All Will Be Well

Someone in the house across the street died this morning. I watched as they wheeled them out on the stretcher, cold and covered up with a blue blanket in the freezing rain. Like you see on TV, but this was real life. The kids played at my feet, unaware and oblivious to truths such as death and sorrow. They are full of beginnings, life, and wonder, as it should be.

I'm feeling rather down tonight. Lots of big feelings I'm not sure where to put or how to process. Again, this is real life. Or so I'm learning. Again. I made soup and we broke bread, just the four of us. The routine of life with tiny humans teeters between well-worn path and mind-numbing rut, but tonight it felt like we were right in the pocket, the rhythm felt nice and full of comfort.

Tonight, putting Beatrice to bed, I lay down next to her and sang our songs. She struggled to settle, so I stayed a little while longer than usual. Out of nowhere she reached for my hand to hold, settled it against her chest and said, "Sure do love being with you, Mama."

And just like that, I remember all will be well. Come what may, all will be well.


2016 was a beating that rarely took a breather. Many have wished us a brighter yet mercifully duller 2017. We would welcome such a thing, if it exists. Last night we gathered friends in our home. We ate and laughed, listened and drank, and toasted a dear friend's birthday.

A few of us talked late into the morning of what we're looking forward to in 2017. On my turn, I rambled on a bit. These days I feel mostly undone, rarely at home in myself or clear. Trauma does that. To be honest, there's a whole lot of wreckage in my life from the past few years. Physical, emotional, spiritual, mental, relational. I hope 2017 yields a path to healing. I hope 2017 yields. Mercy. Uncle. Lets us up for air. I hope. A part of me still believes that hope does not disappoint. That it all gets shaken up for some purpose of good. Even if it's being the storyteller, the truthbooker, the one who lives to tell and pass on hope. And I'm still standing.

When asked, "What are you looking forward to?", the clearest thing for me was..

Overheard During Rogue One

Rebellion Character Guy 1: I'm going to call the one person who can help blah blah blah been in hiding blah blah blah

Other Rebellion Character: Blah blah blah (my mind was wandering trying to catch up)

RCG 1: if I trust anyone, it's her (complete paraphrase)

Me to David: Am I supposed to know who he's talking about?

David: Leia, babe.

Me: Oh.... 💡

David: His adopted daughter

Me: You mean Leia is the adopted daughter of the guy from LA Law?

David: Yeah, babe. Yeah.


One of my dearest friends gifted me with a weekend stay at a spa nestled on the edge of a gorgeous state park not even two hours from home. My bucket has been beyond empty for some time. Those closest to me were all insisting I stop, breathe, take a break, retreat. My body, emotions, and mental health have been screaming for something to give. This was the view from my room at sunset last night. I woke this morning after a 12 hour sleep. Just finished a chapter of Brene Brown and a cup of hot tea, and am now on my way to a foot soak. Grateful, I am. Grateful.


I love you. Yes, you over there. You, too. YOU ARE LOVED. I love you even if I strongly disagree with you. I love you if we see things eye to eye. I am angry, devastated, confused, disillusioned, even triggered in my trauma. But I am fighting not to let those emotions keep me from the call to love and kindness. Hate met with hate can never create love. Hate met with hate cannot create the kind of change we desire. Those who are angry are due your anger. I'm angry too. Those who are afraid, you have every, legitimate right to feel that. How could you not be? I see your fear, and I will stand for you. Those who mourn, I mourn with you. Those who feel justified in your winning vote and feel attacked in the aftermath, I see you. Those who are triggered and on the edge of your trauma, hang on, breathe. You're not alone. Many of us are hurting, and sadly, hurt people hurt people. Don't go low. Go high.

Wherever you are in the wide spectrum, be there. Sit with it, honor it. Take your time. If it lasts 4 years, so be it. Be where you are. But please, I implore you to choose kindness. All of you. Choose empathy. Every single beautiful, valuable, one of you. Choose love. At the end of the day, we are all in this together. People. Humans. We have so much more in common than we ever realize. We all deserve love and kindness. Even those who are incapable of seeing our perspective and those who are incapable of being kind. Even those people deserve love and kindness.

My friend Daniel Walker and I wrote and recorded this song. I had planned a fancy release for it, but last night I thought maybe now is the time. My hope is that we can fill the internet with songs such as this. Songs that point us to the better parts of our nature. All of us.

Take Care of You

Hi friends.... Just wanted to say "out loud" to those survivors who understand: It's okay if you're on edge and triggered this week. I think many of us are. This week has been a lot. A whole lot to process. While it's so very necessary and welcome to bring the issues and stories to light, there's no denying how raw and real and intensely personal it feels to those who have walked through the trauma first hand. Take care of yourselves. Be good to you. Ask for help. Journal, walk, write, go for a run, have a cup of tea and breathe. Don't forget to eat. Practice radical self-care. Talk to a trusted source about what it's bringing up for you. Whatever you choose to do, please don't sit behind a screen scrolling and isolating and full of terror. Turn it off. Reach out to someone in real life. Take a break from the onslaught. You are worth it. You deserve care and love.

If you know someone who has experienced sexual trauma, this might be a good time to delicately, respectfully and with kindness check in with them.

Part 3: Thirty Days

Part 3: Thirty Days

We were weeks into the not sleeping. And we had a newborn. So no one was sleeping. The grown ups were getting testy, irritable. We were desperate for rest and an answer to what was causing Bea’s sleep disturbance. Our worries for her increased on a daily basis. I talked to other moms, even ones who worked with kids for a living:

“It’s a big transition,” they said.

“Give her a few more weeks,” they said.

“Developmentally if she’s still struggling with adjusting to school after thirty days, that’s out of normative ranges,” they said.

Thirty days came and went. She turned three. “Is this just three?” I thought....