An unpleasant side effect of #metoo [part one]

[This is part one in a series of blogs which were written to help me make sense of the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling with this #metoo movement.  If you’re going to read one, please read them all because this is a complicated and nuanced life we’re living and it deserves more than 870 words. Will update posts to link to each other as they go live!]

It’s an unpleasant side effect of this shit show we’re living in. It’s happening every time another woman speaks up, another name is in the media, another person I love shares a story that they’ve never told me before.  Every time I feel this unpleasant side effect that has me longing to look away: nausea.

When words won’t work

I thought I’d find the story here, at the edge of the world, looking out at the mountains and the ocean.  I thought I’d find out how all these words fit together.  All these words that are in me but refuse to be massaged into the whole. I know they belong together. I feel it in my soul, but I cannot for the life of me find the spine that would let them stand together, straight and strong.

They are disjointed, separate and yet full and fat in my soul.  Thoughts thrown on a page that so clearly connect in this mad mind of mine, but the connection is impossible to capture.  It dissolves each time I reach for it.

An end-of-the-year challenge

[My friends and I gave each other an assignment a few weeks ago: the task of writing a letter to a-year-younger version of ourselves, on the verge of 2017. So, below is the letter I would write to the woman who was me on December 31st, 2017.  She sat at her computer, much like I do now, planning and plotting for the year to come, and these are the words I would share with her.]

Dear Fabienne,

Happy New Year! Welp. You made it through 2016!

Christmas past, Christmas present & Christmas future

I spent some time today re-reading old Christmas posts of mine.  They are some of my favorite things I have a ever written.

Maybe it’s the mental, emotional and physical space that I get around this time of year, or maybe it’s the rhythm of reflection that occurs, or maybe it’s the deep heartbeat of my soul that knows this day is mine, or maybe it’s just the way my life has aligned to make me always in recovery of some large life event at this time of year, but whatever the case – we do our best work at Christmas (He and I).

Weary and restless and ready

Sometimes, when I can’t pray, I write.  It’s a step that sometimes helps me find the thing that is stuck in my heart, the thorn that is keeping me from Him.  Sometimes it’s sin, sometimes it’s just confusion, sometimes it’s pain.

What I know today is that there is this restlessness inside my soul, that is shifting around more and more each day, making me too uncomfortable to ignore for much longer. Sometimes it feels like an ache, sometimes like rage, mostly like desperation.