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Why would I say this? Because most of us have no real practice in daily, deliberate and uninterrupted acts of self-love. A new year begins. We say we want to do things differently. This time we really mean it, no more fucking around. We’re tired of starting and not finishing, tired of not doing that […]

I don’t usually write about my kids. It’s been a kind of unspoken rule I have had for my writing. Today I’m breaking that rule. This morning, while in meditation, the words to this essay began taking shape. ❦ I have two beautiful and amazing children. My daughters, T and N, were the first two

I regret nothing. That’s right. I had a fucking blast. My drinking days were good while they lasted. Sure, there were blackouts and some awful choices. I was at times reckless and maudlin and outrageous and hilarious. But I was an addict, a woman addicted to alcohol. I was a girl-woman stuck in her pain,

This is my mother. We call her Ama. Whenever my siblings and I have spoken of her in the third person we referred to her as Mama. But we never, ever called her Mom or Mommy. She never wanted to be a mom or a mommy. But she has loved us in her own way,