Posted on by palmtreemomma

Good Little Girls

The good thing about a life turned upside down is the ability to look at yourself from another angle. This pandemic has made it pretty clear who I am and what I need to thrive. While many around me are itching for life to get back to normal, there are aspects of “normal” that I am not yet ready for. Like lots of places to go and big crowds of people.

Call me crazy, but I love being at home. By myself. In the quiet.

My parents say that when I was a baby and we came home from an evening away, they would lay me in my crib and I would look up at the ceiling and kick my legs vigorously, my whole body exuding happiness at being home. Sometimes, when in someone else’s home, I would look up at the ceiling and wail. I knew when I was in my space and when I was in a stranger’s space. When I was home, I knew it in every cell of my body.

I have loved having more time at home, even though I am rarely alone since the rest of the family has been here too. But more home, less away, less people, that is something I need.

an honest confession

The other thing I’m quite okay with is less hugging. I still hug my husband and kids and that’s okay. But I’m just not a huggy person.

Now I’ve probably offended some of my friends because I know a lot of huggy people. Don’t worry, if you are my friend, I will still hug you when I decide I’m done social distancing. It’s just something that rarely comes natural for me. In fact, sometimes it makes me uncomfortable.

I’ve tried to figure out why. Is something wrong with me? Is it my Swiss-German roots showing through after skipping a few generations? Maybe it’s just my personality? Or is it unresolved childhood trauma?

We are fundamentally changed by trauma, not only psychologically, but at the cellular level as well.

Toko-pa Turner

Think about that for a moment. Not only our minds, but the cells of our bodies change as well, when we go through trauma. And while I am not yet able to write about my particular childhood trauma, I know that it has changed me. And I will probably spend the rest of my life working to heal from those wounds.

Good little girls

But here’s the thing that is eating away at me. Little girls (and often boys too) in a strict, faith-based purity culture, are taught to be nice at all costs. They must reciprocate hugs even when they don’t want to. These good little girls must serve and give and then serve some more. Dress a certain way. Walk like this and talk like that. How do they ever learn to have a voice about their own bodies? How do little girls, who are groomed to walk into a room and read it and then make it comfortable for everyone else, how do they ever learn to truly be comfortable in their own skin? Little girls ( and boys) who are taught niceness above authenticity, and are never given the right to say “no” are being set up for trauma and abuse.

I had a wake-up moment one day when I encountered a family who did not make their children gives hugs when it was time to say good-bye. They let the child choose whether or not they wanted to. And when someone was offended, they answered that they wanted their children to grow up knowing they had a voice over their own bodies.

I wonder what the world would look like if little girls (and boys) grew up knowing they had a voice over their own bodies. If they were taught emotional health above being nice. That it’s okay to say no and set boundaries. That being authentic is a good thing.

I think of my own circle of friends. So many beautiful, strong and powerful women – yet each struggles with her own story of trauma and doubts her worth. Many of them, like myself, feel guilty if they say no and struggle to carve out a life that is even a little comfortable for themselves, even though they bend over backwards to make life comfortable for others.

stop being so nice

A while back I wrote about choking on niceness and I want to circle back to that today. Whether you are a parent of small children, or are re-parenting yourself, niceness is not all it’s cracked up to be. Niceness sets you up for trauma. It dulls your senses until you have no idea who you really are anymore.

Niceness is… nice. But easily compromised. Exhausted. Drained dry.

Stop being so nice and try being kind instead. Be kind to yourself, first of all. Because when you are kind to yourself, those traumatized cells just may begin to heal. You won’t find yourself so burned out. Your inner lamp will burn brightly and you will be able to run the marathon. Then you can be who you are meant to be. And teach your little girls and boys to be authentic and kind. We don’t need another generation of nice people.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Savior Culture

I grew up in a “savior” culture. A culture that taught that we had found the one and only way. We had the right answers. Our job was to save anyone who did not hold to the same values.

This has damaged me. And it has brought much sorrow and suffering to minorities and the earth that holds and sustains us all. Savior culture is steeped in pride and arrogance. It alienates and belittles all who are other.

White people, we are not saviors. We are not the answer. And we clearly have not found the way. Not when that way excludes, pushes down, and shushes those who are suffering. Or tells them how they should speak about their suffering. What they should or should not do.

healing or hurting

If someone comes to you, wrapped in trauma and shaking in fear. Blood dripping, tears flowing. Do you interrupt them and tell them the correct way to cry or the right words to use? Do you bring up your own pain and remind them that everyone is wounded? Or, do you drop everything, hold them, and listen to them while you bandage their wounds? Can you sit with them in their pain? Or do you become angry with them instead of their oppressors?

