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As I sat in the waiting room, nerves on edge, I stared at my phone, periodically looking up at the double doors ahead of me. I wasn’t alone in the room. There were others reading magazines or looking at their own phones. People would occasionally glance up and look at the screen mounted to the ceiling in the corner of the room. Color coded, it listed the status of loved ones in surgery: pre-operative, operative, recovery, etc. The board meant nothing to me. I would look at it

I recently talked to a special friend who is a recovering alcoholic. She inspires me and I wanted to write about her, but she was afraid of what people might think of her. She seemed ashamed about how low she had sunk in the depths of her addiction. And there were probably feelings she had about those years that I will never understand. So, I’m not going to write ABOUT her. I’m going to write TO her. This is to anyone who feels ashamed of their journey. To anyone who made so

I share a lot. Some might say I overshare. There’s a reason why I do it. I have been through so much: abuse, addiction, abandonment, physical, emotional and mental illness. I live as a minority: LGBTQ and biracial. All of it has shaped me into the person I am today. I could have given into the pain. I could have become angry and bitter – and there are times when I am – but I don’t stay in that head space. I try to see the blessings in my life. I turn to God for healing, not

I just got back from a California trip for my cousin’s daughter’s wedding. It was wonderful to spend time with family. I reconnected with some I’ve loved since I was a child and got to know the next generation I’ve had minimal contact with. I got to meet some family members that I’d never met before. I had long conversations with them. We went sightseeing and spent time just being together. I didn’t feel up to travelling by myself but, fortunately, my aunt and uncle were driv

I have gastroparesis, schizoaffective disorder and cognitive impairment. Too much fun for one person to have for sure! Because of my writing, I’m open about my struggles. I try to help those of us with nonapparent disabilities have a voice. It’s challenging. We are more than our conditions, but the fact is they impact us. We have to overcome the odds just to do the basics. My stomach doesn’t digest food properly, so I have to closely monitor what I eat. I take heavy duty anti

I walked onto the back deck. Surrounded by woods, I could just see the lake between the trees. The view reminded me I was blessed, but I stood there, my mind a blank, unable to remember why I was outside. I waited a minute, but when the memory didn’t return, I walked back into the house. A wave of sadness, frustration and anger washed over me. Going back into the kitchen, I saw the dirty dishes on the counter and realized I was doing the dishes. That’s when I remembered I had

Addiction has consumed my reality since the time I was a child. My father was an alcoholic and a mean one at that. As an adult I watched my daughter be destroyed by meth and heroin. I avoided drugs and alcohol but my addictive personality showed itself in my food choices. I am a compulsive overeater. I could write forever about the pain the addiction caused. I had no relationship with my father until he became sober. I had to kick my daughter out of our home after the lying a

Christianity is under fire. Christian Nationalism and Evangelicals have taken over the conversation, but they aren’t following the teachings of Christ. I heard from more than one friend say that they don’t want to call themselves Christians, so instead they have chosen the term “Follower of Christ” because we believe in the teachings of Christ, not some distortion that supports hate and division. My faith is who I am. It was crushing to learn my daughter doesn’t even want me

It’s been over three years since my mother passed away and I still miss her every day. As I look around my living room, I see the picture of her we used at her memorial. I see the quilt my daughter’s mother-in-law made of my mom’s t-shirts. She had three careers: as a WSU Professor, Director of a non-profit organization, and Licensed Local Pastor. I have t-shirts that capture those stages of her life. I see the pillows made from her nightgown, sweater and grandma sweatshirt.

