She walked past him in the hallway and he didn’t see her. She would touch him, but never reach him. She could speak and his ears were deaf to her secrets. She was a ghost in her own house.

The only times she would appear to him is when she said what he wanted to hear, did what he wanted to do, and left him alone the rest of the time. He would tell his friends how beautiful she was, how understanding, how little she infringed on his freedoms.

And she despised herself for the truth of his words.

It had been so easy to just fade into smoke in her own life. No more fighting, or struggling with words and feelings, or living with rotting dreams and foolish expectations. The more she faded, the more content he became. She realized from her seat on the shelf, behind the glass doors, that it wasn’t personal. He didn’t even know her, he only had her for show.

“You’re not going to wear that, are you? Everybody will be dressed to the nines”

“You can’t write that shit, what will everybody think?”

“Reign yourself in a little, will you?”

He didn’t read what she wrote, or listen to her when she spoke, or hold her when she cried, or love her when she needed it. So she quit writing, speaking, crying, or wanting him.

And his life was swell.

And then.

She began to write again, and in her writing she reached people who could see and hear her. They read her words and shared their own with her. She began to awaken to the world around her, to see and to feel possibilities again. She realized that he wasn’t a bad person, she was just the wrong person for him, and while it made her sad…

It also gave her hope.

She thought maybe ghosts were meant to be alone. They were better off that way. There can be joy in alone, a great sense of peace and safety in alone. Less war, less harm, less pain in alone. You don’t have to feel less when you’re alone, you don’t get compared to others, or dismissed, or ignored. Alone is good.

Let go of expectations…don’t try to change another, change yourself…a stitch in time saves nine and blah, blah, blah…

Alone is an excellent state to reside in…


Just A Woman

I’m just a woman. I’m no movie star, famous author, multi-millionaire or well-know activist. I’m just me; a woman with a job, a marriage, a son, and a few good friends. I wrestle with depression, face off with anger, embarrass myself with my own behavior sometimes, and other times-I just laugh my ass off and refuse to give a single shit.

I love to write, dance with my headphones on when I’m all alone, read late into the night, sing when no one can hear me and make people laugh till they cry. I tell a good story, give great advice, and have a vigilante heart for the downtrodden. I’m just a woman.

I’ll throw myself under the bus to save a loved one from sorrow, speak the truth even when it hurts me, will do without whatever it takes to fill a need for another, and am loyal to those I love until the last ash blows away in the wind, especially when they’ve screwed up.

I’m just a woman, but I’ve got your back.

There are things that touch my heart, some well known, some little known. Puppies slay me, and to me every dog is a puppy. My son in any way, shape or form softens my heart in the hardest times. Someone showing me a kindness or courtesy (it doesn’t happen as often as you’d think). Hallmark commercials, anything to do with military homecomings, babies of any species (not just human), a beautiful garden, and someone brave enough to show me I matter. I am mesmerized by plays.

But I am just a woman.

I know how to put my wants aside for the greater good of another, I can work 3 jobs, keep the house fairly decent, and get supper on the table. I can hate what you do or say, and love and forgive you at the same time. I am, after all, a woman.

I can dream a bigger dream for myself. I can create new boundaries to preserve the integrity of my life. I have the ability to intuit where a person is coming from and what they’re feeling despite their words and actions to the contrary. I can create hope and inspire confidence where there is none with the power of my heart and the magic of my words.

Because I am a woman.

As I age, I will only grow stronger, my heart more pure, my mind more enlightened, and my heart more open. Life will not kick my ass, it will not hold me hostage, it will not dampen my dreams, or limit my reach. What you see as a minority, a challenge, a weakness…is my super power.

I am a woman.

For the Love of Yoga~Seeing the Reflection of Your Soul

My BFF and I have agreed that if we gathered every self help book we’ve ever bought, read, shared and applied (at least temporarily) to our lives into a pile, and set it on fire, we would have a towering bonfire that could be seen from the space station. We lived our entire adult lives, until the past few years, reading up on how to be better wives, happier people, better wives, more authentic women, better wives, peaceful supportive sisters… you get the drift.

I told myself over and again that I was not a “good enough” wife, friend, daughter or human being. Self help books, self help dvds, self help audios, self help gurus added to my feelings of less than. If I just did this, or talked like this, or believed this, or followed the 1,001 steps to achieving enlightenment and joy, my life would be grand. I would be the envy of the universe, I would acquire a halo and everyone would worship at the feet of my perfect self.

I look back and want to slap myself for such foolishness.

How in the world can a self help book, or anything of that nature, help you when you don’t even know the “self” you’re trying to help? Seriously. My mind hopped around like popcorn in a hot skillet, my heart was defeated and my spirit exhausted from all my “self help” shenanigans.

