If I Could Carve Her Path

“You’ll understand someday when you have kids”, said every parent, ever.

And we hate that they were right.

When I look back on pictures of myself as a teen, I don’t recognize me.

It has less to do with the white, shimmery eyeshadow and flared jeans, and more to do with everything that stage of life was — what it is for everyone. The dreaded, scary, awkward path to finding yourself.

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A New Season

Something changes when you become a writer. Time slows. You begin to savor the tiniest experiences. You breathe in the details and your mind races for the perfect descriptions to relive them through written word. Simplicities become complexities, yet somehow, everything seems simpler. Spring is breaking, and it’s a perfect day for a run on the…

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The biggest writing mistake I’ll never make again…

Urban Dictionary defines a “troll” as someone who deliberately pisses people off in an online newsgroup or message board with the intention of causing maximum disruption, argument, or to get a reaction. Seasoned writers know to avoid interaction with these people at all costs. However, I’m fairly new at this. I recently had a personal essay published…

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Christmas — Filled with Fortune, Fraught with Guilt

🎶”It’s Christmas time.”🎵 The first line of a Christmas classic by charity music group ‘Band Aid 30’ rings through the car speakers. I fight the urge to change the station even though I know that dreaded verse is coming… “And the Christmas bells that ring there, are the clanging chimes of doom. Well tonight thank…

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When You Think You’ve Got it Together, but Nope

I didn’t write the book on “the new mom feeling of failure”. It’s not a new concept by any means, but the past few months I’ve been extremely hard on myself. Like, way worse than normal and should be acceptable. I basically feel like an epic mess in every aspect of life and motherhood. Dog…

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Mondays Hurt

“You shouldn’t live your life for the weekends”, they say. But right now, I do. When I arrive at my office on Monday mornings, a giant void fills me and I’m already counting the hours to 4pm. It’s not because I hate my job. It’s not because my nights and weekends are filled with spontaneity…

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The Hole in my Heart Where Home Used to Be

— *at home 1 : relaxed and comfortable : at ease This morning, Facebook reminded me that exactly one year ago was the last time I set foot in the house I considered home for nearly 30 years. Two years after my parents put it on the market, the sign on the lawn now read…

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A letter to Grandpa, in Heaven

Originally written in Cocoa Florida, April, 2012 A rainy day in a place where you spent so much of your life seems like a good day for reflection. One of my deepest sorrows in life is not having gotten to know you longer—to have shared more of my life with you. All I really have…

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Tiny Human

I stand leaning over the side of your crib, forearms resting on the hard plastic frame. At least I think it’s plastic—or some other man-made material that they texturize and paint to make it look like wood. Because nothing is actually made from real wood anymore—at least not anything that new parents can afford. Real and…

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What My Daughter Taught Me About Grace

It was a typical Thursday morning, but the gloomy clouds and drizzling rain poetically accompanied a nagging sadness that I tried to ignore as I went about my routine. My mom left early that morning after staying with us for a month-long visit. I missed her. But I didn’t expect to. The feeling of emptiness…

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“That” Mom

So, my father posted this picture to Facebook while he, Stella and I, were out grabbing a bite to eat. I didn’t see it until later, after I had gotten home and put her to bed, but it completely stopped me in my tracks. I was actually embarrassed that his friends and my other family…

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