Writer. Artist. Storyteller.
and the stories they tell
My spine goes cold & yet, beads of sweat burst from my forehead. Shit. It’s happening. Nothing was “wrong.” I was playing a game with the kids...
*this was written in early February, in the messy middle of a season of fighting for my children. I hope you find encouragement from it... No one is...
Oh the traditions and the rush of this season (and this life, really). I am continuing to learn the sacred act of choosing myself, and choosing my...
the middle: A book of the stories of my middle, and the constant unfolding of us.