Then I stumbled into yoga.

From my very first pathetic, yet heroic, practice with my Elena Brower DVD I knew I had discovered my Holy Grail. In those first 30 minutes, my mind calmed, my heart eased, and my body relaxed and stretched itself into a state of grace. I had found a safe haven, a place of peace to regroup and restore myself from the endless pointless drama of the world around me.

Despite the awkwardness of trying to watch the TV screen while I copied the asanas, I fell in love, totally and completely. My heart welcomed what became a moving prayer to me, a balletic meditation. I felt the bullshit fade into the background and the truth of me rise. The movements, and pauses, and holding stillness, and bringing gratitude, and focusing my intentions for my day created a world for me that I never wanted to leave. A world I would fight for if need be.

I learned to accept my imperfection as a unique work of art created to experience the beauty of life.

I learned to feel my heart, see the world with compassion and hope, and love the body I’d neglected into a better state of being. I began to accept that sometimes circumstances are shitty, but it doesn’t mean I have to reflect those circumstances in my behavior to myself and others. I looked inside and saw that I was beautiful, I was strong and I mattered in the smallest and greatest scheme of things. I found that no one had authority over me unless I handed it over, and I refused to ever do that again.

Yoga showed me the reflection of my soul, the beauty of my heart, and I fell in love…with me.

the recovering mute-finding your lost voice

The rage you carry in your chest and on your shoulders, the razor sharp and powerful anger that rises up and roils silently behind your eyes-that’s the voice you lost. Correction, that’s the voice you gave away, or allowed to be silenced by the narcissistic ego of another you held in higher esteem than yourself. You bowed into silence beneath the slicing words, the demeaning and irritated looks, the years of inconsideration and negligence that slowly silenced the voice of your heart, and thus you handed over your power. The power over yourself and the world you create.

You were a victim, a martyr, an oversight, an irritant, an overly sensitive whiner, a needy little fool, a pain in the ass. You pulled one of those t-shirts out every day and put it on, not understanding  that nothing continues to happen to you unless you allow it.

That almost uncontrollable feeling that moves right beneath the surface of your skin? That’s your voice. When your head is down but your eyes narrow ever so slightly and your heart beats just a little faster for a second or two? That’s your voice. The tears you hold back that burn like acid when your lips remain silent? That’s your voice. The dreams that wake you up desperate and sweating? That’s your voice. The urge to floor the accelerator in your car and keep driving west until you’re out of gas and somewhere new?


Listen to it.

It isn’t always true that you reap what you sow. Sometimes you sow love, and dreams, and a beloved destiny and reap neglect, nightmares and loss of self respect. Sometimes you give your whole heart, and they eat it while it’s still beating. You reach out to hold and comfort, and they yank your soul into a wood chipper and use it for ego fuel. Sometimes the people you thought to grow something beautiful with are actually parasites that feed off of your pain and confusion.

Am I alone in this realization? Or can I get an “Amen”?

This is what you know now. You decide what happens to you, what you’ll tolerate, how you’ll live. You decide who treats you well enough to remain in your orbit, and those standards are set by how you treat yourself. You are the one who holds the power over you, you hold the key to your heart’s desire. Like Pandora and her box, you throw the lid open and free yourself, your future and your voice out into the world. You refuse to remain silent. You speak the truth that resonates, and write the words that remove walls.

You are no longer mute, and the truth of you crying out into the universe annihilates the false reality, freeing you to stand tall in the rubble and build your own destiny. Your destiny is joy.

Speak your truth. Take back your power.

Raise your voice.

The Tribe of She-Finding Kindred Hearts

In a single heart beat life defeated her, and in the next she came alive. Her eyes lifted and burned bright with a new knowledge; her face glowing with a fierceness that would cause many along her path to tremble and look away. It appeared at first glance that nothing much had changed, but her journey manifested from the inside out, and she listened to nothing but the wolf howling, the magic of the wind that spoke to her, and the rain that cried for what was lost as well as the joy of her return.

Everything that looked the same no longer existed to her.

She began to live such a different reality, that she might as well have dropped everything from her hands, opened the door and walked away. She could have remained the same inside and changed her job, her location, her personal life and in doing so would have made certain to repeat it all over and over again. Like Ground Hog Day from hell. But she didn’t do that.

She redefined herself, and began her journey.

She had wondered all her life how people could offer a diluted version of themselves to another and call it love. Even worse was being asked for a diluted version of herself in return. She had tried for as long as memory served her to give only what didn’t overwhelm or frighten or cause dismay, and most of the time she was successful. All too often though, it flamed up in the heart of her like a volcano, expelling darkness, sparks and fury upon those unfortunate enough to be too close.

She no longer tried to reign it in.