When we bear witness to trauma, we can either love or lecture. Hear or cause further harm. Protect, or persecute. We cannot do both.

Think about it for a minute. About all the ways you and I have been a part of a culture that tells the traumatized how they should react to their trauma. We criticize marches and slogans, speeches, and movements. We are so offended at Black knees kneeling to get our attention that it took a white knee kneeling on the neck of a Black man to wake us up. Most of us haven’t given it enough thought to realize that the anger and the violence that sometimes surfaces during times like this are because of us. Because of our failures. Kimberly Jones explains this well in this video. How we broke the contract.

on the edge

I look around me today and I see the world on the edge of its seat. Collectively on edge. Leaning forward. We’ve grown weary, to the point of exhaustion, fighting a very visible battle against an invisible virus. Maybe people have more time on their hands because of COVID. Or maybe we’re just ready for a visible, tangible thing we can do. Perhaps the air itself has been cleared of all the many things that clutter and take over our lives. Whatever it is, we find ourselves on the edge of our seats, taking in a big breath and coming together like never before.

My little city has had at least one rally, march or protest every day since George Floyd was murdered. And we are not alone. This could quite possibly be the largest civil rights movement globally, as all 50 states and more than 50 countries have joined in.

This is not our moment

But, white people, we must be careful not to shut down the voices of the traumatized. This is not our moment to pick up the mic. And while we must speak up, our conversations should center on learning from the Black leaders of the movement. Now is the time to let our backs be the floor of the stage. Our hands holding up the mics for others. Let’s freely offer our sweat, blood, and tears, but let the voice be the voice of Black people. This is not our moment to shine and it certainly is not our moment to save. It is our time to be quiet and listen. To swallow our words instead of correct or criticize.

Jo Luehmann says it so well.

White people cannot lead the fight against white supremacy… To explain why, I’ll compare this to patriarchy. The fight against misogyny should be fought by men too, but imagine men on panels posing as leaders that are fighting against patriarchy. Haven’t they had enough to say on this? If you can’t feel racism in your bones, if you cannot feel the oppression of living in a world made for whiteness then you can’t lead the fight against that oppression. You cannot be an expert. We need you to join the fight, but please know your role here.

Jo Luehmann

Jo has many wise words and I encourage you to follow her here and learn from her.

what we can do

This is not to say that we should be quiet and ignore the movement. Stay in our comfortable homes and let others do all the work. Silence is a form of violence. I’ve found myself wrapped in it often enough to know that silence is painful to those who are suffering. No, we must speak up. Now more than ever. But we must take care not to shape or control the narrative. This is not our moment.

When we must correct, let us correct our fellow white people. If we must challenge, let’s challenge each other. If we must motivate someone to do better, let’s motivate each other. Because we can do better than this.

Now is the time to let our backs be the floor of the stage. Our hands holding up the mics for others. Let’s freely offer our sweat, blood, and tears, but let the voice be the voice of Black people.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

The Space That Lingers Between

3 children stand at an entrance to an ancient temple courtyard in Bali

It’s only April but it feels like it’s been a year since 2020 dawned. Back in January, when whispers of COVID-19 began circulating, it seemed so far away. Impossible to travel here and completely invade and shut down life as we know it. Yet, here we are.

I’ve lost track of how many weeks since our stay-at-home order was issued. How can days run into each other and blur together, and still be unspeakably long? I’ve written about anxiety and grief. Those two things seem to sum up my world these days. I have to work really hard to practice things like gratitude and positivity.

While scientists are working round the clock to find answers to stopping this virus, the rest of us have questions that only time will answer.

endless questions

I’m sure you have your own list. But here are some of mine.

Will everyone I love still be alive when this is over?

Will the business we have poured ourselves into for the past decade survive this shut down?

What about the stores that buy from us so that we can buy from Pebble? How many of them will still be in business after this is over?

Are the women who craft Pebble in Bangladesh going to survive this pandemic?

Will my son fail his classes and have to repeat this grade?

Is my marriage going to survive all the added stress of this pandemic?

Where will our salary come from once the stimulus check is used up?

