your loved ones around you until you cross that finish line.
We will cross that finish line holding hands with you. We will show up, wearing whatever the hell is required. We will bring our smiles and our strength for when you have none. We will put one foot in front of the other with you – step after step until we arrive with you.
Holding hands, we will cross that finish line.
We will have courage, without fear, for the days when you have none.
So, to whoever may be reading this, to whomever may find themselves staring down one of life’s great obstacles: take a page from my daughter’s playbook.
Take a deep breath and tell yourself, “I guess we just walk again.”
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?