When those around her began to back away, there were only a handful left standing with her, with a like fire and hope in their eyes as they watched her, waiting for a sign. She would journey and return, sharing her treasures found and secrets uncovered and the others began to do the same. But they were so few in number. She knew from her own experiences that there had to be many more out there lost, trapped, angry and diluted. Sisters yes, and brothers, wild of heart and fiery of blood living tepid lives of mundane and minimal expression.

She could no longer tolerate the delusion of dilution.

She walked wild through her days and came home and called out, pounding the keys furiously, a fierce howl calling her clan to rise up from the heart of themselves, to bring the fire of their own transformations with them.

Thus was born The Tribe of She.

She called to them, and they answered, conquering themselves and rising again in the wildfire.

She called to them, and they answered…

Will you?

the tale of She-awaken the sleeping heart

She had been asleep a lifetime. Waiting to be awakened, her Pandora’s box of dreams locked up tight in the dark corner. She didn’t remember now what little poisonous prick had caused her unnatural sleep, and just as forgotten was the prince that was supposed to kiss her awake for her life to begin. She remembered asking “mirror, mirror…” and couldn’t remember why that had been so important to her since she knew, deep down, that she was the mirror.

She realized slowly over eons, that we were all sleeping beauties waiting to rise and fulfill our fairy tales, but we had all been taught to wait, to endure, to accept. She grew tired of lying there, all chaste and lovely, while the world of possibilities danced around her ivory tower. Some were waiting patiently to be loved, she knew, but in her opinion, she thought she should just get up and love herself. She was aware of how everyone looked endlessly for it, and she was fed up with that when love should be searching for her. “Love will save us” everyone whispered. But she shook her fist to the sky and shouted…

“I will save myself!”

She heaved an exasperated (yet delicate, and socially acceptable) sigh of frustration, and rolled out of the fancy bed. Her joints were stiff from lack of use, and she stretched herself as she looked around the tower room that had no door. She noticed a tarnished mirror, a sword, and a pile of armor. Her long hair trailed behind her on the floor as she crossed to the only window to look out and get the lay of the land. Far below she saw piles of rusted suits of armor, and assorted weapons obviously left there when the Knights of Old got sick of trying to figure out a way up to save her. She rolled her eyes and turned towards the room once again.

She stalked to the mirror and inquired of it in a soft yet determined voice.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall

that is just too steep a fall

so pray tell share what I must give

to free myself and let me live?

The mirror shimmered and hummed as it reflected her image and her words into the room. Moments passed before its surface cleared to give her the answer she sought. It finally came to her in symphonic tones that brought relief and beauty to a heart still fighting desperately to remain closed up tight in the tower.

“Child of magic, child of light

you’ve been hidden, now you fight.

You have all you need to free

the person you were meant to be”

She looked down at her gown, and over her shoulder at the length of hair trailing behind her. She carefully braided her hair, knelt to pick up her sword, and sliced her braid free, coiling it carefully by the window. She sorted out the pile of copper armor that reminded her of the taste of blood in her mouth from biting back her words in the past. After careful deliberation she left it there, preferring to be brave enough to let life pierce her straight through the heart if need be, if that’s what it took to be truly free.

She was willing to expose her damage and her fury in honor of her regenerating heart. She would not turn her back on herself again. She would not wait for advice or permission or prince charming. Hell no.

She tossed her braid over the ledge, secured it to the bed, and threw her leg over the window sill. She looked over her shoulder one last time and smiled at herself in the mirror on the wall, where she’d learned to love herself, and honor her heart.

She was fierce, she was bad-ass, and she was jumping.

Are you coming?

Living With Fear-Start Scaring The Life Into You

Fear is an emotion induced by a threat perceived by living entities, which causes a change in brain and organ function and ultimately a change in behavior, such as running away, hiding or freezing from traumatic events. ~ Wikipedia

Maybe you’re afraid that people laugh behind your back when you say you’re a writer, or you fear the rejection that comes when, well hell… your writing is rejected. Your fear could be that, while the entire world thinks you’re awesome, somebody is going to uncover the fact that you’re an imperfect, fallible human being, so you can’t be awesome you must be a poser. Maybe your husband (who has his own gut to worry about) doesn’t find you as attractive or lovable since you’ve gained ten pounds, or fifty. Maybe you’re afraid that you just won’t live long enough to realize your biggest dream.

Everything you want is on the other side of fear. ~ Jack Canfield

Pick your poison. You can scare the hell out of yourself to keep your mouth shut about who you really are, and never send that work of art in for consideration, and keep killing yourself for the perception of perfection, and hide under clothes and blankets and “not tonight honey”, and waste your life wishing…


Fear is the brain’s way of saying that there is something important for you to overcome. ~ Rachel Huber

You can say fuck you to your spineless, sniveling, 1% self, and take the other 99% of you to do the deeds. You state who you are with no apologies, scared be damned. When’s the last time someone paid you $20 for writing a few words…yeah, that’s what I thought. You strut through your life in your imperfectly portrayed awesomeness, and you love your husband (and his little gut) and assume he loves you in the same way. You keep pounding the keys, chasing that dream, throwing yourself out there, because when you do die, they’ll say…

That chick was fucking courageous.

