• My Journey

    September is National Suicide Prevention Month

    My father killed himself in May 1990 at the age of 40. I was 16 at the time and a junior in high school. Writing about it now, all these years later, my memories are still blurry and feel like the belong to someone else. I struggle to let the shock and the pain in, somehow always managing to keep the emotions at arm’s length. It’s interesting trying to share a story that is 30 years old. I experience it through the lens of being a teenager, while the adult me senses so much she wants to understand. My father, “Poppy” as we called him, had been depressed through that…

  • My Journey

    Still Shut Out of School

    Today marks the start of my children’s new school year. Ridgely is starting middle school, Trafford is in eight grade and Dashiell is a senior! Here in Maryland, our county is 100% virtual through the end of January. Sadly, I continue to be excluded from my children’s education. And at this point it’s because I have such limited visitation. Two weekends a month and two Wednesday overnights. This summer in our court negotiations I campaigned hard to have the virtual learning days attached to my visits. I so desperately missed being a part of their education and having the chance to actually see their work, not just a grade on…

  • My Journey

    Flashback to June 2019

    I recently came across an essay I had written last summer in the midst of my battle to bring my children home. I’m sharing it as is because it is a testament to that time in our lives. I teared up reading it, feeling the pain and frustration all over again. “There’s a plan for your life.”  So many of us have heard that phrase, but what happens when days, weeks, months and years go by, and the thing you want most desperately remains out of reach? My heart’s desire is to have my children home with me. In December 2017, sitting in a courtroom clutching my six month sobriety…

  • My Journey

    30 Days of Writing

    I’m the sneakiest kind of procrastinator. The kind who looks busy all the time. I am a master of busy work. Anything kid related, cleaning, cooking and don’t even get me started on house projects. I jump into those with relish – painting, teaching myself how to caulk outside, even pulling weeds – I love the satisfaction of a job well done. But the truth is, I’m lost. I’m a 47 year old women who keeps turning away from what she knows deep down is her purpose. I feel it – the words, the phrases – always bubbling up inside of me, always flitting, unbidden, into my brain. I know…