I came into the family as the youngest, with a tightly wound nervous system and a way of taking in the world that was unusually sensitive—to sensory and emotional input, even chemical sensitivity to basic food ingredients. What I recognize
Someone once told me that the cruelest thing you can do to another human being is to label their suspicions as false when you know them to be true. It would be impossible to count the instances where my questioning
Across my closest relationships—mother, sister, husband, children—harm was never something to repair. It wasn’t acknowledged as harm at all, but reframed as my perception, my fault, my failure. Peace was never on offer. If I stayed, there was no peace.
I’m learning to recognize a pattern. I name something specific: a word that was said, a boundary crossed, a moment that caused distress.The response shifts quickly—to my tone, my sensitivity, my way of being, my capacity to perceive. What starts
Coming from a long lines of mental illness and untreated addiction, where every non-happy feeling was perceived as anger and responded to with anger, I picked up some unfortunate coping and operating styles. This wall of tools is the perfect metaphor for the
I cannot help but feel charmed when I hear people in utter exasperation calmly say “Good Grief”. It is so completely wholesome(benevolent) and old school. While grief, may not be good, it is essential, and a natural part of life. We all deserve to