Author, Speaker, Psychotherapist
(Originally published in The Redbud Post, 9.1.19) A lovely young woman sits across from me in my small therapy office, buttoned up so tight it looks like she’s hardly even breathing. Her lips are pressed together as she carefully folds, then refolds, the clean Kleenex on her lap. Then she stops, looks up at me,…
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If you could peek into my heart on this fifth anniversary of my husband Steve’s death, it would look something like the neighborhood I walked through the other day.
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It was five years ago: a night like tonight…but not.
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(Originally Published in the Redbud Post) Too many nights, in the quiet of my bedroom, I’m an unwilling actor playing a part in my own private drama. It’s like a movie set where the raucous din of the beer-swilling ringside crowd fades away and the bright arena lights dim, leaving a solitary, naked bulb…
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6.16.19 “Is she yours?!” The question would always catch us off guard. There we were, quietly doing our day together: moving through our errands, exploring the zoo, eating ice cream outside Baskin Robbins on a hot day. We were just a little family of three enjoying our time together when some stranger would feel compelled…
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We have slowly found our way to a measure of redemption.
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…where does a person even begin to figure out how it all works, now that everything has changed?
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Seeing them in this victimized state was just as shocking as it would be to see our beloved Snoopy with a black eye.
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…she chose to focus on the one and only positive aspect of his death: his freedom.
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If I have any say in the matter, I will not take a step forward.
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