Welcome back.

Hi. And welcome back. I suppose that welcome is as much for you as it for me—we’ve both been away from here for awhile.

I’ve missed you. In fact, I’ve missed me too. This last year has been a wild one. It’s spilled over with good and weird and very hard soul-searching. I wanted to write about it through out the process, but it seemed every attempt I made only ended in knots in my stomach and tears of frustration.

So I stopped and hid out for awhile. I made the conscious decision to leave this little site behind for a bit and dig a little deeper into what was leaving me so overwhelmed and heartsick. And as it seems is often the root when look further into my negative feelings, I found that I’d become afraid. Very, very afraid.

Being scared will make you do odd and silly things. It can paralyze you or make you act out in haste. It can make you pull out your sword and fight or leave you cowering in the corner. Quite frankly, it can make you feel like you’re losing your damn mind.

In this case, I found that a slow growing fear had taken over my voice, leaving me feeling stuck and quiet; afraid that my words would either be too much or watered down and insincere.

I became nervous that sharing my words would leave me too known or worse; not really known at all—not the real me at least, as I only offered a shell of who I really am and where I stand in this strange and confusing world.

But I am back now. And I am going to do my best. I’m coming out from my hiding place, with the hope that this site offers you the freedom to do the same.

Because the truth is, being a human is messy and hard and I think we need each other more than we may know.

You belong here.


I’ve debated for days whether or not I should write this. It may never be seen beyond the glow of my computer screen, but I think I need to say it. Perhaps for myself more than anyone else. These past few weeks have been hard.

I’ve felt lost.

I’ve felt dejected.

I’ve felt tired. Continue reading “You belong here.”

Dear Mamas.

Dear Mamas,

I am not one of you, not at this point in my life, but I know you well. I’ve been watching and listening and while rarely do I feel it’s my space to jump in and speak on the subject, I have something important to say;

You’re doing a really good job.

You are tired. You got angry this morning. You fed your kid partially hydrogenated soybean oil. You wonder if Paw Patrol or Daniel the Tiger are nannying your little ones. Your toddler learned a bad word from you when you banged your head trying to buckle that mother f@*%#!!! car seat again. You’ve considered going rogue, moving to the Bahamas, starting over because this life just feels like too much handle.

That’s okay. You get to feel those things. You’re doing something very hard. Continue reading “Dear Mamas.”

Crawl if you need to.

My sweet friend,

You are brave, but life is hard.

I get that.

Somedays the walls that keep you safe will feel like prisons.

There will be days when the rain that cleanses your soul will threaten to drown you.

And yet others when the darkness that once brought distress, feels more like a cozy blanket, protecting you from the world you fear will devour you.

The heart is weird like that, full of dichotomies that menace even the most centered of souls.

But what if you’re not one of those? What if you always feel a little left of centered? What if you wonder when the scales will give way and tip altogether?

It’s a scary place, this world is, when you’ve spent years seeking answers that only seem to foster more questions, more fear.

It’s ok.

Keep asking questions. Continue reading “Crawl if you need to.”

We are whole.


Some days I don’t want to get out of bed. Some days the world feels like too much. I am thankful for medication that helps with those days. Do I think America is often over-medicated? I do. But I also believe there’s a time and a place to let modern medicine fix what is broken. Also, a time and a place to be honest about it. #breakthestigma

Last week I woke up, rolled out of bed and posted the picture and caption above onto Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. To be honest, I didn’t think too much about it. (Which may be a glimpse into some of my poorer social media choices?) The sheer number of responses I received floored me.

“Thank you for sharing this, nobody in my family knows I take medication for depression.”

“I have been feeling suicidal lately, this encouraged me to tell my mom and get help.”

“My pastor told me if I just had a little more faith I wouldn’t struggle so much – but you have faith, don’t you?”

“Thank you for reminding me that I can fight to heal the broken, even if I feel broken sometimes.”

Continue reading “We are whole.”

I Want to Freaking Know.

WARNING: This post has not been edited by anyone other than myself, it’s my stream of consciousness straight from the worn out pages of my journal and therefore there are surely improper comma usages and such, as is my default. I’ll tell you what, I could not live without a proper editor, but YOLO, am I right?!

I’ve done a lot of thinking today, wondering what Holy Saturday was like in the life of Jesus’ followers. I scoured the gospels and to my dismay, found nothing to be said of the in-between time that is this 24 hour period before Easter. I mean, I can’t help but think that surely if I were one of Jesus’ roadies that of all days this would be the one in which I’d be pounding out my thoughts into my journal. Maybe, like I often do, they felt like these words were too intimate, too fractured to be shared with the world. But come on guys, couldn’t you have given us something?

I am someone who firmly believes I hear God speak to me – sometimes it’s loud, ringing in my ears, while other times a soft whisper into my gut. It seems that every time I hear Him I am confident in that moment, certain it was Him – only to question my own sanity days, hours, sometimes minutes later. The following weeks or more often, months, I wait vacillating between extreme hope/excitement for what’s to come and utter confusion/frustration, as I question my faith and mental state.

Was that this what Saturday looked like for them? How did it feel for the people who’d walked right next to Jesus and yet still often doubted him in uncertainty?

I want to freaking know.

Continue reading “I Want to Freaking Know.”