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Picture it: Small Town, U.S.A., 1994. R&B songs about the kind of deep heartbreak that 11-year-old me couldn’t possibly understand play on repeat on the Walkman. A redheaded, freckle-faced girl with too much hairspray in her bangs stares out a rain-streaked window. I’m torturing myself over a boy who’s rejected me. This would happen over…
Think for a moment of a “bad” romantic relationship you were in. We spin over not only why, but how it could have happened. Behaviors, choices, betrayals, and abuses could all be to blame why it went south, but how often do we consider what was taking place in our lives just before we met…
As a follower of my content, you’ve probably realized I have a close relationship with grief, loss, resilience, and death. So, it’s no surprise that I’ve started studying to become a death doula. The title sounds new age-y and, hey, I am kind of new age-y, but I’m also very practical and I know exactly…
Imagine a lanky, Italian guy straight out of the 80’s. We’re talking neon short shorts, blown-dry hair, creeper mustache, and a signature scent of onions. Tony (not his real name) was my mom’s third husband. We avoid saying his name in our family, sort of how everyone avoided saying Lord Voldemort’s name in the Harry…
