Retouching the Corpse

Part of me didn’t care what happened to the body. Mom had spent years abusing it, drinking and smoking, eventually producing the bloated, blackened cadaver before me. I had spent the past week alternately praying it into miraculous recovery and begging Mom to leave it because it was a completely useless thing now. On about the fourth day of her coma Dr. Carvahlo had suggest draining the infection and running tests on the pus. My argument was: who cares what the disease was, after it had shut down her kidneys, gangrened her legs and hands, and rendered her lungs useless? Two days later, Mom’s only working organ slowed to a stop - her heart.

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Late Pregnancy

Late pregnancy is all-consuming. Every movement declares my impending motherhood. This child is always in the back of my mind, when he's not in the front. Everyone is asking when the baby will come, as if I know. They say I'm "about to pop," but I feel confident I will make it at least to Spring Break. My first was a week late, and this pregnancy has been like a rerun of the first, similar in almost every detail.

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A Theological Shift

As of late, I feel that so much of the national discourse has fallen along divides that I know all too well. Politics pull out our deepest beliefs about the world and our religious values. I see a wide range of these. My facebook feed is chock full of staunch conservatives, Church going good people who vote right, liberals, and change-making, activist liberals (labels that I give out lovingly for the sake of this post — not to box anyone in to a complete identity). It ranges the spectrum. So when I have read many commentaries on the recent election and the country’s reaction to it, I notice how many highlight the inability for people to listen to one another and even conceptualize in any way where the other person may be.

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Quick Rinse

When I was growing up, I always admired the fact that my mom worked full-time and that she was independent, yet so dedicated to our family. When I asked her about other people who were stay-at-home-moms I remember her telling me, "I always wish that I had wanted that," almost as if she didn't have a choice in her career-driven mentality.

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You Broke my Heart in June

Going back to the beginning, I don’t think we ever expected more than a few months of fun, but it became apparent in the early weeks that there was more. I was broken, you wanted to fix me. On the flipside, you were a mess and I needed a challenge to get my mind off of everything that broke me. We fell fast and hard, ignoring the rules of rebounding and the fact we were too young for something so real. Those days weren’t easy, and the years that followed were littered with speed bumps, but maybe not more than any other relationship.

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The Disenchanted City

I had dreamed about going to Europe since I was eight years old.  I specifically have always wanted to go to Paris. This was a dream I held onto and when I was sixteen I made a master plan to spend a year in Europe once I turned eighteen. I did research and detailed the plan to my parents who said that if I met my monetary goal they would match it. But then I did not find anywhere that wanted to hire a sixteen-year old and so the plan was put aside. I still vowed that I would see Paris before I turned twenty-four.

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Seeking Self as a Lady Academic

Waking up at 3am with the thought “I need to go to Divinity school” was quite surprising. It was a fairly humid early morning on May 20th. I stumbled out of bed to grab my laptop from my desk to see if I even had the option of enrolling for the fall. The deadline had been extended an extra 11 days. The spiritual side of my personality took this as a sign as I slowly guided my mouse down the page. I knew I wanted to stay in Nashville for the time being and I had no idea where I wanted to go with my life. Leaving the world of college athletics and entering into a period of spiritual reflection while working in a mind-body-soul shop lent me a return to my love of philosophical engagement.

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About Damn Time

My mother pushed herself to graduate high school in three years rather than four and was therefore able to start university studies at age 17. She'd been in love with a boy since she was 14, and she wanted to be at the university with him. Her father didn't approve of this boy (he suspected that the boy was of sub-standard ethnic stock, and he also knew that the boy's family was far less wealthy and educated than his own). Mom, with the support of her own mother, didn't obey her father's instructions not to see the boy; Mom said that from the first moment she saw him, she knew that he was the love of her life.

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The Story of a Sketchy Road and Two Men I Met, Neither of Whom Raped Me

I had been in graduate school for over three years but hadn’t taken a night class. So when I started teaching Psych 280: Community Psychology from 6:00 pm to 8:30 pm, it was very possibly the first time I had found myself walking alone at night across campus. For the first week, I followed my autopilot footsteps – the same path I walked home every single day.

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When I Danced With a Wedding Crasher

Recently, my aunt met a good man and they got married. My family and I made the long trek down to Florida for the joyous event. We got to the hotel just hours before the rehearsal dinner and after a flurry of hurried preparation, we met with the family. As with most family reunions when you’re young, you tend to answer the same questions about your love life, college, and what your plans are for the future.

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A Year of Storytelling

There is power in telling your own story.

It sounds silly. To tell someone that their life can change if only they tell their story. Don’t we already know our stories? We’re living them. We’re breathing our stories in and out every day. But are we really letting ourselves live into our stories? Are we stopping ourselves, looking back—reflecting—and wondering what it is that brought us to where we are in our lives today?

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Superhero Mom

In fifth grade, for Halloween, I wanted to dress up like my mom. 

In fact, I did.  But only for show her.  It was supposed to be a surprise, because I didn’t want to be a hippie for the third year in a row.  I remember sitting on my pink, blue, and green swirled comforter thinking that I wanted to dress up like someone I like.  I didn’t want to be just another witch or the fourth kid to have the brilliant idea to be the pink power ranger. 

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Shine A Little Light

You see, I was born into a system, a family, whose very history is fraught with the most insidious abuses; kept in the secret and in the dark.  When you come into a world like that, you lose your power and your voice before you can even walk.  Even as I took my first steps and learned my first words, how was I to know that a monster would step out of a closet and snuff out my life before it began?

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