I was left-handed and wrote letters mirror image until my dad shamed me about that, then I turned them around, of course, to please him.Letters seemed to be the first experience where Left or Right mattered.I was given special scissors by my dadscissors...
Start with the courage to let go of what and whom I cannot change. I let it go and I feel It, what some of us choose to call God. When I surrender instead of “fixating” on things, places, circumstances and people I am unable to “fix”, my mind gains the necessary space...
A searching and fearless moral inventory? With lots of fear and trepidation. I don’t like the word fearless; it’s not true. I’ll use the word courageous instead. Whose inventory? Those who harmed me? After all, they are at fault. My parents, my coworkers, the toxic...
When my father sold the family home after her death I found the rusty trowel in the garage, duga few from the front yard and dropped them into a plastic bag. We lived on Willow Drive back then and when I openly wished for a willow tree for the front yard I only heard...
Il y a longtemps, ma mère biologique racontait une histoire-énigme : « Pierre avait un couteau. La lame a cassé, alors il a changé la lame. Le manche a cassé, alors il a changé le manche. Tout a été remplacé. Est-ce toujours le couteau de Pierre ? » J’étais...
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