It’s my job to love you and to hold you as you discover you are worth every teardrop and every fearful Thought. You deserve the best.

My meditative practice is in my recipe for survival through these tumultuous times.

Whenever I am asked to do something when I would rather be doing something else, I think of the dog keeper.

I am not my story. Sometimes grief consumes me and my day is encumbered with sadness. I remember my tools to help me move through my grief.

A change in perspective Is refreshing as it’s so easy to get caught up In the humdrum of life.

I started a conversation yesterday with forgotten friends, long ago acquaintances I lost touch with, the younger me...

Safety always comes first, and in any transition, my safety is threatened no matter where I am. My body feels it first with stomach pain...

My old self would feel lost amid the rocky goings-on with fingers pointing at me if something went wrong.

I can feel the fingers of expectation pressing on my shoulders, I can hear the lists of to do’s being read out loud slowly

All these teachers in my life gifted me with insights, opened my heart, taught me compassion and self-respect

I have been writing my own book of rules. Not my parents, not my teachers Not my bosses or opiners. My rules – my moments.

Sometimes I go down a rabbit hole of despair Losing my way into critical thoughts, and pointing fingers and oh poor me. Namaste I say to...

We all have stories. They define where we’ve been, who we are and where we’re going. True healing happens when our stories are heard.

When anger is ignored, it’s a fuel that burns uncontrolled. Being creative helps me use my anger fuel.

The sound they say was louder than anything ever heard except perhaps for the cry of the sailors, returning to find, instead of their homes,

I am my own remedy if I slow down to listen. My breath steadies my path of life.

Opening my mind to the idea that my energy body is as real as my physical body allows me so much more understanding of my life experiences.

I squashed my dreams and complied. I compromised and veered towards the path of least resistance. Wishing I would fight back.

At first, my anger was messy. I wore it smeared in my sneers. Over the years, I found comfort with my anger knowing it is a fuel.

I never did figure out how to pray like a proper follower of the religion I was brought up in. I had to stop emulating everyone else's ideas