In Others' Words…

Only Love Today: A Book Review


“Today I will release a heavy burden.  I will voice what feels unspeakable to a trusted soul.  I might start with: “I need help,” “I am afraid.” “I am overwhelmed,” or “I haven’t felt like myself in a while.”  There is something about voicing the burden that makes it feel lighter, and this is why:  when we meet each other in the light of realness (a place where we can love each other even more because of our shared struggles and human imperfections), hope grows for both of us.”

There are a group of writers that I refer to as my north star writers.  They are, to a person, prodigiously talented- but that’s not why they’re important to me. I used to call them fearless truth-tellers, but I don’t know about that.  They might be afraid- who am I to say?- but then they tell the truth anyway.

These writers, the ones who always seem to help me find my way home to myself, lead with vulnerability.  All of them.  That is the one common denominator.  When you do that, when you show up (whether in writing or in life) and say, “Here I am, scars and all,” you make a space for other people to do the same.  Somehow, even when a writer’s struggles are completely different than my own, their willingness to be truly seen helps me feel seen- and then we all feel less alone.

Rachel Macy Stafford is one of my north star writers.

Some books make us hold our breath- that can be good, right?  They’re suspenseful or powerful in some way that makes us stop breathing for a minute and we’re suspended in the author’s world of words for a time.  As readers, we are on the edge of our seats.

Only Love Today: Reminders to Breathe More, Stress Less, and Choose Love by Rachel Macy Stafford is not that book, though it certainly stopped me in my tracks often enough.  I probably did catch my breath once or twice as I recognized some part of my own story and struggles in the author’s honest and vulnerable words, but mostly I relaxed deeper into my chair and I exhaled.

Only Love Today is an exhale book.

You see, many mornings I wake up with the dull ache of untreated regret.

This is both unpleasant and a vast improvement.

When I was still drinking, I woke up every morning drenched in shame and dread. The fact that it is at the level of discomfort and not searing pain is progress, indeed.

Back then, I knew I was failing every single person in my life.  I was failing as a mother, a friend, a partner, a sister.  I was keenly aware of everyone’s frustration.  The weight of everyone’s disappointment was crushing, but I felt powerless to do anything about it.  I’d try and overcompensate in other ways, but that never works.  People know when they’re being offered cheap replacements for real love and connection.  It was what I could do, though, given how sick I was.  It was, in fact, my best.  Not nearly good enough, but still my best.

For someone like me who has spent most of her life as an ardent perfectionist, that sense of failure was so acute it was paralyzing.  It is a testament to how sick I was that despite my despair over my failure, despite my life-long pattern of trying to be all things to all people all of the time, I could not do what was being asked of me.  I knew what people wanted, I knew what was expected- and for the first time in my life, I just. couldn’t.  I could not get better, right up until the moment I could.  I don’t know why getting sober works that way, I only know that it does.

One of the things they say in recovery is, “The good news is, you get your feelings back. The bad news is, you get your feelings back.”

When I began to comprehend the enormity of the pain I’d caused, I can honestly say it was the worst feeling of my life.  To know that I’d been an agent of harm to the people I love dearly, and to know I’d let my children down so spectacularly, was devastating.  It didn’t feel fixable.

I bet that’s one reason why so many people in early recovery relapse right away.  The fog begins to lift and you see the wreckage brought about by your addiction and the pain is overwhelming- and you FEEL it.  You’ve put down the anesthesia and are left with so much grief and guilt, and even worse, their evil twins regret and shame.

The author reminds us that the antidote for that aching regret is love.  Love for the people we let down, and love for our imperfect selves.

Sometimes the mountain of damage feels overwhelming, and I begin to believe I’ll never repair what I broke.

That’s what is so beautiful about Rachel’s message, Only Love Today.  It reminds me that love, like everything else of value in my life- sobriety, parenting, faith, creativity- is a practice.  A verb.  And every day, every moment of every day, is an opportunity to love better. In recovery there’s another saying, “you can start your day over at any time.” That’s what it feels like reading this book- even if you messed up, it’s not too late. Even if you made a mistake, it’s not too late.  The author reminds us, reminds ME, that I can just keep showing up with a wide open heart, be present for the people in front of me, and forgive myself.

Show up.  Tell the truth.  Ask for help.  Help when asked.

Lead with love.

THAT seems manageable.  THAT I can do.

“Today, I release myself from judgment.  I will not view the mistakes of yesterday as failures but instead as stepping stones to the lovingly imperfect, grace-filled life I’ve always wanted to live.  Who I am becoming matters more than who I once was.  Today matters more than yesterday.”

Rachel is someone who manages to give voice to hard truths in a gentle way.  We seem to place such a premium on being “brutally honest” in our society, but that brutality often strikes me as largely recreational, and it frequently undercuts our ability to hear the intended message.  Rachel’s writing is more like that best girlfriend who lovingly reminds you of what’s important when you’ve lost your way, who reminds you who you are meant to be and what you are capable of.

A north star friend.

It should come as no surprise that the author’s mantra and book title are “Only Love Today,” because every word she writes is rooted in love- that’s why we can HEAR it.

I read this book straight through, but I almost think it’s best used as a devotional- that’s how I’ll use it going forward.  Open it up to any point, read an essay and make a commitment to live out of that story that day.  What situation in your life has ever been made worse by leading with love?  Can’t think of any?  Me either.

This book is a treasure, plain and simple.


ONLY LOVE TODAY is Rachel Macy Stafford’s latest book filled with soul-building words and life-changing intentions. With a unique flip-open, read-anytime/anywhere format, this beautiful book is designed to help busy individuals stay anchored in love despite everyday distractions, pressures, and discord. ONLY LOVE TODAY began as a mantra to overcome her inner bully, but it is now the practice of Rachel’s life. It can be yours too. Click here to order. Click here for a signed copy. Mail your pre-order receipt to to receive your collection of gorgeous hand-lettered bonus gifts! Offer good until release day 3/7/17. Join Rachel in her daily quest to choose love for herself and those around her at

The Hands Free Revolution!


Rivers and fences


A procession of women makes its way down to the river. It is early in the morning and there is still a distinct chill in the air. The sun bounces off the low-lying fog and catches the dew on the long grass, causing the fields around them to seem to glow in the morning light.   It looks warmer than it is.

