I’m Ready


The cure for shame is courage, and courage comes from vulnerability, and if I am being honest and brave, I must admit I have not been writing as much here because I have been locked in some shame jail, feeling terribly blocked and isolated. I am not depressed or anxious… yet. But if I don’t listen and write and share the weight of these last shackles of shame, no one will come unlock them.

Shame cannot survive empathy.

My writing teacher told our class (in words better than these clunkers), something I write could save someone’s life. I believe that to be true, because the words of so many writers have saved mine.

Reprising her role in my life as storyteller-savior is Brené Brown. These words of hers echo Alice’s, “Shame derives its power from being unspeakable.”

And there is no f’ing way I am giving my power to shame instead of to help someone else, starting with myself.

So friends, and the tens of you that read and comment and share posts and cheer and send me good vibes, I am going to task a risk, KT Tape up my knees, crack open my heart again, and little by little get these stories up and out. Stay tuned.

Here’s Brené if you don’t know her work.

Everything and Nothing: The Past 35 Days

Ummmm… oops?

So apparently, in the last 35 days, I took an unintended sugarleg break. Except for tweets. And a bit of Instagram. Oh, and maybe some Pinterest. A dash of Facebook happened and a little Go Mighty too. Also a writing class. (And a writing workshop!) A couple dates. A wedding (not mine, duh!) A baby shower (also not mine, duh!) Too much TV/caffeine/sugar/cheese. Not enough sleep or money.  A lotta lotta work, of the productive and rewarding kind.

But only sporadic running.

And uneven writing.

If I (re)learned anything during my fantastic 5-week writing class, it was the importance of writing every day, even if it is not getting posted or published every day. I realized that my writing routine has been so linked to my running routine, that when the running is off, my writing rhythm has suffered. That is clearly no excuse, but I am kind of surprised at my deep commitment to not just write, especially with what I know is some damn good material rattling around in the noodle.

Alas, it only counts once it’s on the page.

That is why I am proclaiming here that I know I am stuck and that I know how to fix all of this: call the acupuncturist and make an appointment for him to work on my knee; call the writing coach, the blogging mentor, and other supporters to make a plan; go bed earlier; oh and: