Day 184/365 My Dear…

My whole Saturday and Sunday too
I was thinking about ways not to lose
I lay down my weapons is what I’ve done
Too late to hide, feet too soft to run*

This weekend…I wallowed.

I laid down my weapons.

I waved my white flag…mostly from my couch, in my pajamas, subsisting on bread and chocolate, coffee and wine.

I slept A LOT. I allowed my myself to feel angry and sad and sorry for myself. It was a pity party of one, and I was the guest of honor.

When my kids got home last night, I was so happy to see them. I played games with them and I cooked us a good meal, but honestly I was still inexplicably exhausted. I found myself counting the minutes until I could seek the safe haven of my bed once more.

And then…

This morning my inner voice whispered to me…

You needed that. I understand.

But, my Dear…

It’s time to pull yourself up.

You can do this.”

I believe her.

My inner voice is very wise –

She has been through a lot.



*Lyrics by The Wood Brothers

Photo by Alexis Harvey




Day 182/365 Golden Thread

I have a friend who advises, when we are faced with a dark period in life, that we “look for the little golden threads – the small things that bring a smile.”

I understand how a person could grab ahold of their golden threads and use them as a lifeline.

The thing is, I have always had so many golden threads…a beautifully woven tapestry of them, in fact.

Then one day, the tapestry began to unravel.

(I knew it would.)

Throughout my twenties, I often had this dark foreboding thought that my adult life was sure to be fraught with painful experiences. This nagging bit of intuition was quite at odds with my generally positive outlook. I have been referred to as “Pollyanna” on more than one occasion.  My older brother’s friends took to calling me “Sunshine” after overhearing my fourth grade teacher referring to me as such. Many of them still call me that, (several) decades later.

I have never been the gloom-and-doom type.

Nevertheless I had this quietly simmering fear that because everything during my upbringing had been somewhat idyllic – so free of real angst, that surely life was saving up to wallop me. After all, “into each life some rain must fall” and I seemed to have experienced nary a sprinkle.

So there I stood, holding this beautifully woven tapestry of golden threads…a privilege I was certain I had never truly earned.

When it began to unravel, I remained calm.

I patched it, and I sewed it, and I fastened knots to hold it together.

Yet, despite my love for each and every golden thread, I couldn’t keep them from unraveling.

Today I feel as though I am laying here in a pool of loose threads. I still recognize their beauty, but I can’t help but to despair at the state they are in. I run the damaged bits of silky cloth through my fingers, lifting them to gently caress my cheek nostalgically.

How did my tapestry unravel so completely?

I want it back…desperately.

Yet…I can never recreate the tapestry I had before, for some of the most important threads are missing, or have been forever changed.

Still, I know…when I am ready (which I’m afraid is not today)…I must gather up my golden threads, even the frayed and knotted bits (for they are often, in the end, the most beautiful), and I will weave them into something exquisite.

And this time I will know for sure that I have earned it.