They walk through the center of the village, the group growing larger as more women and girls join them. Some carry buckets, some washboards. Elder women alternately scold and smile at the children who in turns lollygag and run ahead.   New mothers with babies strapped to their backs keep a watchful eye on their children and the children of others. They bark orders at the younger women, enjoying their newly minted positions of power over the ones who only a year or two before were considered peers.

They arrive at the river and commence the ritual of the wash. Linens are removed from buckets of lye and wrung out before being scrubbed on the washboards. At first, the icy water stings, reddening their hands. They grow accustomed to it and begin laundering their linens as if by rote, the repetitive chore leaving their minds free to wander.

And they talk. They gossip, they ask for and give advice. They console and commiserate. They laugh and lament.

In this, as in all their shared tasks, they connect.

They are in the room when each other’s babies are born.  They witness each other’s joy.  They are in the room when they prepare a loved one’s body for burial.  They witness each other’s grief.  The forced intimacy of hardship doesn’t allow for pretense.  They know one another.

They are at the river for wash and they are at the river for baptisms.  The mundane and the sacred, up close. 

They are a community in every sense of the word.

It’s funny when you think about it. All of our modern conveniences, which free up our time by making tasks solitary and efficient, have seemingly left us even more stressed out and with less time to connect on an interpersonal level.

Daily chores we can accomplish in minutes by ourselves in modern times, took hours and more than one set of hands to complete in the past. By the time the wash was done the village women’s shoulders would ache and their faces would be sunburnt, but they would likely leave the river feeling less alone than when they arrived.

We live in miraculous times. Our lives are much less demanding physically. Modern conveniences have made it so that we can operate with very little interdependence on one another. If your child is up sick all night it doesn’t mean four hours at the river’s edge cleaning linens against the rocks, commiserating with the other mothers about fevers and sleeplessness- it’s a quick toss into your front loading washing machine and maybe a tired emoji-laden post on Facebook.

We hire people to create and manage our lives, we outsource our rituals.  It’s amazingly efficient and sanitary, but mark my words- we have lost something in doing so.

What we have gained in ease we have lost in connection. I’m not saying we should glorify the old days of grueling manual labor and forego modern conveniences.   No one is idealizing a hard-scrabble existence and if you had offered those women bent over for hours scrubbing clothes in cold water an easier more efficient way to do that same work, they’d have taken it in a heartbeat. They’d likely think this was a ridiculous conversation.

We don’t need to return to a back-breaking daily battle for continued existence. No one wants that- and this is not an attempt to romanticize days gone by. There is a reason smart and inventive people spent time and energy coming up with ways for us to not have to do those daily tasks the hard way. So many good things have come out of those advances- indoor plumbing, for example, and the Shamwow.

Somehow, though, with that decline in our physical need for one another came an idealization of independence all around. Particularly in this country, we’ve created this whole mythology around “self-made” men and pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. We’ve romanticized the notion of women who can handle everything by themselves, which has, in turn, created generations of martyrs and burned out women who see it as a sign of weakness or an admission of defeat to say, “This is hard,” or, “I need help.”

The problem lies here- we have not found effective replacements for the forced intimacy of needing one another to survive. In the absence of the physical need for one another, we’ve offered up our human connection at the altar of convenience. Without that intimacy- without being all up in each other’s grills on a daily basis, we’ve learned to fake it. We’ve come to settle for smoke and mirrors over substance, and the illusion of success and happiness over real community.

Real community is not formed in happy times and celebrations when everyone is dressed up and smiling for the cameras. Real community is formed in the trenches. Real community is born of the connection that comes from vulnerability. Vulnerability isn’t a surface thing. Vulnerability requires real intimacy or real desperation.

We go home to our self-contained little lives. We put up privacy fences and pull down shades. We post our pretty pictures on Instagram so edited and tweaked by filters they bear little resemblance to what actually happened when we snapped the photo. Then we hashtag our gratitude for a life we are not actually living and tag our friends who do not actually know us.


And we are modeling this for our kids.  Look at any lunch table, any gathering of teens. You will find them all looking down, choosing to have the glow of their devices light up their faces over having real connection light up their eyes.  Parallel play is no longer just for toddlers, friends.  And we wonder how it is that a teenage boy can become so detached he can walk into a school lunchroom and treat it like a first-person-shooter video game. It’s not mysterious at all.  It’s the real world application of disconnection.

Go to any kids’ sporting events and observe the number of parents who are busy on social media posting about how amazing their kids are while they are MISSING HOW AMAZING THEIR KIDS ARE.

Somewhere along the line it became more important to us to seem to have a great life than to live one.  At some point we became more worried about the number of Facebook friends we had and how much they ‘like’ our posts than loving the actual people in our lives and having them like us.

We watch reality tv to get our fix of life up close- but those shows are to real relationships what pornography is to love. A fun house mirror version of life, with all the vicarious thrill of people living close up to one another with none of the real responsibility. We engage in pretend forms of connection where we can log off or change the channel before something true or deep is required of us.

That can be okay, for a while. When things are good. But life, whether we are doing the wash in the river or dropping it at the dry-cleaners, is difficult and often heartbreaking. And it is so much harder if you feel alone.

We are hardwired for connection. We are meant to live in community physically, emotionally and spiritually- and we are STARVING for it. I mean it, we are literally dying. The lack of connection, the lack of honest-to-God real community, is at the root of nearly every single thing that ails society today.

Addiction. Despair. Violence. Poverty. Mass shootings. Infidelity. Suicide. Hatred. Judgment. Even terrorism is rooted in the lie of “other.” If you scratch just below the surface of any of those tragedies, you find isolation and heartbreaking loneliness.

It took my life imploding before I was able to be vulnerable enough to build real communities for myself and my family. It took me losing nearly everything. It took the complete decimation of the pretty fences and the shiny life.  It took the humiliation of my divorce, it took me telling the truth about my abuse in childhood, and me finally getting honest about my alcohol addiction before I was able to set aside the pretty veneer and let myself be seen, scars and all. It took me nearly dying in order to really begin to live, it took me being shattered for me to finally become whole.

But it doesn’t have to be that way.  We shouldn’t have to fall apart to come together.  We don’t need more fences, we need more rivers.

How many more stories do we need to read where someone says, “I had no idea she was struggling,” or, “They seemed like such a happy family,” before we take a long hard look at the paper-thin lives we are leading? Before we recognize that Mother Teresa was right:

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that

we belong to each other.”





My friend Glennon says this:

“The most revolutionary thing a woman can do is

not explain herself.”

