Grieve and Release … or something like it

I sit on the therapist’s couch and tap my toes, staring at the clock. I’m anxious, and that comes out in my ankles, my fingers, my toes, my eyes darting everywhere but her eyes, landing there only briefly to acknowledge human connection. Trained. It’s rude not to look at someone’s face while speaking, but I’veContinue reading “Grieve and Release … or something like it”

The Sacrifice of Safety

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”― C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe I have the words “He’s not a tame lion” tattooed on the inside of my forearm. I adoreContinue reading “The Sacrifice of Safety”

“I Have a Place Where Dreams Are Born . . .”

Some days, I have flashbacks. Like suddenly I’m five-years-old, jumping on the bed, trying to fly away to Neverland. I’m in my Oma and Papa’s apartment, which always smells like cigarette ashes, and I’m watching a movie in their bedroom with my little brother while the adults talk in the sitting room.  Papa is inContinue reading ““I Have a Place Where Dreams Are Born . . .””