Is my son’s lingering cough and chest pain from the virus? And when will testing be readily available so we know who’s had it and who hasn’t?

My list goes on and on and on.

Sitting with the questions

In an age of Google and quick learning, microwaves, and text messaging, we are not used to sitting with questions for long. Yet, here we are, each of us with our own giant pot of questions. Slowly simmering, heat building as the molecules of anxiety and grief collide in a pool of unknowns.

We can turn away from the questions. Pretend the grief and anxiety are not there. Until one day they explode all over us. We are not made to ignore the sadness and the questions.

Or we can stand at the pot of questions, stirring it constantly so it doesn’t burn. Forgetting to see the good that is still swirling around us. Until one day the pot stirs us and consumes us. We are not made to see only questions and feel only grief.

The space in between

Somewhere there is a space that lingers between the questions and the answers. And in this in-between space, we find our humanity. We find grace. Here is an invitation to pull up a chair and sit for a while. To find Divine presence that lingers in the hard waiting places. As the questions, longings and grief wrap around us like a cocoon, we are being given a place to rest.

I would rather pace. Open the cocoon and find immediate answers. Make something happen. Now! I don’t like waiting. I get incredibly frustrated when I don’t have the answers. Ambiguity is not yet my friend.

But today I’m choosing to settle into this space in between. To see it as a temporary home. Sitting with the questions, I am also sitting with my humanity. I remember that I am but dust and to dust I will return. And I find that I am cradled with grace for another day.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Tending the Grief

As loss blankets the world, coating everything and every place in the weight of silence, confusion and pain, many of us stumble awkwardly. Mundane tasks take twice as long as before. Survival is a full time job. Emotions come with a tornado-like force as we feel the brunt of this whirlwind.

Fear.

Exhaustion.

Loneliness.

Anger.

Rage.

Helplessness.

Both overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time.

There is so much to feel right now. So much to process. So much muchness to this crisis.

I suppose there are some who may be enjoying their stay-cation. Happy to be getting projects done around the house or binge watching favorite shows. But most people I know are struggling to survive. Trying to balance homeschooling, working from home, creating 1001 meals and snacks a day while only grocery shopping once a week. Paying the bills with no income. Applying for grants that sound promising but feel hollow weeks later. Crossing scheduled events off the calendar. Staring at emptying bank accounts.

Naming the grief

It’s too much, these colossal losses. Jobs. Lives. Health. Rhythms and structures that kept us sane. Gathering places and people to gather with. All the things that once filled us up. Most of us don’t have time to process and really think about all the things we feel right now – yet, if we don’t, these things will smother us.

Somewhere along the line, I realized I was slowly naming the grief. Identifying various losses. Giving them names and telling them where to sit in the basement of my soul until it was their turn to be dealt with.

Sometimes we have to push things aside momentarily while we tend to our survival. But at some point, we need to remember and tend to our grief and our losses.

Tending the grief

One grief that I am tending to is the loss of meaningful work. I’ve had many different jobs over the years. Worked in restaurants, bookstores, schools. I cleaned houses, did nannying, ran a printing press. There was an after school program, a guest house, even my own home baking business. Some were exhausting but paid the bills. Some were enjoyable but didn’t pay the bills. Others were tolerable. But precious few were meaningful.

The last 10 years have been different. Since starting Kahiniwalla with my husband, work has taken on a whole new meaning. You can read more about that here. I don’t wake up dreading the thought of going to work – I love it! It felt like after all these years I finally found my thing. Even during the years when we didn’t know if we were going to make it, living on next to nothing, the meaning I got from our work helped keep me going.

Now our warehouse sits quiet and cold on the other side of town. Shelves stocked with toys, ready for shipping but no one to ship them to. Stores had pretty much stopped ordering even before the Ohio stay-at-home order was put into effect. Many are fearful and uncertain, spending money on essentials, not on fair trade toys. I get that. But even while I understand it, I grieve it.

I miss sitting at my desk in a brightly lit room, printing out orders and filling boxes. Running down the steps to let the UPS driver in to pick up the days’ stack of boxes. Emailing invoices and balancing the books. Organizing incoming orders. Having coffee breaks with my husband and planning our next e-blast. Booking flights and making accommodations for trade shows. Blogging about social justice issues. Communicating with Pebble in Bangladesh. Just being connected to this buzzing network of hope where amazing women are being empowered.

And it’s not over. Good grief. That would be a whole other level of loss. But to have something so big and meaningful on pause, for even the tiniest bit, makes me feel incredibly sad and lost.