I absolutely agree.

I’m making an exception in this one case, because I think there’s an important distinction to be made, and I take my responsibilities to my communities very seriously.

I’ve been getting some pushback for the post I published last night. People are upset this blog has become what they deem to be too political. It’s interesting. I’ve published upwards of 170 essays, and of those, there are probably less than 10 that are overtly political. I had one reader comment that she was disappointed because Say It, Survivor means so much to her and she feels less comfortable here now that I am delving into politics from time to time.

I get that. I really, honestly do. I have writers whose work I read and every now and then I have to set aside their view on something because I love most of what they write about- and if I can’t do that, then I don’t read their work. We all need to make the right choices for ourselves in that regard.

In Others’ Words and Say It, Survivor are two wholly different things, though, and the distinction is important. That may be hard for some to understand because they way they found SIS is through this blog, or specifically through He Wrote It Down. In Others’ Words is my personal blog, it existed before SIS, and reflects my beliefs, experiences, and opinions. I occasionally contribute pieces I’ve written for this blog to the SIS page when they are relevant, but this blog does not exist in service to Say It, Survivor.

Any post I write that is relevant to the Say It, Survivor community will be posted on the SIS FB page, so if the rest of this blog isn’t your cup of tea and you’d prefer to only come visit when it relates to the topic of sexual abuse- I get that, and your presence is always welcome.

Do you know why I used the conceit of writing about a quote? It was so I could write about anything that is on my mind or in my heart. I didn’t want to get pigeon-holed into one genre, one topic. I didn’t want to be a mommy-blogger or a divorce blogger- I just wanted to write, and to be wholly, completely me.

When I first began IOW, I wrote a fair amount about my divorce. I’ve written about my eating disorders, my alcoholism. I’ve written about art, music, dancing, faith, sex, love, parenting, and friendship. I’ve written about refugees, rape culture, racism, and gun violence, too.

Those are all things that are important me- and none of them defines me.

For quite a long stretch I wrote almost exclusively about my abuse and my recovery from it- that’s true- but that was never the intention for this blog. That’s what was on my mind. That’s what was- and still is- in my heart, and so I will continue to write about it.

Interestingly enough, I got this same pushback the times I’ve written about my faith. “Why has the blog gotten religious? I don’t feel comfortable here now.”

Again, fair.

I am a writer. That’s how I process what happens in my life, and in the world, and how I express myself. I am a survivor of sexual abuse, as well. Not solely that, though. Not just that one thing. I am more than what happened to me, and so are you. I did not fight this long and this hard to get healthy and find my voice to not feel free to use it.

You will never see anything political on Say It, Survivor unless it specifically deals with news, policy, or legislation around sexual abuse. SIS is non-political and will remain so.- that I can guarantee.

I would, however, gently remind my readers that if I was unwilling to talk about controversial things that were on my mind, Say It, Survivor would not exist. Lest we forget, SIS came about because I wrote about a topic that so many of you were hungry to read about, but made many of my existing readers wildly uncomfortable- some of whom felt compelled to leave. That’s okay. I didn’t lose a moment’s sleep over it then, and I’ll sleep just fine tonight.

Say It, Survivor is a non-profit dedicated to helping survivors of child sexual abuse, and I work on its missions every single day. Hard. This blog, however, is about me and my life- and the state of the nation and the world is also something I am passionate about, something I work on every day. Also. And.

I am politically active and will remain so. That is part of who I am. To not speak out on things I believe are important simply to retain readers or grow the platform? THAT would be political. The only way to ensure you never offend anyone is to never take a stand on anything, and that is simply not who I am.

I will try and be mindful of not indulging in snark- I can fall prey to that, sometimes- but I will continue to be who I have always been: a person who notices what is going on in the world around her and writes about it. I may not agree with everything you believe, but I would fight like hell for your right to believe and express it. You don’t need to agree with me to be welcome here. You don’t need to agree with me in order to comment here, as long as you remain respectful.

And you don’t need to stay, if leaving is what’s right for you. That’s totally fair.

I hope this lends some clarity to those who are seeking it. I am going to keep being me and writing what I need and want to write- and if that means the numbers dwindle I am completely and utterly okay with that. I’ll show up and tell my stories to whoever is here.

Love you so.


“You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world,

and there’s still going to be somebody who hates peaches.”

Dita Von Teese


Rest to resist


This is your brain on too much Twitter.

M’kay, loves.

I hit the outrage wall doing 90 recently. It felt like every time I stepped away from the computer I would come back to some new bit of awfulness.

Even when I was trying to work I would check newsfeeds, get distracted- re-post something, make a call, check a fact, engage with someone who commented on something I posted…

Lather, rinse, repeat.

I got done getting the kids ready for bed, let the dogs out. Saw that someone had retweeted a well-known white supremacist, who expressed his delight at how well this is all going.

I started to cry.

You guys. We’re three and a half weeks in. Are you exhausted?

I am. I’m exhausted.

I’ve been making excuses to not do things because I feel a responsibility to pay attention to every headline, weigh in on every issue, check every fact, call every elected official- and I’ve been forgetting to take care of myself.

4 years. 1460 days. And we’re 28 days in.

Sweet friends, we have got to remember this is a marathon, not a sprint. We cannot give away what we do not have. We cannot pour from an empty cup.

Eat. Sleep. Exercise. Laugh. Pet dogs. Dance. Flirt. Fall in love. Make art. Read books for pleasure. Get your ass to a meeting. Go outside. Drink water. Get quiet. Breathe salty air. Pray. Unplug- for the LOVE, please unplug from time to time.

We need every voice to speak out. We need every pair of feet to march. We need every heart to break.

We can’t get complacent. We can’t ignore what’s going on. We cannot un-know what we know.


In times like these, let’s call them ‘dumpster fire days,’ it’s more important than ever to seek joy like it’s your job.

Stay woke, my loves. But also, REST.


Here are ten things that are filling me up right now.  Please tell me what you’re doing for self-care in the comments!

