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.
Honeymoon Phase
I am going to take this minute because I think you’re a touch misunderstood. I can see how you got there. I am going to request that you correct both your word choice and narrative. You’ve got it all wrong. This has been no honeymoon. I’ll explain.
My world exploded. I was working full-time, studying full-time and continually picking shrapnel from the wounds of my loved ones, I didn’t have time for you. I’m sorry that I didn’t have time for you.
But sometimes I did. And when I did, I brought all the good stuff directly to you. All the stuff that made the bomb worthwhile: the moments that made my heart smile, the love, the joy, the growth and understanding. I saved those things just for you.
I can understand that your narrative is tied to the idea that I was on my honeymoon. I didn’t need you for the hard stuff anymore but that didn’t mean that I didn’t need you anymore. I still wanted to tell you the good things, I just reserved the hard stuff for her.
She held me a lot. I had trouble sleeping. Lost weight. Did breathwork. Therapy. Became intentional. Focused in and found peace. It was hard and certainly no honeymoon. Please change your word choice and narrative.
A Minute Longer
“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.”
If I could, I’d like a minute longer. I know you have to go but it’s taken me all night to get here. All fucking night to end up, shoes off, next to you on this couch. Please, I might just need a few minutes longer yet.
I’ve spent all night navigating this and, if I could, I’d like a minute longer to play this out. It doesn’t usually take me this long but, as you might see, I’m distracted. You have, at the very least, noticed this behind my eyes.
I’m distracted by the hand you placed on my arm when you laughed. It does work! So very distracted by your eyes, hair, and the curve of your hips. I’m high and in my head. You look over, check in, and we carry on again. I’m spinning inside whist trying to play this out. How the fuck does this play out?
I stand, casually, as casually as I can muster, and kick my shoes off. Is she looking? Toss my shirt onto the chair. Casual. Ever so casual. Is she looking? Slip out of my pants, placing them tidy, ever so tidy, on the chair. Slid my panties down my hips, bend at the waist. Is she looking now?
I slip into the water, I’m a strong swimmer but these waters are muddy. I lean on the edge, something I never do. Strong swimmers dunk and start, they don’t hang onto the edge. But, tonight, I cling, thinking through the strokes, the breaths that I might need to take. I can’t navigate this either. I’m high and in my head.
The night is wrapping up. I know it is, but I smoke joint after joint, diving further into my head, deeper into these muddied waters. I’m feeling rushed watching you put your shoes on. I want to tell you that I’m close, close to figuring it out. But I need a minute.
So, if I could, I’d like just a minute longer to explore why I’d like a minute longer with you.
Kitchen Miracles
I felt her in my kitchen last night. I might even go as far as to argue with you and say that I saw her too. I saw her only enough that I called out for her to try to confirm was my eyes were telling me. So, I called out and no one called back to me. No one called back to me, but an overcoming sense of love washed over me in the absence of sound. My voice drifted through the kitchen and around the corner, and the only reply was love.
And that’s enough for me.
It’s enough for me to think I saw a tiny head peeking around the corner in the middle of the night as I washed the dishes, listened to music, and danced. I washed the dishes, listened to music, and danced in my kitchen last night because no one was there to see it.
No one was there to see it, except her.
She saw it and I can’t help but think that she understands it. She understands why mom choose to stay up late, while most of the chores were done, and do this very last one. I was told once, while crying that I should use the act of washing the dishes as a meditative sport. Wash, rinse, repeat. Be intentional and present I was advised. Feel the warmth of the water and the repetitive movements of my hands. When I can do those things, perhaps she will come to me.
And she did come to me.
I felt her before I saw her. I turned around thinking I’ll catch someone out of bed. Instead, it was the flash of a small person peeking around the corner and then pulling away. ‘Hello’ I called out. No one answered my call. No one verbally answered my call, but a wash of love filled my soul. It was her. She’s watching you, Mama. Watching you wash the dishes, sing, and sway. She’s watching you be truly present, truly engaged, and truly happy.
Perhaps miracles can happen when we are truly present, truly engaged, and truly happy.
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?