Now I spend my mornings at a small desk in the bedroom. There is a small stash of Pebble toys in our attic, for tiny orders that occasionally trickle in. I answer emails, change shipping dates, pay bills. Since things are completely shut down in Bangladesh as well, there’s not much to do except to worry. Hope. Pray. Wait. Grieve.

Sitting in the grief

There’s a Pebble shaped hole the size of Bangladesh inside of me. Tending the grief is hard. How does one tend to a hole in the soul? I don’t know. I’m not an expert on these things. But I do know that naming it has helped. Intentionally picking it up and turning it round in my mind helps to bring clarity.

This meaningful work has nothing to do with worth but everything to do with satisfaction. Purpose. Filling up.

Morning light is hitting the trees outside my window. Soon they will be bathed in a golden glow. Dark shadows pushed aside as they soak in the light. I hold my grief up to the light, hoping the dark shadows will be pushed back a little further each time I do this.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

The Weight of Anxiety

A silent monster has been sitting on my chest for days now, pressing in and squeezing my lungs. Sometimes he gets up and leaves for a while and I wonder if it was all in my head. Is it anxiety turned panic attack? Or is it the dreaded virus?

My eldest has finally come home and we are all self-quarantined together for 2 weeks, to make sure he hasn’t carried anything with him from California. We think he had the virus way back in February but was not able to be tested. But that is another story.

There is a happy comfort in all 5 of us being back under one roof. A crazy testosterone haze hovers as laughter and chaos zigzag our days. Each of us trying to find a quiet corner when we need to study, work or retreat. It is both glorious and difficult to all be in one space.

The silent monster

In an effort to appease the silent monster on my chest, I amp up my yoga and meditation. I take walks in the park, journal and pray. I rearrange the bedroom to create a retreat that is both peaceful and beautiful. With intention, I do things that normally bring peace and calmness. I create meals and snacks which are devoured by the humans around me. I read and rest. And yet, the monster keeps coming back.

A friend of mine suggests that they are panic attacks. So I call my doctor to ask for help and her gentle voice soothes me.

I do everything in my power, in this time and place, to rid myself of the monster, but it is still there. I gulp potions of vitamins, drink pots of tea. The monster gets up and wanders off for a bit. I feel relief for a moment, only to be followed by body aches and chills that leave me feeling as if I have a fever but I do not. My head aches and I take more naps in one day than I normally take in a month. I delegate dinner prep and wrap myself in a robe, shutting myself in my room.

By morning, the aches have lessened but the monster is back on my chest. I don’t feel panic but I struggle to take deep breaths.

Ancient wisdom

Days turn into a week and I lean in, trying with all of my being to listen to the ancient wisdom my body is speaking to me. This silent monster often comes with no apparent or rational reason. My therapist told me the other day that this is normal; that anxiety attacks can hit out of nowhere and for no rational reason.

So I’ve decided to let my body be scared when it is scared. Even if my mind is at peace, even if I’m doing all the right things, it still senses reason to fear.

I’m not going to let it run or ruin my life. But I am going to let it be what it is. Without ignoring it. Or dramatizing it.

Acknowledging all I feel

The truth is, I am scared. Even if I know it will all be okay in the end. I am scared and I am grieving. Like one of my friends said this week – “humans were not made for this”. We were made to be together. To celebrate and weep together.

So whatever you are feeling today – fear, anxiety, grief, sorrow, despair – let it come. You cannot heal from something that you do not first acknowledge and give space to sit.

While my body reacts to this invisible monster that grabs my heart and shakes it around inside my chest and pushes my lungs until I struggle to breathe deeply, I acknowledge it. I comfort the little girl huddled in the corner of my soul that doesn’t know if it will be okay in the end. Like Russian dolls that stack inside one another, I see a whole line of me – from tiny child to ancient crone. Each one embracing the one before her until all of me is loved by all of me.

And I am okay. I don’t know the end of this story. I know I am not done with the grief and questions. Yet right now, I sit and let the silent monster sit with me. I show it around, point out the door. But instead of trying to force it out, I give it a tiny smile and go back to embracing the crone and the child and all that sits between.

This is an unprecedented time for all of us. If you need someone to listen, I am here.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Leaking Love

Our world has been turned upside down by COVID-19. Young or old, none of us have seen anything like this before. Weariness coats our existence. Grief stalks us as unfamiliar routines become the new normal. For all who are weary and have nothing to give today, this is for you. Your brokenness is okay. All the cracks you feel prepare you for leaking love. 