  1.  Heading away to Austin for a long weekend with my Favorite.  No kids.  #thankyouJesus
  2. My dog.  All dogs.  Probably your dog.  What do people without dogs even DO with themselves right now?
  3. Checking in on my people.  When I start to get too stressed I text people I haven’t chatted with in a while and see how they’re doing.  Connection helps.  No being alone with the internet.  S’no good.
  4. UNPLUGGING.  Seriously.  Step. Away. From. Twitter.
  5. La La Land.  Have you seen it?  It’s not going to change anyone’s life and there are serious movies out there that deserve your attention- but this is a completely delightful slice of unabashedly romantic escapism pie.  Also, Ryan Gosling- which I never *got* before, but now. I. DO.  Late to the party, but I’m here.
  6. Boooooooks.  Just finished James Prescott’s Mosaic of Grace (see book review page) and Rachel Macy Stafford’s Only Love Today (review coming soon!)  Also, just heard Jen Hatmaker’s new book is called Of Mess and Moxie – so we’ve got that going for us.
  7. This Is Us.  I can’t even talk about it…. ohYESican.  Randall.  William.  Our Kate.  Jack.  Nope.  I was right.  I can’t.
  8. Tiny subversive acts.  They are unbelievably restorative.  I tweet to the Senate Majority Leader every morning.  He and I are going to be great friends.  I can feel it. He hasn’t responded yet- but nevertheless, I persist. seewhatididthere?
  9. Make a difference in YOUR community.  Meet a need right in front of you.  Small acts.  Great love.
  10. Listen for the voices of love.  Hate and fear are so LOUD- sometimes it’s easy to think those the only stories being told.  They’re NOT.  Here are just a few people you can reliably turn to for love stories:

Glennon Doyle Melton

Jen Hatmaker

Shauna Niequist

Matt Bays

Jacquie Lewis

Elizabeth Gilbert

Amandla Stenberg

Linda Sarsour

Rachel Macy Stafford

Humans of New York

The Work of the People

Valarie Kaur

James Prescott

John Pavlovitz

Broderick Greer

Rene August

Kid President


Okay, my loves.  If I’m writing this book (and I am) I need your help- I need to build this platform.

Please consider doing the following:

Come hang out with me on Facebook!

Follow me on Twitter!

Come see what my dog is doing on Instagram!

If you’re following me on Pinterest… don’t.   And I’m sorry.  I don’t even know how I ended up there…



Mosaic of Grace – A Book Review

“Grace is disruption. When the worst has happened, grace says the worst thing isn’t the end. In positive disruption, grace challenges us to commit to ongoing transformation.”


It’s serendipitous James Prescott’s book, Mosaic of Grace, came my way in this particular season of my life.

The idea of grace has been nipping at my heels of late.

For most of my life, I never thought much about grace- not in terms of God, anyway.  As I’ve shared before, I broke up with God when I was nine years old.  It took over thirty years to bring me back to the table.

I think there are many reasons we struggle with the concept of grace.  It’s kind of ephemeral, isn’t it?  Especially given the way our culture is today.  We’ve become convinced we need to prove our worth, earn our belovedness- and that makes sense, because every ad we see attempts to reinforce one message, “You are not enough. You are not enough. You are not enough.”

Grace is not contingent on our good behavior, we can’t strive for it, earn it, or lose it, because it’s extravagant, boundless, and not one of us deserves it.  It’s completely unfair. That’s what makes it so counter-intuitive- and why some people describe grace as “scandalous.”

It’s also what makes it grace.

In Prescott’s book, he explores the nature of grace, how it plays out in our lives, and what our role in it is.  I’d never heard anyone posit that we humans have a role in grace before- only that we are its recipients.  That alone piqued my interest, the notion that we have some agency in the way grace plays out in our lives.

“I didn’t comprehend grace

until I asked God to love me

to wholeness and not to pieces.”

Early in the book, the author explains the title.  He talks about the Japanese art of kintsugi, also know as kintsu kuroi.  I was all in at that point.  I mean, I have an entire other blog based around the concept of making things beautiful at the broken places.  I love the notion of God’s grace being the gold that mends the broken pieces of our lives. Grace as a binding agent.  As the author points out time and time again, though- that only happens when we acknowledge our brokenness and surrender the pieces to God.  If we refuse to admit we’re broken, or we continue to clutch the shards of our pain, our failure, and our harms, they will go unrepaired.

When I was working in Special Ed, we were required to get trained in de-escalation and handling adverse behaviors. I found it fascinating.  We learned so many different things – everything from tactics to prevent an escalation, to how to best free your hair from an enraged kid’s death-grip.

All helpful.

There were a couple of things I took away from that training that I think about frequently- I mean, aside from the hair tip.  One of them was this: There comes a certain point in any escalation when there’s no walking it back.  The person is so undone, so far gone, the only thing you can do is to let it play out.  Anything done to forestall it after the episode has gone past that point will surely lead to another escalation, and another, and another.  The only answer is to let the cycle play through to the end.  To exhaustion.

That takeaway applied to one of my favorite and most challenging students, and also eventually, profoundly, to me.

He was sweet and funny, and smart. On paper, he was considered non-verbal, but our team didn’t think so.  Most people just didn’t speak his language.  He sure did understand a lot, and he generally let us know what he wanted us to know- you just needed to pay attention, is all.   We adored him.

He would escalate many times a day, and it was hard. When he did, he would hit and throw things, sometimes he would bang his head on the wall or the ground.

Once he’d reached that tipping point, we needed to just let it play out.  Keep ourselves safe, keep other students safe,  keep him safe if we could.  When we were in that space, when he was raging and crying and striking out, I had one thing that I said to him, verbatim, over and over, every time.

“When you are ready, I will help.”

He’d scream and collapse, throw punches in the air, cry.  It was awful to watch.  I am certain it was even more awful to be in it.

Eventually, he’d wear himself out.  The cycle of escalation would run its course and he’d exhaust himself.  He’d surrender.

He’d get quiet.  I’d give it a minute to make sure he wasn’t faking me out.  He’d peek at me tentatively- as if to say, “You’re still here?  Are you mad at me?”

I’d smile and say, “Are you ready?”  And he would say one of the few phrases he could articulate…


Then he’d smile, pop up off the floor, and we’d carry on.  We’d do the work.

I was ALWAYS ready for him to do the work and succeed, but I needed to wait for his willingness.

I think that is EXACTLY what God’s grace is like.

“Grace confronts us with the truth of who we are. It strips us bare and challenges us to change. It tells us we are not condemned, but that we are loved unconditionally,

just as we are.

And then, most importantly, grace says we are loved way too much to stay as we are.”

I think that’s precisely how it was when I was in the worst of my alcoholism.  If we think of someone’s increased drinking as an escalation of addiction, then the playing it through to the end, the exhaustion, is rock bottom.  I was on the ground, throwing punches in the air, fighting an unwinnable battle, and God was just waiting for me to be done.  The grace was ALWAYS there, the willingness was not.