You want to scare the life into yourself? You just re-read that first paragraph and ask yourself if that’s what you want to be said about you when you do actually die, in the quiet little corner you’ve stuffed yourself into. Your other option is to live your life like there is no tomorrow, because there may not be a tomorrow. You speak your truth, write your words, love your man (or woman), and live large and in charge baby.

The meaning I picked, the one that changed my life: Overcome fear, behold wonder. ~ Richard Bach

Be wonder-full. Be alive. Be the truth of you. Be love. Be afraid and tell the Universe you’re living in full blown living color.

I’ll see you on the other side of fear…be afraid, and do it all anyway.

The Saving Of The She-Living Your Story

She filled the empty inside her with many things, but since that pit was bottomless and ravenous there was no success in the filling of it. There was no end to its acceptance, its demand, for more. She lived in a constant state of lack and sorrow that she carried within.

It began to kill her.

She had been hurt so many times, her disappointments and losses so defeating to her soul, that her heart began to harden, and her mind to grow harsh and judgmental towards herself for her follies. She began to withhold her thoughts and feelings, because she learned they didn’t matter to those she had surrounded herself with. She ate, drank, shopped and smoked her way towards a fullness that never came. She used her intelligence, sarcasm and quick wit to distract, divert and entertain all the attention away from her weaknesses. She became skilled at appearing to have it all together, and the more successful she was at that…

…the more unbearable her isolation became.

The circumstances she surrounded herself with slowly seeped into her spirit, tainting her perception and value of all she was. She no longer saw herself as the mystical, mythical force of light she always believed herself to be. In response, the sorrow she carried expressed itself in the weight that grew and wore her down. Her heart faltered and mirrored its spiritual hardening. The futile bitterness and regret spread outwardly from her thoughts into the reality she created and the pressure of her blood flow escalated with her rage.

She realized no one was coming to save her.

Knocked to her knees, her head bowed, she accepted there was no storybook life for her because she’d been living in the margins. There was no epic tale to tell if she didn’t live a life worth the telling. She would have to slay the dragon and free herself from the tower of foolishness. There was no gold if she didn’t spin it herself, no knight in shining armor to save her, no prince to kiss her awake.

She had to be the warrior that would save her.

She drew the sword from her own heart and saw herself in its reflection. She was astonished to see herself as she would be, superimposed over the image of what she’d made of herself. She began to slice and chop away at the thick vines that held her back from the light she needed. She tore down the walls around her stone by stone with her bare hands. When the dragons of rage and bitterness landed in her way, she inhaled their fire, looked them in the eyes and said “Back. The fuck. Off.” If they refused, she closed her eyes, absorbed them into herself, and moved on to the next joy.

She became the hero in her own story.

Are you the hero in yours?

The Loss of the She

Be careful what you wish for. She’s not some fairy tale, she’s the real deal, the woman who walked through the fire of betrayal and came out smoking hot. She’s introverted and larger than life. She’s the life of the party if you can coax her into leaving her solitude. She dreams big, cries easily, loves deeply and gives endlessly. She’s the irresistible force and the immoveable object at the same time.

Many are the fools who skimmed atop the shallow waters of her surface like a dragonfly unaware of the danger below the placid. So too are the careless, the cutting and the negligent who left her to bleed, expecting her to fade quietly away. Those who made the mistake of taking her silence for weakness, her calmness for acceptance, and kept slicing until she refused to bleed another drop. She watched those who hurt her with eyes narrowed in sorrow and rage, only allowing herself a small defiant curl of her lips as they blindly passed by the gold she held within her.

Oh you fragile of ego and awareness, you have inadvertently called up the wolf. She is pacing, eyes glittering with life, teeth gleaming as she smiles in a way that makes you shrink into your little reality. You didn’t realize she knew her own worth? That she could still see her own value in the dirty mirror you held up to trick her into a sorrowful acceptance? That she would be unable to contain the ferocity of joy that demanded release?

Take a knee and bow your head in defeat. You have lost a precious treasure, by not holding, listening, loving. You have abdicated your right to the fierce devotion, the ignited passion that only comes with giving and trust and respect. Step down and step back, you are not worthy of holding her hand, much less her heart.

She is every element, all possibilities, mystery, magic and the gift of flight.

She is wondrously, gloriously human, you fool.

You will mourn the loss of the She.