 Empty, so empty.
 The chamber of my soul cracked and dry.
 How can I give another day when I have nothing?
 ...when weariness coats my existence like an ill-matched glaze
 on a cracked and misshaped pot.
 I am spent.
 Poured out.
 Nothing left but sharp words and loud sighs.
  As morning's fog wraps around me I know that my body has found  rest.
But not my soul.
 Why does love scoop out the hollows and take  every drop?
 It costs more than I have to spend.
 I wait, a cracked and misshaped pot, waiting to be filled.
 I wait while birds sing a springtime song on a winter morning,
 whispering of life exploding under the surface,
 waiting to burst out on the other side.
 I sit.
 I wait.
 The tender hands of my Creator pick me up. 
There is a smile in those hands,
 a love for cracked and misshaped pots
 that leak more than they hold.
 My Creator drinks from me 
and in that drinking I am filled for
 it is love that brought me to those lips, 
not to take but to give.
In that tender-hold of love, my cracks are beautiful.
 As long as these hands hold me, they hold my burdens too.
 I breath deep and let go,
 letting my anxiety slip through the cracks
 while love fills up.
 I wait, while footsteps fall soft outside my door.
 I know the pouring out will soon begin.
 In my brokenness today, let me leak only one thing,
 let it be love. 
Let me leak love.

Know that you are not alone. I’m here if you need to talk.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

If I Loved Myself

Most of my life, she said, I was my worst enemy. Then the cancer gave me a gift in the form of a question. It might be too simple for you…

If I loved myself, what would I do?

Notice the question has an if. It never assumes I do. Just if. So I could ask no matter if I was in pain or laughing or crying. Just if… I asked and I asked and I asked and it stopped all the behavior that impeded me. I never had to do anything. Just answer this one question.

Kamal Ravikant in Rebirth

Rebirth is the story of a pilgrim walking the Camino de Santiago. The above quote came from a conversation he had with a pilgrim he briefly bumped into on his pilgrimage. The question – “If I loved myself, what would I do?” has stuck with me in poignant and real ways.

If I loved myself

Self-care has always come hard for me. Probably because self-love was not modeled. In fact, the community where I grew up insinuated that self-love was wrong. Self-sacrifice was the thing to strive for instead. “Love your neighbor” was propped up on something else instead of the “as yourself” bit.

But the thing I have come to learn later in life is that loving your neighbor is shallow and trite if you do not first love and care for yourself. I know from personal experience that the “love” for others can slowly turn into hate. All my good intentions, self-sacrifice, and service sent me spiraling into depression and compassion fatigue because I did not know how to love and care for myself first.

The question, “If I loved myself, what would I do?” is especially relevant in times of crisis and high stress. Let me give you an example.

Loving myself in stressful times

I have trouble sleeping well in the best of times. Maybe it’s midlife hormones creeping up on me and causing havoc. I don’t know. But normally when I wake in the night I soon fall back asleep when I meditate and focus my breathing. Lately, however, that has not been working.

I find myself waking out of a deep sleep to the sound of a nonexistent alarm. Instantly I think of my son on the West Coast, struggling to get groceries and find work after his film studies program was shuttered. I worry how we will pay the bills now that sales have all but ground to a halt. A million worries and questions dance through my brain and I try to take deep breaths, but somehow there is no depth to them.

So the other night, as I lay in the quiet darkness, I let this question play itself out in my head.

“What would I do if I loved myself?”

In that moment, I realized I needed some self-care. So I spoke to myself and calmed myself down. My fears were irrational. I reminded myself that I was in a safe place. That I didn’t have to take care of anyone. There was nothing I needed to fix. I could just be. As I let myself sink into the softness of my bed, the fears drifted away and I was soon back asleep.

This morning I answered the question by leaving the house and taking a walk in the rain. Normally I hate walking in the rain, but today it soothed me. As an introvert stuck at home with some wonderful yet loud extroverts, caring for myself has become a challenge.

Now that school has shut down, coffee shops, the gym, soccer, tennis, high school club and all the normal hang out places for my extroverts are no longer an option, we are all home. Pretty much all the time. The heat has all but been turned off in our office building so every day we are bringing more things home to be able to work from home. Our tiny house is bulging at the seams and we are making it work. Yet I am feeling the strain of it. The only time I truly feel alone is walking out in the park. Or sitting in a chilled office building.

