Brick Wall

I am 5 wanting to cry and needing safe arms. I am 10 and all the times I could have been comforted but wasn’t, is right in front of me. I am 15, angry and hurt, desperately trying to find some shred of love—for fucks sake somebody hug me! Desperately needing an adult to let…

A 5-year-old & Her Therapist

I gain healing when I am able to recognize and embrace the inner child parts of me that feel hurt or sad or angry and receive love in return to letting those emotions and child-state be known. I feel warm, open, willing, enthusiastic, and so hopeful I will keep healing. I kept eating and reached…

Love Me Like This

The way to hold my heart: gently. Sincerely. Authentically. I wrote a couple weeks ago that my heart is too sensitive, fragile, and prickly to hold at all. I wrote that my heart pulls most extremely in polar opposite directions—it is needy and too hot to touch. It simply cannot be properly held by anyone,…

Both/And

A thunderstorm inside; protected by my exterior. Lightning strikes: beautiful and deadly. Like monsoon season, unpredictable yet a timeframe exists for when one might occur. I think even my support is uncertain, as am I. But now, as I have practiced before, I can lean in. I will choose to feed the good wolf, in…

I’m hurt, but I’m ok

It seemed like she didn’t like me. As if the person I was wasn’t enough for her, and she had no interest in being with me. One time in elementary school my parents were asked to circle from a list characteristics of us (I’ve since forgotten why). The only word I remember my mom circling…

I Need My Mom

A lapse, and another: triggered by childhood memories I couldn't shake that escalated into extreme anxiety. I needed my therapist to magically fill the space between therapist and mother. Let me explain: I was frequently the teacher's pet. From third grade on, I could be found in my teacher's classroom helping her with whatever task…

F E A R

Maybe a year ago, I was sitting on the floor of my dietitian's office, my untouched lunch on the coffee table in front of me. "What are you really afraid of? You're not afraid of food." Her words felt piercing. Who was she to tell me what I am or am not afraid of? My…

I’m Trying, Little-Me

Get in the car. Get up, get in the car. Drive home. You’re fine. For fucks sake GET UP NOW! I’m sure I’m going to pass out or throw up and I don’t know which but I’ve already overstayed my welcome and I can’t move but I must move. Guilt and shame and self-hate—why are…