Packet of Wildflower Seeds

I only feel worthwhile when I'm broken into pieces. The inner beauty must show on the outside. I miss the marks when they are absent. I must make more, I think. Swirls of colors and abstract shapes. I'm only pretty when I'm black and blue. The above passage is an excerpt from a poem titled "Inner Beauty." I wrote it in 2013, but I can still picture exactly what I felt as I wrote it. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was trapped in my own skin. I felt like I was stuck inside a person I loathed. I wanted to break free from my body. I wanted to run away from my past and what I envisioned as my future. I couldn't escape, though. I couldn't calm down using any of the regular methods. I felt an intense pain I couldn't stop. Unless...I gave it a source. I could beat the psychological pain with physical pain. If I hurt myself, I could shock my system and thwart the panic attack. Then I could begin the process of recovery. Som...

Last fall, I was searching for books to buy my niece for Christmas. I wanted a title that celebrates strong female figures. While reading a description for one of the prospects, I noticed an odd book listed under "customers also viewed." I clicked on it. I don't remember the title, but the the gist of the book is that modern feminism is bad for women and terrible for society. The opinions expressed by the author reminded me of a controversy a couple years ago; celebrities were criticized based on whether or not they would identify as feminists. Many of the individuals who declined to identify as feminists said that "feminism" is a dirty or divisive word. Since I sometimes like to imagine what I would say if I were a celebrity being interviewed on the red carpet, I tried to fashion my own response. I had an initial opinion, but I had to strengthen it with facts and reason. First, I had to figure out what "feminism" really means. Given that "fem...

The other day I told my daughter that my anatomy class dissected sheep brains. She asked a lot of follow-up questions. Our conversation meandered through topics such as scalpels and surgery before ending on C-sections. She asked to see a picture of a C section scar. Then she asked to see a picture of stitches. Then she asked to see a picture of the incision before stitches. I considered whether the images could be too graphic for her, but she was genuinely interested. Instead of a picture of the incision, I showed her a picture of a freshly born baby with his umbilical cord still attached. Blood, babies, the body - they are all just parts of our human nature, after all. This philosophy has led me to adopt another potentially controversial practice: I don't care if my kids see me naked. For awhile, it was a little out of my control. When we remodeled our bathroom, we didn't have a door. The kids could waltz in whenever they wanted. It was hard to tell them they were crossing a...

After this crazy snowstorm, people have been saying "be careful what you wish for" as they tease everyone who hoped for a white Christmas. We got a white Christmas - and then some. Even though wishes and prayers are very different things, they share some characteristics. While we should also say prayers of gratitude and spend time listening for God's response, a significant amount of prayer is dedicated to asking God for things. In a way, we are telling God all of our wishes. Does God grant wishes? More broadly, does He answer prayers? If He does answer prayers, when does He do so, and in what manner? While our faith may provide clues to the answers, we obviously cannot know them with complete certainty. I have enjoyed many deep conversations with friends as we worked through our ideas together. Most of my thoughts on the matter are made up of questions. If God does, indeed, address prayers directly and intervene in our daily affairs, does that mean tragedies occur ...

When looking for the poem in my previous post, I sifted through many other works written in high school. In some, the intention was very clear. In others, I had to consider the date and context to tease out the meaning. Such was the case for the following poem. Before I share the work, I'd like to provide some background. I was fairly lucky when it came to my high school class. It wasn't the stereotypical situation in which popular girls picked on everyone else. Yes, there were "cool girls," and if you weren't friends with them, you wouldn't be invited to their parties. If you sat next to them in class, however, they were usually rather friendly. Also, to be fair, they weren't invited to the parties my friends threw, either. I'd say our class was made up more of "friend groups" than "cliques." There were some exceptions, but as a whole, everyone was pretty nice. And yet, I was still bullied in high school. I'm sure this is ...

I want to write at least one post - probably more - detailing what the experience of anxiety is like for me. I want to be thorough, though, and I haven't had the time to sit down and really reflect on my words. In the meantime, this poem from 2002 gives some insight into the feelings and conflicts with which I struggle. Anxiety can feel like I'm running a race, even when I am not going anywhere. It can feel like I'm fleeing something, but I've fallen, so I'm afraid that something will catch me. Anxiety can feel like I'm weighted with chains. It feels heavy, like it's harder to move with such a burden. Sometimes, it's hard enough just to breathe. Anxiety can ruin my sleep. Sometimes I have nightmares so vivid, the next day is a challenge to face. Sometimes, it's so overwhelming, nothing seems worthwhile, and I just want to surrender. “Chronology of a Failure” Running, breathing, spinning, falling It catches up to me It’s breathing f...

Several months ago, one of my husband's coworkers asked him if we have a gun in the house. When my husband answered in the negative, the coworker responded with something along the lines of, "do you have a crazy liberal wife who won't let you? You need to get one anyway to protect your family." My husband replied that the decision was his and that he was satisfied with his choice. J's response was mostly true, but it omitted a lot of information. If I had been present for the conversation, I would have liked to add several things. First of all, the coworker's assessment of me as a "crazy liberal" is correct in neither aspect. I don't identify with a political party. I am also not crazy - though I do suffer from mental illness, and I suppose some individuals would lump all of those conditions together and collectively call them "insanity." It is precisely because of this fact, though, that J's decision not to own a gun IS a dec...