Vulnerability is a scary, scary thing for most people, including myself. For some, sharing feelings, thoughts, and emotions comes easy–for others, the process can be downright terrifying.

To me, vulnerability feels disruptive. It creates holes in the facade that I have created for myself–you know, the one where I smile and fake it, and show everyone how perfect everything is–including meContinue reading

Mourning what is lost, but still here

I am my mother’s daughter.

…She reminds me of this. In her way, she is proud of me–I am the daughter she can brag about. The one she can show off. The one that, to the public, or to social media, makes her a better mother.

But, it is not reality. Continue reading

Feeling too much.

My whole life I have been sensitive. It’s just a fact of life about me.

Growing up, this was portrayed to me as a bad thing…Don’t be so sensitive! You are so dramatic! Stop crying.

I am good at hiding my emotions, most of the time. I have learned, through the years, to swallow most of it down and keep it in.

Interestingly, I am also sensitive to other peoples’ emotions and feelings. Sometimes, I feel almost like I over-empathize. It is boundaries all over again. I become a sponge…soaking up the feelings of those around me and noticing small changes in facial expressions and body language.

Continue reading

A Season of Mindfulness and Meditation

I have not been a religious person over the last ten years, nor did I have a very religious upbringing. I fell into a crowd of religious teens during my teenage years, but swiftly denounced much of that after witnessing what I felt was a lot of hypocrisy and hate. Plus, I went to college, and became “too smart for that.”

I’m learning my journey back to religion isn’t very unique. No…many, many people follow a similar path and, when they find that they can no longer walk the hard journey of life alone, they seek something more.

That is what I did. About 6 months ago, in the midst of yet more struggles, I decided I needed to try giving some of my pain–my hardship–to someone bigger than myself. Someone who could, I hoped, give me some comfort. Continue reading