Recovery begins where our exhaustion, our surrender, our willingness meets God’s grace.

When we hear of someone falling prey to or losing a battle with something akin to one of our own struggles, one of the first things you hear people say is, “There but for the grace of God go I.”

I have to say, you’d be hard pressed to find a phrase that gets my back up more than that one.  Not because I don’t believe in God or in grace, but because I do.  Deeply.

I think there’s an underlying implication that the difference between the person lost to…you name it- addiction, suicide, drunk driving, lung cancer…whatever- is that God has granted you, in particular, some sort of “stay” of grace.  The problem with this is, it presumes that grace is a pie and not all of us gets a slice- or if we do, they’re unequal.

I just fundamentally do not believe that for one single second- in fact, I find that notion reprehensible.  If that were true, that would be a very small god, indeed.

God’s grace.  Our willingness.  Of the two, only our willingness is in question.

Grace is tricky to write about.  I think we all have a personal experience with grace, and we don’t all understand it in the same way.  What the author does so successfully is to give examples of the way God’s grace and his own willingness have converged to work change in his life.  My favorite writers are the ones who understand the power of vulnerability and “me too.”  What James Prescott does so beautifully throughout the book is offer up examples of where his own pain and failure were transformed by God with candor and, well, grace.

Do yourself a favor and check out this book. You can order it here.  James Prescott also has an amazing podcast, Poema, that you can check out here.


Okay, my loves.  If I’m writing this book (and I am) I need your help- I need to build this platform.

Please consider doing the following:

Come hang out with me on Facebook!

Follow me on Twitter!

Come see what my dog is doing on Instagram!

If you’re following me on Pinterest… don’t.   And I’m sorry.  I don’t even know how I ended up there…

Try not

Do or do not.  There is no try.



I was having a discussion with a friend this morning about gratitude.  I explained that I used to think of gratitude as a feeling- something that just came over me.  Now, that’s great when everything is easy-peasy mac ‘n cheesy, but then gratitude is something that happens to me.  Then it’s fleeting, and determined by life circumstances, and sometimes life sucks.  I thought I had to wait for gratitude to happen, or to try to be grateful.

I now recognize that gratitude, like literally every other thing in my life- love, faith, sobriety, yoga (jk.  I only talk about doing yoga.  I just have the pants.) that I hold sacred, is a practice.  I must practice gratitude every single day- build up that muscle memory, so that when life kicks me square in the teeth my gratitude is still there.  I have to focus on gratitude, I have to set the intention, yes, but then I have to DO IT.

I remember fb messaging a friend about five years ago and saying that I was going to try and stop drinking.  Of course, I picked a friend who lives in Florida, who I wouldn’t run across in the wine section of Trader Joes- but even so, I think I actually meant it.  I think I did try.  I tried all the way up until 18 months ago when I stopped drinking.  I stopped trying the same day I stopped drinking.

Last year, I told several people I was going to try to write a book.  And I did.  I did try.  And here I sit a year later, not having written a book.

There’s a saying in recovery circles- pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.  DOING is pain, TRYING is suffering.

Listen, you can either try to stop drinking or you can stop drinking.  You can either try to write a book or you can WRITE A DAMNED BOOK.


Whatever that thing is for you, you can try to do it or you can do it.  It is as simple and hard as that.

I’d expound more on this but I’m working on Chapter Two.

Love you so.



Okay, my loves.  If I’m writing this book (and I am) I need your help- I need to build this platform.

Please consider doing the following:

Come hang out with me on Facebook!

Follow me on Twitter!

Come see what my dog is doing on Instagram!

If you’re following me on Pinterest… don’t.   And I’m sorry.  I don’t even know how I ended up there…

The thing.

“Only put off until tomorrow

what you are willing to die

having left undone.”

Pablo Picasso


Yesterday I came upon a post that I published two years ago today.  It was about New Year’s Eve, and it has me thinking about goals and resolutions.

I used to think I made them regularly.  I didn’t.  I made wishes.  Not the same thing at all, in the end.  Not even close.

I wished I could be in shape.  I wished I could control my drinking.  I wished my abuse didn’t still haunt me.  I wished my marriage was better.  I wished for a new job.

I was always wishing for end results.  I wanted to be AT the goal- the finish line.  Fait accompli.  Woohoo!  Cue the confetti!

The thing is, some of those things were not possible, and the ones that were required work. They required discipline, surrender, commitment, resilience, sacrifice… And I wasn’t wishing for THOSE things.  I was like the person facing bankruptcy wishing to win the lottery.  What’s the one-fell-swoop solution to this self-made problem that requires NOTHING from me?

We almost never, ever get those- and that results in a New Year/same old resolutions cycle that can be hard to break.

In the past two years I have managed to make real progress on some of the recurring items on my list.

I have been sober for a little over 18 months.  I am deeply committed to my sobriety, it comes before every single other thing in my life, because without that I know I will lose everything else anyway.  When I pray about it, I don’t pray for sobriety.  I pray for the willingness and the commitment to do the work necessary for me to remain sober.  I do that work every day.

I know who I am meant to serve, and I work on it every day through Say It, Survivor.  I am called to do that- it’s not just a job, it is missional for me.

I’ve written consistently on this blog for two years, which has provided me with a forum to talk about things that matter deeply to me.  As a result, I’ve had the privilege of bearing witness to many of your stories.  That’s a blessing for which I am profoundly grateful.

I have finally come to a place of real healing.  I believe down to my bones that the story you aren’t telling is the one in charge of your whole life. You either own it, or it owns you.  I have told my story countless times, both in writing and as a speaker.  Every single time I tell it, the stranglehold it once had on me weakens.  I can honestly say I no longer have an ounce of shame about my abuse or its aftereffects on me. I have reclaimed my story, and for the first time since I was a little girl I know peace.

Those are all really big things.

My thing this year is also big.  It’s been a life long dream.  I am saying it out loud, and I have a plan in place to make it come to fruition.  I have a plan to hold myself accountable.

I’ve got some things I want to say, and it’s time to say them.

This year I am writing a book.

That’s exciting to write.  Exciting and terrifying.


