Lucky

I met with one of my homeless clients today.

 As I pulled up to the shelter I noticed her eyeing my car with appreciation. After greeting me, she said that she bet I had a nice house, too and how lucky I was.

And pride, that bitter lady, rose in my throat as I became defensive, wanting to assuage my guilt about having nice things by explaining myself. I wanted to tell her that luck had no part in it, that I'd worked hard for everything I had. 

However, one look at the lines in her face and her sore, gnarled hands told me that she'd worked every bit as hard as me in this life, though perhaps without the advantages I've had.

So I took a grateful breath and simply replied "Indeed. I am so very lucky".

Truth Keeper

Every day, every hour, every minute, there are signs-some subtle, some glaring.

These signs whisper to me, scream at me, measure up the unworthiness of my work, of my mothering,  of my housekeeping, of my appearance...of my very existence.

Day after day, the heaviness accumulates. 

Dust falls on my shoulder, makes me shrink unto myself.

I am simply a vesicle to fill with the waste  of this exclusive and unreachable sorority.

It weighs heavier on my being, shutting out the voice of my electric soul until it is but the tiniest of whispers.

But no.

Not today.

Not today.

Today I will shake off this impossible, excruciating weight.

I will gather my pure, glittering truth and tattoo it unto my heart, where it shall never be forgotten.






Shine on, Dear Ones, Shine on.

Shine On, Dear Ones

Find Comfort in the Quirks

I've been thinking of my favorite stories from childhood.

They are not pages of tales regaling me of stories of the perfectly put together family, living in a perfectly tidy suburban home, all the characters constantly cheerful and with no problems in sight. Sounds boring, right?

No, They are full of characters from quirky homes and nontraditional situations.

 It comforts me to know that the best stories do not come from homes that are perfectly kept, with always put together parents and ever ready stacks of cash. The real, the true, the interesting stories-the fascinating, kind, incredible children-come most often from the homes with more love than money, more discussion than cleaning, more laughter than primping in a mirror.

Let us stop the constant comparisons and the "I'm not good enough"s. It's time to rock our perfectly imperfect life and live a life worthy of being written about.

Shine on, Dear Ones, Shine on.

It's all about Perspective

This morning there was an older man, slightly stooped over by age, walking slowly down the street pushing a baby stroller. He seemed very protective of the stroller, angling his body defensively from those passing, and I found myself thinking about how sweetly protective of the child(a Grandchild, I was thinking) inside he must be.


 As he came closer I was surprised to see, not a child as I had first suspected, but all of his worldly belongings inside the stroller. When passing me, his wild eyes and disheveled appearance spoke of mental illness and exhaustion. I felt deeply saddened and wondered about his story and how, instead of being a charming Grandfather, he became a frightened homeless man. How easy it is, from far away, to see someone and assume that all is well when, in truth, they are hanging on by a thread.


Smile at a stranger today, Friends. Hold a door from a mother with her hands full. Give a homeless person a dollar. It really is that simple to change the world.


Shine on, Dear Ones, shine on.

The Blue eyed boy

I met a little boy with Down syndrome today. I gazed upon his sweet face and told his parents how adorable he was. 

The parents froze.

There was a pregnant pause.

It was a pause that I've experienced many times in my career working with special needs children. A complete cessation of breath as parents freeze and take a moment in which to weigh the compliment-to measure the heft of it and decide if the giver was being truthful or if the words were just a cover for that awkward moment when they realized that the child wasn't what they had first expected.

And then....

then...

 that blissful moment when they see the purity in the truth of my words.

The sigh of relief.

The lowering of shoulders that had been prepared for defensiveness. The gratitude for such a simple thing as having someone else see their child for who they are, not who society thinks they should be.

So we smiled and grinned at the little boy in tandem, taking in his singular beauty.

 His smile lit up the room and my entire day.


Let us shine brightly as this little boy with the bright blue almond-shaped eyes, Friends. If it is at all possible.

Shine on, Dear Ones, Shine on.

Welcome!

I have wrestled for months(years?) with the idea of a blog where I could share my journey with depression/anxiety/compassion fatigue. A place for stories, sharing of ideas, etc.

As a pediatric nurse, mother of three and someone who generally just seems to feel the pain of the world, this struggle has been lifelong for me. I have found some things that help me and some things that don't.

We are all individuals and I do not imagine that everything that has helped me would help everyone. It would be outrageous to think so! So take what you need, Dear Ones, and discard the rest.

Feel free to comment and share your journey with me. I cannot think of anything that would bring me more joy.

Warning: I love to swear, especially  the f-word(what a versatile word it is!!). So, I may drop them here and there and that may turn some people off. It's more than okay if this page isn't for you-I hope you find somewhere that you feel more at home.

Well, what are we waiting for? The journey begins now!


Shine on, Dear Ones, shine on.