I've scrolled Facebook so much in the last 12 hours that I don't know, at first, if the kids that pop into my feed are dead now or if I'm just looking at shots of my friends' kids finishing up their school year. The dead and the living, intermingled in my feed. The same age.... Continue Reading →
I’ve been itching to write my own gospel. A little bastion of ideas and thoughts so deeply held that they’re woven into the fabric of my life. Kind of like The Gospel According to Shug Avery–something real and true. Something I’ve had to create and live into to dispel all the hurt and ache my... Continue Reading →
Dear Trans Kids: I went outside today, and the blueness of the sky took my breath away. I stood there, feeling the barely-there burn of the sun against my skin, and I remembered deeply, on a cellular level, that the divine infuses everything. Me. You. The sun, the moon, the stars, the trees. We are... Continue Reading →
When I was a kid, being a woman seemed like some sort of secret, mystical state that one entered into when they were, say, 16 or 17. Like maybe I'd go to sleep an awkward adolescent kid and wake up graceful, beautiful, and smelling like Estee Lauder Youth Dew. Who really knew how it would... Continue Reading →
I've got a long history of martyrdom. Not in the heroic, up-in-flames kind, either. Nope. Just the kind that chooses misery and suffers (mostly) silently for it. What the hell, right? It's a bit murky, even for me. But I think it goes something like this: If I choose to do something that I don't... Continue Reading →
I wish I'd known, from the time I was a little girl, that my worth was not defined by my relationship to boys--not whether I liked a boy, was desired by a boy, or whether or not a boy had ever stuck his dick in me.
When I walked up into Alcoholics Anonymous in my cowboy boots, feeling mighty superior, I had my script firmly in hand. I was a smart, sensitive, tragic victim. The world simply couldn't understand someone as deeply empathic and intuitive as I was. So, I drank to shield myself from the tragedy of the every day as it unfolded around me.
When I was a kid, Field Day was my day of triumph. I got to shock people every year with the fact that I could RUN. I was fast. I guess I didn't look particularly athletic. And, to be honest, my parents didn't really push sports. And coming home dirty from school was frowned upon. So, yeah, rough & tumble wasn't really my game. Which made it even more fun to kick ass every year in the field day race.