I’ve been flirting with it for the past year and a half.  I have had meetings with a few people, discussed some different ideas for books.  Started to work on proposals.  But then it petered out, or I got distracted by life.  I’d be swayed by spomeone else’s vision for what my book should be, and so when I’d lose momentum or feel stuck I didn’t have the passion and commitment to push through it.  I was treating writing the book like a wish, not a goal.

So yesterday, I sat in a cafe, laptop and cappuccino in front of me, and wrote the outline. I know the title.  I can see the path forward with it, and I am determined not to stray.  I will be treating it like a job that I am required to show up for, every day.

I’m praying for the courage and doggedness writing this book will require.  I’m praying for serenity and clarity, so I can think my ideas through to the end.  I know how to write, for heaven’s sake- I just need to DO IT.

When I first attended Storyline a couple of years ago, Donald Miller kept asking us, “What will the world miss if you don’t tell your story?”  The question stayed with me.  It wouldn’t leave me alone, frankly.  So I answered it, and told my story.  That’s very likely why you are reading this today, because he posited that question,  I decided it wasn’t rhetorical, and I got to work.  I didn’t wish my story had been told, I TOLD IT.

So now I’m asking you-  what’s THE THING for you this year?  What is that dream you’ve been making a wish rather than a goal?  What is the thing you know, deep down, you’ve been called to create?  Who are you meant to serve?  What’s the idea that has been following you around, nipping at your heels?  Is there a story trapped inside that only you can tell?

These are not rhetorical questions.

Say your answer out loud.   Make a plan of accountability.

Listen, you don’t need to worry about doing it perfectly, because- spoiler alert- you won’t.

Are you laboring under the impression you’re guaranteed a tomorrow?  You’re not. Holding out for the perfect time?  There IS no perfect time.   Waiting for there to be no obstacles?  Good luck with that.

Even if someone else has done or is doing what you want to do- YOU haven’t.  YOU haven’t done that thing with YOUR particular gifts.  YOU haven’t told that story in YOUR voice.  YOU haven’t tackled that problem from YOUR perspective.

The world needs your offering.

“Do your thing, with great love, right now.”

Shauna Niequist

You don’t need to abandon resolutions just because you fall down. We all fall down.

Just pick yourself up, get your ass in gear, and declare it a new day, a new year- whatever.

If you’re so inclined, post your thing in the comments- if not, tell someone.  Email me.  SAY IT.

If not now, when?  If not you, who?

Get up and do your thing.  Every. Day.

Time’s a-wasting, and the world is waiting.



Okay, my loves.  If I’m writing this book (and I am) I need your help- I need to build this platform.

Please consider doing the following:

Come hang out with me on Facebook!

Follow me on Twitter!

Come see what my dog is doing on Instagram!

If you’re following me on Pinterest… don’t.   And I’m sorry.  I don’t even know how I ended up there…


Merry enough.



The kids and I were out and about yesterday.  One kid flew in from the west coast, we picked the other up at school.  We had some lunch.  We headed to the mall.

Saints preserve us.

There’s precious little that will deplete you of the holiday spirit faster than a trip to the mall on Dec 23rd.  We did some shopping, saw a movie, did a little more shopping.  We weren’t done- still needed to make a quick stop at a store outside the mall.  Before we’d left the mall parking lot, I’d criticized three or four drivers for their “bad life choices.”  I checked in with myself, and decided to call it.

We went home.  Shopping unfinished, but me relatively sane.  That last gift may get purchased today.  It may not.  Either way, the world will go on, and I will not have ruined what precious time I have with my kids together by being a crazy person.

I chose presence over presents.

We give things so much weight at this time of year.  We give joy more weight, we give despair more weight.  For me, when I was drinking it was even more extreme- because I could only feel things at the poles of human emotion.  When you are anesthetizing yourself, if your emotions aren’t registering at an 11 they don’t register at all- you are numb to them.  I think that’s why so many addicts are surrounded by drama.  It’s the only way they can feel.

There’s a second half to the Serenity prayer, you know.  And in it, there’s this line:

“So that I may be reasonably happy in this life”

Before I got sober that would not have seemed an estimable goal.  Reasonably happy? Why?  Why only reasonably?  I was a go big or go home kind of a girl.  I didn’t understand that real joy- the kind that fills you up- is never manic.

I used to spend so much time focused on making Christmas the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER. Last Christmas was a standard to be exceeded- this year would be EVEN BETTER.  It’s gluttony, really.  It’s a gluttonous approach to joy, and any time you see someone indulging in gluttony it comes from a fear of scarcity- count on it.  It’s behaving as though joy is a finite resource to be scavenged, hoarded and used up.

The past two weeks I’ve been really mindful of a few things.

I’ve focused on being rather than doing.  Instead of racing around shopping, and baking, and decorating, and partying, I’ve been saying yes to different things.  You need to talk? Yes, I have time.  You want to meet for coffee?  No, I’m not busy.  You need a ride?  Yes. I’m checking in on my people.  I don’t care about attending events, I have relationships to tend.  Instead of standing in a room full of people talking about nothing, I can sit across from a friend and listen to everything.

I need only celebrate the Christmas I’m in.  It does not need to resemble holidays past, and it does not need to be a portent of Christmases to come.  Just this one day.  This one, reasonably happy, present Christmas with the people in front of me.  My people.

My prayer is that this Christmas you love and feel truly loved.  That you have moments of wonder, and understand that you’re enough, exactly where and how and who you are. That you see the people in front of you, and are seen by them.  That you feel safe and held and not alone. That you remember that joy is not the same as glee and consumption. And that you are reasonably happy.

Love you so.


Hey beloveds!

I am writing a book and in order to get said book published it is awfully helpful to make the most of your platform.  At least, that is what The People Who Know The Things tell me.


Please consider doing the following:

Come hang out with me on Facebook!

Follow me on Twitter!

Come see what my dog is doing on Instagram!

If you’re following me on Pinterest… don’t.   And I’m sorry.  I don’t even know how I ended up there…


“I had learned early to assume something dark and lethal hidden at the heart of anything I loved. When I couldn’t find it, I responded, bewildered and wary, in the only way I knew how:

by planting it there myself.”

Tana French


A while back someone recommended Bessel van der Kolk’s brilliant book, The Body Keeps the Score to me. I’ve now read it twice.  Slowly.  I am usually a very fast reader, but this is both dense in content (though very readable) and profoundly impactful.  It explained me to me.  When I finished it the first time I felt I had the answers to so many of my long-held questions.  When I finished it the second time, I realized I’d formed new questions.