Surviving the crisis

As the world is in crisis mode, with COVID-19, stress levels everywhere are through the roof. All of us have things on our plate that we didn’t ask for. Fear and stress tend to find their way onto our plates as well, even if we don’t want them to. But we are not helpless creatures. We can keep asking the question – “If I loved myself, what would I do?”

It might mean getting outside and taking a walk. For some of you, it may mean staying at home to protect your health instead of letting life continue as normal. Letting a friend pick up some groceries and drop them on your porch. It may mean that you stop trying to take care of everyone else and give yourself whatever care package you need. Maybe you need to turn off the news and give yourself a break from social media. And in the answering, we can find the ways to not only love ourselves, but to let the ripple effects spread out to our family, our neighborhood and the community at large.

I’ve seen people shine this week, by doing something they love and are good at, and sharing it with the world. Playing live-stream guitar and taking requests. Reading a book aloud on Facebook Live. Painting and creating art. Local businesses creating care packages of ice cream or sandwiches and offering delivery.

You might think that this crisis is bringing out the worst in us. And it may be doing that for some people. But I see it bringing out the best in us. Especially in all who are brave enough to answer the question.

“If I loved myself, what would I do?”

Because loving myself is not a selfish thing. Done well, it preserves ourselves, our homes, our communities and the earth itself.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Embracing Self-Worth

In my last post, I talked about how knowing my self- worth was an important key to staying in my marriage. Truly knowing and embracing my self-worth has not only helped me to look at my marriage holistically, it has also changed the way I view my body.

This has taken a lot of work. I had to recognize the lies I carried with me since middle school that told me I was disgusting. I cannot tell you how much I identified with Toula in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. It was a long and painful process, to replace the lies with truth. To actually see myself and then to let myself be seen.

Body Image

I was in my mid forties before I valued myself enough to face something that had always bothered me about myself. My crooked teeth. I cried big ugly tears on the way home from my first orthodontist appointment. Not because of how much it was going to cost – though that was reason enough to cry! But because I never felt I was worth that cost. Faced with the reality of more teeth breaking as I aged due to the crowding in my mouth, along with the painful self-awareness when I smiled, I was finally ready for change.

Embracing my self worth in this way brought initial discomfort as my teeth had a lot of moving to do. But seeing my teeth begin to straighten has been totally worth it. A few days before my 47th birthday, I was finally able to look in the mirror and see the smile that my heart had always been smiling, even when my body couldn’t.

I needed to take this drastic and costly step to reinforce in the depths of my being, that I am worth it.

Embracing age

Another body decision I recently made was to stop dying my hair and embrace the silver that has been trying to be seen for nearly a decade now. I realize that for some, covering up the silver may be essential to embracing your self-worth. That is okay. But for me, I felt a wise old crone waking up inside of me and this is how I wear her in my waking life.

It’s been nearly a year now since my last color was applied. I have lots of silver spilling out the top in contrast with my dark ends. It makes me wish I would have never started dying my hair. That I would have always embraced this part of who I am. But it is what it is. And from here on, the silver is my friend.

And can we talk about wrinkles for a minute? I haven’t fought these too hard. Somewhere along the line, I decided I had earned them. That they are road maps to a life well-lived. I look down at my hands sometimes and I’m beginning to see my Grandma’s hands. And that gives me a lot of joy. I remember her, with her silver waves and piles of wrinkles, and her heart of love. If I’m turning into her, I’m okay with that.

Embracing your journey

There is no journey towards wholeness that is the same for two people. The things that represent health and wholeness for me will probably not be the same things that you need to do on your journey. Your journey must be uniquely yours. In her book Belonging, Toko-pa Turner says

The only antidote to perfectionism is to turn away from every whiff of plastic and gloss and follow our grief, pursue our imperfections, and exaggerate our eccentricities until the things we once sought to hide reveal themselves as our majesty.

Toko-pa Turner

Keep digging and sifting until you find the things that are your majesty. The world needs grace and beauty that only the shape of you can fill.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Why Stay?

