We worked so hard, Melissa and I, carefully recording each of our variables on graph paper, bearing down on sharpened pencils, marking exact lines. We noted amounts of exercise, coat sheen, food, and water consumption. The gerbils— Ziggy and Garfield—lived nomadic lives between our homes. Neither of our mothers was happy for our week to…
Category Archives: anxiety
Bombs and Butterflies
I’ve tried on a few religions in my day. And from each, I have kept something, a golden thread of truth, a piece of the divine, and woven it into my spirit. One of Buddhism’s greatest illuminations is the reality of interconnectedness—the idea that all of humanity is interconnected, that we, each of us, is…
The Bottomless Love of the Two-Timing Hussy
Getting to know a new baby is like falling in love. With your first baby, like your first love, you fall fast and hard, oblivious to any faults or limitations your child may have. Your heart explodes and leaves you exhausted, not just from the sleeplessness, but from the sheer force of emotion coursing through…
The Siren Song–Depression’s Call
I’ve come to loathe the term “depressed” —I vomit a little in my mouth a little every time someone uses it when they mean someone is going through a hard time, or is grieving, or some other normal period of sadness. In fact, I’d like to tote a taser in my hot pink purse, right…
Just As I Am: My experience of being saved as a girl
Note: This is a memoir piece. The names have been changed the events are real. For being so religious, I am not overly churched. My family does not darken the church doors each time they open, like so many in our tiny Appalachian town in the blue-green Kentucky foothills. My Grandma, a scrupulous woman, took…
On Writing and the Garden of Eden
Be gladder than you normally are that you don’t live in my head. The Insane-O-Meter, the device by which I track my personal level of sanity, is trending toward “really frickin’ crazy” these days. The only level worse than “really frickin’ crazy” is “in a straight jacket and hubby get’s all the money.” Because I…
But I Don’t Want to Raise a Perfect Son. I Want to Raise My Son!
It starts the instant you see two pink lines, or a plus sign, or however you learn you’re carrying the Hope of the Free World; and I haven’t yet figured out when it stops. It has always been around in some form or another, but now its institutionalized,big business. It doesn’t just come from your…