I love that.

Dr. van der Kolk began his career treating men coming back from Vietnam with what was then called shell shock, and went on to become one of the world’s premier experts on trauma, and one of the first people in his field to research and understand PTSD as it relates to survivors of child sexual abuse.

Trauma physically changes your brain.  It changes neuropathways, it changes your hardwiring.  It can even change your DNA, meaning that trauma and abuse might be intergenerational for reasons that have their root both in nature and nurture.

Doesn’t that blow your mind and also make the most perfect sense?  All wars scar the ground on which they’re fought, usually for generations to come.  Isn’t it the most logical, natural thing that when your body is the front line, the battle field, that future generations are affected as well?

This is why all doctors should be administering ACE tests to their patients as part of the intake process. It’s crucial information.  Adverse experiences in childhood affect all aspects of our health throughout our lives.  A high ACE score is an indicator a person is at increased risk for chronic disease, mental illness, substance abuse, and violence.

One of the more persistent aftereffects of PTSD is an over-stimulated amygdala- which means your brain looks for and perceives threats everywhere.

We survivors look for threats everywhere, and as I’ve come to understand more and more- we generally find what we are looking for.  Our brains are constantly assessing for threats, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we avoid them.  Don’t we all gravitate toward the familiar?

How many times did I avoid the guy that was “too nice” and pursue the guy who was clearly…not?  The truth is, the nice guy wasn’t TOO nice, he was just less inclined to harm me, and I honestly had no idea what to do with that.  That kind of security made me deeply uneasy.  If I did somehow find myself in a relationship with someone like that, I’d sabotage it.  I’d hurt him.  I’d poison the water.

I was drawn to the guy who’d hurt me or leave me. That was somehow safer.  I understood that.  That made sense to me.  That guy?  I couldn’t get enough of that guy. That guy felt like home to me.

If you are mired in shame, if you believe your only value is rooted in your sexuality, if pain and abuse are your baseline, you will find people to validate those beliefs, and they will find you.

“Our study showed that, on a deep level, the bodies of incest victims have trouble distinguishing between danger and safety. This means that the imprint of past trauma does not consist only of distorted perceptions of information coming from the outside; the organism itself also has a problem knowing how to feel safe. The past is impressed not only on their minds, and in misinterpretations of innocuous events… but also on the very core of their beings: in the safety of their bodies.”

Bessel van der Kolk, M.D.

I was speaking with a survivor recently and she professed her frustration at the way she finds herself continuously seeking out things she knows will harm her or cause her trouble- alcohol, drugs, anonymous sex, abusive partners… She wondered aloud why when she had already been harmed, she seems intent on finding people, places, and things that will cause further trauma.

She seemed surprised by my lack of surprise.  I just kept nodding.  “Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

We all think we’re the only ones.  We all build story around those behaviors. We tell ourselves what those behaviors mean about us and it is seldom flattering.  Or true.  We use those adverse behaviors to make a solid case against our inherent goodness or worthiness.

Survivors are such good prosecutors.

One of my favorite readers has the user-name moth2flame.  She told me that like a moth drawn to a lit candle, she comes back time and time again to this blog even though reading my posts causes her pain by stirring up memories of her trauma.  I countered that perhaps it’s really that she is drawn to the light for survival- like a sunflower.

I wonder if we aren’t both right.

It’s interesting.  Mary and I use the analogy of sunflowers because so dogged is their insistence on survival that they track the sun throughout the day, physically moving, actively seeking the light. Other flowers remain passive, assuming the sun will come back around the next morning.  Survivors don’t count on much- they seldom assume help is coming.

We don’t use the image of sunflowers because they are pretty or happy (although they are) we picked them because they are floral badasses.  Warriors.

In many ways, survivors of sexual abuse seem to seek the dark, over and over again. They’re drawn to that which is harmful and dangerous.  Now, to most people that doesn’t really seem like someone trying to survive, but I get it.  I think when we are afraid to sit still for THE pain, the original wound, we seek the smaller, voluntary, seemingly more manageable pains.  The ones we’re sure we can control, right up until we cannot. We over-eat, we starve, we shop, we rage, we weaponize sex and work and exercise.

We cut.

I’ve had several people reach out to me lately about self harm.  People seeking help, information- trying to understand why someone would do such a thing.

In the book, Dr van der Kolk relates having been summoned to stitch up a young woman on three consecutive nights after she’d cut herself.  He said,

“She told me, somewhat triumphantly, that cutting herself made her feel much better.  Ever since then I’d asked myself why.  Why do some people deal with being upset by playing three sets of tennis or drinking a stiff martini, while others carve their arms with razor blades?”

I have to say, it makes perfect sense to me.  It’s desperate and dangerous, but I get it.  And isn’t it ALL self-harm, in the end?  Even the prettied up stuff?  Even the perfectionism and the hustle?  I battled anorexia during times in my life when everything felt terrifying. I might not have been able to control any of the things that were happening to me, but I could live on two pieces of turkey a day.  Well, two pieces of turkey and a lot of wine.  If that’s not self harm, I don’t know what is.

The good news is that the brain is quite plastic- meaning that you can re-train your brain. There is no one pathway to healing, but there are many approaches that work for people. Therapy (cognitive behavioral, EMDR), yoga, meditation, neurofeedback, hypnosis, reflexology, medication, prayer… for most of us, it’s not one thing.

It’s important to remember that even as we are drawn to potentially harmful things, we are called survivors for a reason- because we have somehow, someway, found a way to endure.  We have insisted on our place in this world.  We are strong and resilient and seeking.  Always seeking.

Did you know there are also moonflowers?  They only bloom in the dark.  They’re these beautiful white flowers that seem to glow in the night and have the sweetest smell.  And wouldn’t you know it- what do they attract?  Do you know what seeks them out in the darkness?

Why, moths do. Of course.  Moths do.  Those mysterious, fluttery, seemingly delicate creatures that come out at night hone in on these nocturnal flowers.  The moths ensure their continued survival by seeking out the beauty that is only found in the dark.


Hey beloveds!

I am writing a book and in order to get said book published it is awfully helpful to make the most of your platform.  At least, that is what The People Who Know The Things tell me.


Please consider doing the following:

Come hang out with me on Facebook!

Follow me on Twitter!

Come see what my dog is doing on Instagram!

If you’re following me on Pinterest… don’t.   And I’m sorry.  I don’t even know how I ended up there…

Ho Ho NO.


