They say that there is no love like a mother’s love. That a person doesn’t know how much love and devotion they can possibly feel until they have children of their own. For some, I suppose that’s true. For me, it doesn’t work that way. It’s just that I once loved someone so much that they took some of my love away forever: My mother.
My childhood trauma sometimes triggers a cycle of events that leave me in a no-man’s-land of helplessness.
If you’ve lived anywhere other than under a rock, you’ve likely heard horror stories of folks with Bipolar Disorder. Thankfully, they aren’t all true for everyone, and many are exaggerated.
Today I got to see some of George’s family. His sister and her family were here visiting George’s mom. Jenny and I swung over to say hi before they left town again, and to see the new addition. George’s mom and step-dad had a beautiful Sycamore planted in his honor on their terrace. (Pictured above)
I love therapy. I love it to bits. My therapist is kind and funny, and brings me out of my shell. Sometimes, though, she puts me on the defensive. I’m going to talk to her about it today, but I wanted to share with you guys while it’s on my mind. Sometimes, at the end
Today, I have a treat for you. A darling girl (who I took to prom once, full disclosure) reached out to me, and asked if she could share something on Terminally Intelligent. I hope you enjoy Brittni’s stirring words as much as I did. I live my life in a fluid discontentment between anxious and
Folks, if you want to be there for anyone, at any point, anywhere, ever, listen up. It’s your first job to take care of yourself. On flights, the flight attendant tells you to put your own mask on, then help the people next to you. You know why? Because you can’t help someone if you’re passed
