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parenting

I am wiped out. My heart is singing me lullabies, saying sleep, sweet girl. Lay you down with that heavy burden. Boundaries are heavy. Boundaries are hard. Especially when their necessity is clearly not understood. My heart is singing I should set it all aside, girl. Lilting a siren song and I want to lay it all down, lay it all out, have it all out but the point of boundaries is to allow for compassion and prevent reactivity. This line can mean severance or it can mean acceptance, release,

I keep on lifting heavy things you shove at me keep putting them down only to find my hands full the weight of your words your closed grip pulling me down saying stay down the weight of your spite burying me Stay down you say the strength I’ve gained is no boon– these muscles can’t strike back these muscles can only rep, lift and lower only lengthen and tense, only curve around my bones can only bear the load of each strike until I’m sunk Stay down spine bowed beneath

It’s easier to be a parent in summer because the kids take care of each other. You know the saying: “It takes a village to raise a child.” There’s something to be said for having multiple children to pitch in with raising each other. I imagined I would have four kids. Four perfect children evenly spaced and matched, who knew how to accomplish chores with a single instruction. Children who stuck with lessons, completed what they started, cleared their dishes from the table, and existed without raging screen or sugar

This Mother’s Day, I am happy to support mothers like me, parents for whom mental illness can be an ever-present or overwhelming piece of the parenting experience. I wrote an essay about my own experience parenting through bouts of anxiety and PTSD episodes and held onto it for many months before reaching out to Stigma Fighters to see if they might want to publish it for Mother’s Day. I held onto it because stigma makes it difficult to speak up. Stigma Fighters knows this. They recognize the ways we are silenced and

If you live in Bloomington, IN, take a look around for the free publication, Bloomington Parent Magazine. I was contacted last year to write an article on local First Steps and Head Start programs. These programs offer educational and developmental resources for young children and their families. It was a pleasure interviewing parents and providers for this article. The best part was it made me feel truly at home in Bloomington. There is something about writing for your community that makes you feel part of your community. Bloomington Parent is

Raising Mothers is a publication devoted to deepening the conversation around issues parents of color face. They are currently publishing writing on the next steps in parenting post-presidential election. When the Founding Editor, Sherisa de Groot contacted me, I knew I wanted to write something on this topic. It felt and feels very alive to me. It’s a curious thing, writing when we are afraid. I was afraid to tackle the subject even though I was excited about it, but here’s the thing: I could stay inside the fear or

Wednesday morning, my boys asked the result of the election and began assembling a nuclear fallout kit. We couldn’t catch them. They tore through the house gathering canned foods and Nerf guns, certain this election spelled doom. “Will they know I’m of color?” my eldest asked me not long ago. I cried over the question. He was talking about the police, a group he is likely to run in with as he grows due to his neurology. “High functioning” is code for “normal-looking” when it comes to Autism. The term

We didn’t see the sun when we expected to. Rain fell. It was gentle, delaying the morning. I wanted to listen to the patter, but Monday means breakfast and off to school. So I focused on being a mother, keeping the kids to our schedule, tuning out the usual whines and protests and tears because only one of three wanted to go to school. Only one of three packs her bag with joy. Soon enough, even she was crying because her school starts a full hour after her brothers’. I

I love you most when you are drifting under the wings of nightmares my ear against the grain of your closed wooden door I miss you most when you sleep twisted in the fear you will slip the tether lose your one, small soul. Rest, child. I will hold your string you are the gift I prayed for when I fed blood to Mother Earth.   All of my children struggle with nightmares, but especially one. I find myself waiting at his door listening with my heart as he whimpers.

Last week was a week of travel for me. I had several wonderful guests volunteer for my Friday series which means I was guesting in their online houses. It is so exciting to have my work accepted and published by these amazing writers. Keep reading to find my pieces, stop in and comment (please please please). I already announced my latest guest spot with The Relationship Blogger. Raymond prompted me to write about my experiences with faith, ethnicity and assumption. I talked about fetishes. Read more here.  Thomas Ives of

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