“I do know that I don’t want to be ruled by ravenous anymore, and that full life is not the same as a full calendar.

Full life is lived when the whole system works together,

when rest and home and peace live hand in hand with taste and sparkle and go. I’ve believed in the craziness for too many years,

and while I still have a lot of questions,

the answer I need to be giving most often these days is NO.”

Shauna Niequist

So… it’s starting. Can you feel it? The ramping up that inevitably begins before the Thanksgiving dishes are even put away?  I walked into Target yesterday and got punched in the face by Christmas.   It did what it was supposed to do.  My brain went on auto-pilot: what do I need to do, what do I need to buy?  I could feel that familiar Yuletide anxiety start to creep in.  Only a few weeks left!!!!!!

Now, I love Christmas. All of it- religious and secular alike.  The twinkle lights, the decorations, the carols, the movies, Santa, snow- I’m a sucker for all of it.  I’m pretty much Buddy the Elf.


“I KNOW HIM!!!!!!!”

What I don’t love, what I reject more every year, is the stress. The hurry, hurry, hurry, consume, consume, consume. The shoulds.  The musts.  The striving.  The noise.  And I don’t mean the noise of children playing or Christmas music- I mean the noise in our heads. All the rush here, race there, do the things, bake the cookies, eat, drink, spend, wrap. PROVE. EARN.

We careen through a season built for stillness and reverence.

We have a tendency to judge those people who manage eschew the madness.  I mean, most good holiday movies have a character like that, right?  We tend to chalk it up to being a grouch, or miserly, or having lost the meaning of Christmas.


I don’t know… I’ve always had a soft spot for His Grinchiness.  I do love a curmudgeon.  I think in many ways, the Green One was onto something.  Listen closely to what he says- he’s not ranting about Christmas at all. He expresses dismay over “packages, boxes, and bags” and extravagant feasts.  He rails against the “noise, noise, noise, noise.”  None of that is Christmas.  All of that is hustle.

‘Tis the season, all right.  The season of HUSTLE.

These few months are when I hear more, “I have to” and “I need to” about things that are completely voluntary than any other time of year.  This time of year, when we could be focused on faith and family, miracles and peace, we engage in the Hardship Olympics like it’s our job.  Like it’s our calling.  Like it’s the point.

I really began thinking about this a few weeks ago, in the lead up to Thanksgiving.  This season is a particularly challenging time for survivors of childhood trauma.  So much of our abuse happens within the family, and holidays often mean going home to the scene of the crime.  Literally.

I did a podcast recently for Spiritual Charlotte and we talked about these very things.

We generally see an uptick in members of our community needing resources, feeling a lot of anxiety.  To that end, I’ve been having many conversations about choice and agency and what is mandatory versus what is optional about the holidays.

Be ready, because I am about to blow your minds:

It is ALL optional.  EVERY SINGLE BIT OF IT.

Every single event?  Optional.  Every gift?  Voluntary.  Every tradition?  Discretionary. The percentage of ways you celebrate over which you have total agency?  100%

All of that overeating, drinking too much, spending money you don’t have?  Those are all classic hustle symptoms- and hustle is all about not believing you are enough.  Hustle is the antithesis of stillness.  It’s what we do when we don’t want to feel- and if we don’t allow ourselves to feel during this of all seasons, what are we even doing?

The holidays are not happening to you.  You are not a victim of Christmas.  New Year’s Eve is not a plot to undermine your sanity. Your holidays can be calm and bright, or they can be the fifth circle of hell.  It truly is almost entirely up to you.  The manic hamster wheel of consumption, busyness, and perfectionism is not mandatory.

Yes, if you start saying “no” people might not dig it.  Actually, they are almost certain not to dig it.  When you start setting boundaries and insisting on what you need for your own well being, people will be annoyed, frustrated, disappointed and perhaps even angry. Here’s the thing, though-

Annoyance, frustration, disappointment and

anger are not terminal- that’s the big secret.

They are all survivable conditions.

Now, obviously no one wants to upset or disappoint people they care about, but if nothing changes, nothing changes.

What I’m guessing, though, is that you’ll find the person putting the most pressure on you this holiday season is YOU- and that is GREAT NEWS, because you are, in fact, the only person whose behavior you control.

I just watched the new Gilmore Girls episodes on Netflix.  There was a scene in which the divine Emily Gilmore is purging her house of belongings.  She cites a book she’s been reading; Marie Konde’s The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up. in which readers are encouraged to go through their belongings, hold each one in their hands and ask themselves,

“Does this bring me joy?”

If not, out it goes.

What if we did that with the holidays?  What if we examined each tradition, each event, each “should,” and truly considered whether it brought us joy?  What if we really questioned whether it deepened our faith, strengthened our connections, filled us up?

“I have to bake 7 dozen cookies for Mikey’s class party.”  Do you, though?  Bet you don’t.  Newsflash, Mikey would rather have a mom who bought cookies and is in full possession of her faculties and not a lunatic at his class party.  Trust.

Now, if baking 42 billion cookies makes you happy, do it.  If it doesn’t, don’t.  If attending a bunch of parties fills you up in some way, fantastic.  If you’d rather stay home in a Snuggie and watch Love Actually, do that.  If the bustle energizes you, wonderful.  If you need stillness and quiet to truly appreciate the season of light, then BE QUIET.

And I know some of you will say, “It’s not that simple.”  It actually is.  It is actually exactly that simple.

Your joy doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s.

And if while you are doing this holiday inventory, you find that some of the things you have always done are depleting you, making you angry and frustrated- if you’re more Joan of Arc than Buddy the Elf about them? You can bid those ‘musts’ and ‘shoulds’ farewell, send them on their way, and say, “Don’t let the wreath-clad door hit you in the ass on the way out!”

You’re going to have the holiday you choose, one way or another. You can keep hustling.  That’s an option.  Or you can slow down.  You can say no to hustle in order to say yes to joy.  You can move through this season with intention and wonder.  You can come out of the season filled up rather than running on empty.

You really can.


Hey beloveds!

I am writing a book and in order to get said book published it is awfully helpful to make the most of your platform.  At least, that is what The People Who Know The Things tell me.


Please consider doing the following:

Come hang out with me on Facebook!

Follow me on Twitter!

Come see what my dog is doing on Instagram!

If you’re following me on Pinterest… don’t.   And I’m sorry.  I don’t even know how I ended up there…