Still here.

And she thinks perhaps the saddest part of all is that she is alone. Even when surrounded with people, she is alone. 

If she was able to take back the bits of herself she shared with those who do not respect the vulnerability she gave up; she would close the doors to her soul many moons ago.

Yet, even when all this pain and turmoil are rooted so deep within her, she is still here.

She wonders why sometimes. People will tell you anything in the moment but to actually follow through, that is a rarity we can all fall short on. Fuck, even she does. It’s easy to say “I’m always here for you, no matter what”.

So she sits and cries in her private moments, maybe she prefers this because she considers it safe and familiar.

I think sometimes she can feel her soul breaking. She has nightmares so vivid she would not dare speak of them. Going through the motions without emotion each day.

But then again, she is still here.



Don’t just tell her she’s Beautiful.

Don’t just tell her she is beautiful. Pain is not glamorous. Her mind, heart, and her soul is full of many different types of scars. Etched beneath the surface of her skin.

You need to remind her of all the beauty in the world that is also within herself.

Do not give up on her.  There is still a part of her that is beautiful, it just hasn’t been to the surface in a while. 

So please, don’t just tell her she is beautiful, show her that she is and how. 



Taking a moment to embrace the beauty of the ocean. Every wave is different than the next. The gentle breeze in the sails of boats on the water. 

The ocean can be wild and fierce, or it can be gentle and calm. Such is life. Ups and downs are inevitable. 

Sometimes pain is inescapable but we can choose how we handle these painful experiences. We can choose to give up, give in to sufferings – or we can choose to try to make the best of our days despite the pain.

In the end, the choice is ours. The final decision is ours, no matter if it is an unconscious decision or a fully thought out one.

So, here I sit and marvel at the beauty of the way the water always makes me feel at home. No matter if it is calm or fierce – it feels like home.



We all build fences early on in life. We end up mending, painting, tearing down and building new fences throughout it.

We do this as a means of protection. A way of being able to look out at what is in front of us without fear. 

But sometimes, we spend so much time on our own fence, we end up forgetting to help others with their own maintenance. We forget how to pass down our tips and tricks to loved ones. Showing the importance of having a strong and sturdy base, while also having the ability to lean and sway in stormy, turbulant times without total destruction.

Fences are not made once and left to be forever – neither are we. Constantly maintaining our mind, being kind to ourselves, loving our neighbors while accepting differences and similarities is what life is about. A consistent balance of learning new things and trusting tradition. 

We must remember this. Especially when we feel like our own fence is falling apart, decrepit and rotting. We can always start again. Fences are not always for keeping people or animals out, but assuring what is inside the fence feel safe and aware of the surroundings.



And here she is. Tettering on the edge. Back and forth. Wanting to let go and fall. 

Fall into the water; warm or cold it did not matter. She just wanted to fall into something that would embrace her fully. 

Something that would hold her while she could really let go. Let some thing heal and cleanse her soul.

She cannot fall, though. She has to pull herself back up and onto the dock. Staring at the water and imagining what the water would feel like.

She opens her eyes and realizes it is another dream. Another horrifying image that is somehow comforting in it’s familiarity. 

The clock says it’s only 3:24a.m. so she gets up, spashes water on her face, and stares in the mirror of the bathroom.

As she passes her beautiful daughter on the way back to bed, she lightly kisses her forehead and smiles.

This is her reminder that she cannot fall. She will never feel the way the water could envelope her. 

She will push on.


The sadness inside is slowly consuming her.

The people who are close to her do not see the sorrow behind her eyes anymore. She has become a master at hiding her pain.

The thing about hiding is, you are almost expected to keep up that deceptive part of reality.  It is a continuom of lies really. When the cracks begin to show again, often times people will say, “but you have been doing so well…”, no – I have not been “well” in a long time.

This sadness is all consuming and takes it’s hosts as prisoners. 

Still, somehow, she keeps up this masquerade. 

She always thought the people close to her would see through to the real her, but in actuality these people do not want to know the details of why or what or how or when things fell apart. 

Instead continue to go along with the shell of fakeness engrossing the person they once knew.

They do not want to know. And maybe that is okay. She will fight her demons in this unconscionable sadness alone – like all her battles.


Her Anchor.

She had him. He had her. No matter what chaos came their way, they would always have each other.

She took care of him in a way that no one else but him would know. She was his caretaker after his accident. His nurse, his confidant, his assistant, his cook, his partner, his love, and everything in between.

But to her, God, to her – he was everything. 

He was her birthing coach, her laughter, the most amazing father to their daughter. He was the one who wiped her tears and didn’t have to ask questions. He was the one who showed her what recovery looks like. That you must go through the pain and it is a long, hard process. (One that he is still physically fighting through.)

He was her best friend before anything else. I think that is how all relationships thrive. He knew her inside and out; but he never saw her as being broken.

She feels broken, in ways she can not even begin to describe, he can help numb that feeling, temporarily. He is her anchor.

She knows that they can conquer anything that comes their way together. Their daughter is a prime example – a miracle that came into their lives at the perfect time to save him. 

And save him she did. He was motivated by every kick and movement before she was born. By that time, he was able to be in the birthing room and had grown stronger and stood unwavering. Waiting, coaching, and loving.

Our lives were complete that day. 

Until her mind started to process all that had happened to him in the accident. Thankfully she had their beautiful daughter to focus on. They were (and are) both so grateful to have this beautiful gift to care for and watch grow. Filling their lives with more love and laughter than they ever thought possible.

She was fighting the PTSD behind the scenes for a long time until finally admitting it to those close to her. But now, she keeps it to herself and to him. 

He is her anchor and she will survive this as he reminds her. This is what love is.