I’ve attended a Pride festival the last few years. I grew up thinking there was a “right” way to look but, instead, Pride portrays freedom. My favorite part of Pride is people watching. I love the drag queens in their extravagant gowns. I love the vinyl shoes and platform heels. I love the hairy armpits, crop tops and bustiers. I love the man with a full beard wearing a sundress. I love the women who look feminine but use He/Him pronouns. There is no “right” way to look at Pr

It should be wrong to use the term “Radical Christian”. Christianity shouldn’t be radical. It shouldn’t be “radical” to love others. It shouldn’t be “radical” to take care of others. It shouldn’t be “radical” to accept those that don’t look, think or act like us. But, unfortunately, it is. Jesus was clear about His teachings. We have the greatest commandments: Matthew 22:36-40 Love God, love others. Everything hinges on these two commandments. We have the beatitudes: Matthew

There is a famous quote from President John F. Kennedy’s inaugural address on January 20, 1961. “Ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country.” As I lay in bed, whining to God, listing what I wanted him to do for me, my family and my friends, He brought these words to mind: “God, what do YOU want ME to do?” This may not be a revelation to anyone else but for me it cut deep. I always approached prayer thinking of the parable of the persistent

I love to write. I also have cognitive impairment. I had dreamed of being a published author and thought my dreams were dead. I thought God was to blame. He COULD heal me. He could take away the schizoaffective disorder, gastroparesis and cognitive impairment. I beg Him every night when I pray that He would. He could make my writing and speaking dreams come true. He could but He hasn’t…yet. I’m in therapy and I have a psychology degree so I keep trying to make sense of my fee

There is nothing better than a child’s laugh – pure, unadulterated joy. I’m visiting my daughter and celebrating her son’s second birthday. It has been so much fun! Rather than getting a list from my daughter with what to get my grandson, I decided we’d just make it an annual tradition to take him shopping and let him pick out his own presents. I thought it might be crazy with him wanting everything he saw but, even at two, he has likes and dislikes and just picked a few thin

Ripples in a pond I am not just what you see. I have strength you cannot imagine. I have endured more than most. I’ve lived through nightmares that haunt me still. You don’t see my struggles but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. You see me smiling and nodding, pretending to understand conversations I can’t follow. You see me successful but not the work it took to get there. My pain is real, even if you don’t see it. I am who I am. I want to like myself. I think of what I’v

Close up of an astronaut uniform with black background I always loved to dream, to think of paths not travelled, to wonder how my life could be different. That has stopped. I’m grieving dreaming or musing about future possibilities. I’ve realized that all my musings aren’t real. The dreams aren’t going to come true. I’m unable to work. I’m past being able to learn new skills. My cognitive impairment has robbed me of that. I’m past the point of being able to do what I dream of

A friend of mine came to me and said, “I want to go home.” I knew what she meant. She’s tired of this world and wants to go home. I told her I understand, I want to go home too. I was 12 when I first tried to kill myself. Fourteen the second time. Nineteen when I flagged down a police car and went to a psychiatric ward for the first time. There have been other stays when the thought of dying became too real. I was told I was looking for attention. They’re right. They were cal

I’m working my way through the stages of grief: one minute I’m angry. The next depressed. The next accepting. The periods of acceptance are getting longer, but the reality of my situation is wearing me down. I have frontotemporal dysfunction. As one neurologist put it, “You don’t have dementia. Your brain just thinks it does.” In 2017 I underwent electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). Normal course of treatment is once a week for 12 weeks. I had it 2-3 times per week for 7 months.

I’ve been through a lot in my life – more than some, less than others. My latest struggle – frontotemporal dysfunction – has thrown me for a loop. I find myself wanting to be done, to go “home”. The struggles that make up my life have become overwhelming. It’s become a spiritual struggle as I try to find the reasoning behind why I must endure trial after trial. Haven’t I been through enough? Haven’t I given enough? Broken, I found myself turning to the book of Job. Job was a

I have been married for 37 years. We’ve had years when our relationship was just beginning: starting a family, struggling to build a business, and growing up ourselves. Then there were the hard years. Years when needs didn’t get met and disillusionment set in. Years when the word “divorce” was seriously considered, and then there were the building years. Finances stabilized and kids left the nest. Times where we saw each other as partners. We’d weathered the storms together.