But, again, her daughter’s soul could not be confined to her mother’s desires.
Read MoreWhen I was one, my mother and I left my father in the middle of the night.
Read MoreThis first time I heard this term was almost a decade ago, at work, of all places.
Read MoreBy the sixth grade I already knew how easily light could be extinguished, even when someone was young and strong.
Read MoreMy truth telling began not as a bold and beautiful expose, but a secret and sacred pushing of Post-Its on the wall behind the clothes in my closet. I had just graduated with a Bachelor of Theology, finished reading The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, and felt inspired by the fictional character, May Boatright’s creation of her very own Wailing Wall.
Read MoreI’m 8 in the dressing room at a JC Penney and none of the clothes fit me, I sink to the floor.
My mom knocks at the door and says “Honey let me see, I’m sure you look pretty,”
But I don’t have the strength to tell her that once more, the clothes didn’t fit my shape.
My rape was a climax in a lifetime of trauma. Braver voices than mine have overcome the shame of violation, the lingering fear of violence and pressed onwards with their lives. I want to ask them, what did they do with the burning self-hatred?
Read MoreI am 21. Impulsive, reckless, young, and the epitome of self sabotage. People often tell me, “You don’t know. You have no clue what the real world is like yet.” Maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t, but I definitely know enough. All I have ever needed to know. I know this world wants to see me wither away, the embers of my soul burned to ash, into nothingness, just like me.
Read MoreMy therapist says it’s important to stay tethered. I believe her.
Read MoreThis is the moment I learn that my body does not belong to me. Forever a puppet in a battle that I did not choose.
Read MoreI carry my most painful and traumatic experiences in my body. The body remembers. There are still some places that are so fragile and tender that they require extra nourishment, support, and intentionality.
Read MoreMy very soul is a battleground for abuse and expectation, and my voice is roaring healing over it all.
Read MoreI am at the edge of an archeological dig, excavating the discovery of my buried voice.
Read MoreMy body wasn’t my enemy. It was a reflection, a mirror of the pain I felt in my soul and had suppressed.
Read MoreIn truth, there are wounded children in all of us that need to be loved back to life.
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