I was 14 when I was first pressured to have sex with my boyfriend. As a young impressionable woman without the moral guidelines of the Bible, I allowed romance movies and novels to provide the lens through which I interpreted the meaning of sex. It was clearly 1) always passionate and 2) the best indicator…
A lovely young woman sits across from me in my small therapy office, buttoned up so tight it looks like she’s hardly even breathing. Her lips are pressed together as she carefully folds, then refolds, the Kleenex on her lap. Then she stops, looks up at me, and says, “If I tell you what happened,…
There is a significant age difference between my boss and me. Me:17. Him: I don’t know, really, maybe in his 40s—old enough to be married, to be a manager, to have his own office. Still, I consider him a friend. We chat, banter, and sometimes things get a little too flirtatious. But I don’t mind….
Not all stories need to be told on the public stage. My story first needed to be told in a therapist’s office. Lying on the couch in my living room. Crying with my husband. Punching my pillow. Breaking glass on a country road. All stories, however, need to be told; we need to be known;…
“In a world so torn apart by rivalry, anger and hatred, we have the privileged vocation to be living signs of love that can bridge all divisions and heal all wounds.” – Henri Nouwen Every breath of air is rationed by the excessive amount of people in this room. An elbow pokes close to my…