I got moisturizer in my eye. Luteal phase nonsense. Robin Williams is still dead. It feels like there's a large stone resting on my sternum, making it hard to take a deep breath; I breathe when I cry. Gluten, maybe? I have to start over. Happy accidents. Exhaustion. I don't even know anymore. ...
A few weeks back. A huge setback. The trouble with triggers is that they're fucking everywhere. You can be sitting quietly, writing speech for fictional people, in a self-made protective bubble of recovery—feeling better, feeling better—when a trigger shakes the ground beneath you. A sound, a noise. A text, a phone call. A sensation in … Continue reading The Trouble With Triggers
Early last year, I was doing recovery well. I was moving in non-punishing ways. I was drinking my water, and eating balanced meals. I wasn't binge-eating. You know what else I wasn't doing? Anything else. I'm not kidding. I had no dates with friends. I went to ballet class a couple times a week, and therapy … Continue reading Doing Recovery
Another yoga-mat word. Goddamn it. Trust: that everything will work out with my daughter's change of school. that [_] more pounds on my frame is okay. Good, even. that this too shall pass and all shall be well all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well, to quote Julian of Norwich, … Continue reading Trust
Friday, April 8, 2011 Saturday, December 9, 2017 I was looking for a particular circular knitting needle in my box of needles and stitch holders and stitch markers. It wasn't there. I found it in my box of projects-in-progress, with about an inch and a half of forgotten yellow baby hat hanging from it. There … Continue reading Knit One Together
The word came to me like so many breaths of inspiration do lately: on a yoga mat. "Set a soft intention," said the voice at the front of the room. Gentle, said the voice at the front of my skull. I was a little taken aback. When I was angry and weepy in my therapist's dark … Continue reading Gentle
Before my children were born, and when they were babies, I wrote about everything in my life. Writing was the only way I could really wrap my mind around the strangeness of it—or, rather, my strange disconnect from the total un-strangeness of it. And then I stopped writing. It wasn't that I got a better … Continue reading Re-writing My Life