I’m A Mess

I’m such a mess. I’m keeping 4 children alive, two of them belong to another mother, and also to me for the time being. I’m writing down appointments for our children in foster care to attend trauma therapy, the pulmonologist, physical therapy, the occupational...

My Mother’s Finger-The Birth of the Mess Method

I saw her press her lips together, puff out her cheeks, and I knew the tears would follow. And, I couldn’t stop.    I have white furniture and four children. Two of them are forever, two are for now, and of those two are hovering at two years old. As a foster...

Dragging My Feet

I’m dragging my feet. I’m scared that I might not be enough. I’m worried that all of the fears and insecurities I try to hide will somehow be exposed. And even worse, validated. I’m worried that by taking steps toward my dreams, I will open myself up to feedback that...

Tired

I’m tired. You know the feeling? A nap isn’t going to do it. This is tired in your soul. The kind of tired that comes from managing dentist appointments, and speech evaluations, DFCS visits, and the pulmonologist. This is tired from the broken wrist and broken foster...

What’s Your One Thing?

We walked into the familiar room, the same as the weeks before. It was quiet and comfortable. The seats had a way of forming to us as if we had left our mark on them. Before us sat the one who was supposed to have the answers, but met us always with questions. “We...

Why My Middle Schooler Deserves an Award, And I Do, Too.

I scroll social media and see proud parents attending awards ceremonies for their children. These aren’t the “everybody gets an award” events, but the invitation-only events. The ones where the students recognized are exceptional have a special night all their own....

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I’m A Mess

I’m A Mess

I’m such a mess. I’m keeping 4 children alive, two of them belong to another mother, and also to me for the time being. I’m writing down appointments for our children in foster care to attend trauma therapy, the pulmonologist, physical therapy, the occupational...

read more
Dragging My Feet

Dragging My Feet

I’m dragging my feet. I’m scared that I might not be enough. I’m worried that all of the fears and insecurities I try to hide will somehow be exposed. And even worse, validated. I’m worried that by taking steps toward my dreams, I will open myself up to feedback that...

read more

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