MIND BODY SPIRIT HYGIENE™ · WRITING
Essays, teachings, and notes for the woman in the messy middle.
Faith and toxic positivity can sound identical — the difference is timing and target.
I believe everything happens for a reason — and I will never say that sentence to a woman who is bleeding. Both are true. The same words can be sacred faith or a silencer with a spiritual accent. The difference is who says them, and when.
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Covid, divorce, a mother’s hidden cancer, and estrangement — my soul’s journey through stacked grief.
I remember standing in complete disbelief as the world started shutting down. Covid was the storm nobody saw coming — and for me, it was only the first front. Separation, after 22 years. Then the divorce. Then grief — not one grief, but a stack of them.
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The difference between exposure and turning your pain into purpose.
"Don't air our dirty laundry" is rarely about privacy — it is about control of the story. Behind one door is silence. Behind the other is exposure. There is a third way, and it changes everything.
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Series finale: post-traumatic growth & the bridge.
A broken heart and a lifted spirit are not enemies. They are roommates. You can hold devastation in one hand and hope in the other — and you are not a fraud for it. You are a whole human being.
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The slow loss of self — and the small honest choices that brought her back.
I caught my reflection one ordinary afternoon and did not recognize the woman looking back. Not because of the years — something behind the eyes. Somewhere along the way, I had set myself down like a bag of groceries and forgotten to pick myself back up.
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Ambiguous loss, the porch light, and grieving without going bitter.
There is a grief no one prepares you for — the grief of missing someone who is still alive. They are out there in the world. Breathing the same air. And still, the distance between you can feel as wide as death.
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Disenfranchised grief — and why naming what was real set me free.
When someone dies, the world knows what to do. The casseroles come. The cards arrive. But some of the heaviest losses I have ever carried came with no casserole. No card. No one standing in my kitchen saying they were sorry.
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The marriage chapter — and why staying somewhere you cannot breathe is not strength.
From the outside, the boat looked fine. A family. A home. A life we had built. But inside it, I didn't feel safe. I didn't feel heard. And there is a particular kind of loneliness that doesn't come from being alone — it comes from being unseen while sitting right next to someone.
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Body hygiene — the daily check-in you'd never skip for someone you love.
Think about how you care for a newborn. You feed her before she even cries. Nobody calls that 'self-care.' It's hygiene. So when did you stop doing that for yourself?
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Beginning again after grief, loss, illness, and trauma.
I had pure, authentic curiosity. And I had the fact that I was still here. The messy middle is the place between who you were and who you are becoming. I lived there. I still visit some Tuesday mornings.
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WHILE YOU'RE HERE
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