Rewritten Road

If you asked me about rituals four years ago, I probably would have told you they felt ornamental.  A little desperate even, like trying to negotiate with chaos using choreography.  But somewhere along the way I realized rituals aren’t about convincing the universe of anything – they’re about convincing your nervous system you’re still here. …

Sometimes I find myself laughing at the irony. Not because it’s funny. But because it’s the only way to hold the weight of it. I survived years of abuse. A lifetime, truly. Survived environments that trained my nervous system to live on high alert. Survived the kind of pain that was supposed to break me.…

There is something almost insulting about how normal the mountain looks when you’re breaking inside. The trees still do their quiet reaching. The rocks still wait where they have always waited. Birds still carry on as if nothing catastrophic has happened in the small, private universe of your chest. I lace my boots anyway. I…

There is a way to hike where you never fully leave where you started. I know this because I do it all the time. One foot lands on the trail and the other is still somewhere years ago. Still standing in rooms I have already left. Still waiting for apologies that never learned how to…

I didn’t notice the anniversary right away. There was no ribbon on the trail. No small brass plaque hammered into the tree that said: Congratulations, you survived yourself. It was just another climb. Another morning of lacing my boots with hands that have learned the shape of effort. Another slow unfolding of breath against incline.…

There is a part of the trail where the trees thin just enough that you can see the sky remembering you. That’s when I start thinking about them. Not in order. Not in neat chapters. Just the way memory works, like switchbacks. My first love taught me betrayal. Not the cinematic kind. Not doors slamming…

I went hiking tonight without much of a plan. Just that quiet pull to move, breathe, to be somewhere that wasn’t inside my own thoughts. Because lately, my mind has felt like a room with no windows. I made the decision to walk away from someone I love very much. Even writing that feels strange.…

There are rooms in the world where truth feels smaller than it should. Courtrooms are one of those places. The first thing I remember is the light. Fluorescent and steady, the kind that flattens everything beneath it. No shadows. No softness. Just a brightness that makes every face look slightly unreal. It didn’t feel like…

I keep circling back to the ceremony of carrying our stones to the river. Giving weight to the grief, the trauma, the hurt. For a long time, I believed the weight I carried belonged to me. That is the strange inheritance of abuse. You grow up assuming the heaviness in your chest is something you…

There’s a particular kind of grief no one prepares you for. I’m not sure anyone can. It isn’t the grief of losing someone else. It’s the grief of realizing you may not have as much time with yourself as you once believed. No one teaches you how to hold that. My doctor tried. Careful language…