Many wives, upon discovering their spouse is not the straight partner they thought he was, decide to leave. I get it. No judgment. Mixed orientation marriage is hard. Sometimes the marriage that was built on an illusion cannot be rebuilt. There are so many reasons why some stay and some go. After years of working through this myself and of hearing the stories of others, I have come to the conclusion that there is no black and white answer, no manual guaranteed to work. There is no script to follow, no map. No way to pray the gay away. There is only the journey of the soul and each person must undertake that journey for him or herself.

In my journey towards wholeness, I have come to realize the importance of knowing my worth. The ability to stay well or leave well all comes down to knowing my worth. For those struggling to discern whether to stay or not, I believe the answers will reveal themselves as the journey shifts from finding the right answer to the journey of moving towards wholeness.

Knowing my worth

In the beginning, when I felt my marriage was all a lie, I stayed because I had no energy to do anything else. I did not know my worth, and, in some ways, stayed because I felt I had no worth. No one else would have me, or so I believed. I had no career path. Surrounded by 3 little ones, barely functioning myself, I could not begin to think about anything but survival.

As I began to do my work however, my self-worth slowly began to solidify. Out of the ashes, my true self began to emerge and I realized that I like my self and truly believe that I have something special to offer. I am still on the journey, for it never truly ends, but have come far enough to see a vista I wasn’t able to dream of in those early days.

Why I stay

I stay because I love my husband. I mean, really, he is pretty amazing! But there is another reason that, to me, is equally important.

Now I stay because I know my worth. And my worth is honored in this marriage. I am seen and valued. Not perfectly and not without a fight sometimes, and I’m still learning how to let him know when I am not feeling seen and valued. But for any of that to happen, I must first experience my own worth.

Knowing my worth enables me to keep my head up, on the days when I look at statistics and am afraid things will someday change between us.

Being confident in my own value means I’m not staying because I have to. I am staying because I want to.

Knowing my worth has given shape to the boundaries I set for this marriage. And where I set those boundaries is nobody else’s business.

Knowing my worth also gives me a solid container to both grow love and to share it generously.

In short, you can’t give away something you don’t have. To give love and value to another, it must first grow deep within you.

So if your relationship is in shambles, please stop trying to fix it. Look in love’s mirror until you see yourself reflected, until the self you see is someone you can embrace and honor. You are worth it.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Passing as Straight

My husband can pass as straight. People often wonder why he would choose to openly label himself as bi when he has a wife and can pass as straight. You may be wondering the same thing.

It’s a simple question with complicated answers; answers that he did not come upon easily. While I have talked about this briefly throughout previous posts, I will attempt to bring a bit more clarity today.

But first, let me tell you about a dream I had.

The trickle and the geranium

I dreamed our city had been hit with an apocalyptic-like devastation. Power was out, no one had water, and vegetation had all dried up. The earth was brown and barren. Outside of our kitchen door, in the exact spot where our compost bin stands in real life, a natural spring opened up, bringing a constant trickle of water to the surface. Though it was just a trickle, it was enough to provide drinking water to our entire neighborhood. What was even more astonishing was the red geranium growing beside the spring. When everything else was dead and dry, water for the body and color for the soul came from what before was rotting bits of discarded life.

A trickle, when shared, is more than enough to sustain. Sometimes I think the world heals more when we share from the little we have than when we give out of our abundance.

In my dream, the neighborhood knew it was welcome to come share our trickle 24/7. We didn’t hide it or hoard it, afraid it would dry up and we would have nothing left.

For us, staying in the closet and passing as straight would have been a bit like keeping that trickle of life-giving water to ourselves.

One of the reasons…

Some years back, a friend of Austin’s, who was also queer, took his own life. This friend had come out to Austin, and to Austin’s knowledge, no one else. Raised in a very conservative community, this person did not see hope of ever being able to live authentically. Unable to live with the shame and despair, and seeing no way to reconcile the religious teachings of the community with the reality of his inner world, life became unlivable. Isolation, sadness and despair drove him to end his life.

This particular story has sat heavy on our hearts. When this happened, Austin was still hiding under enormous shame and despair and yet remembering his own suicidal ideation as a teenager. He sometimes wonders if the story could have had a different ending if he had been able to speak into his friend’s life from the place where he is at now.

While we will probably never know that, we do know that we can make a difference in the lives of those who are still with us.

For those still in the closet, especially for those in communities where it would be unsafe for them to come out, loneliness and isolation are devastating reality. By allowing others to know his truth, Austin has opened the door a crack for them, so that they know they are not alone.

Passing as Straight

Being a safe person for those still in the closet is important. By coming out publicly, Austin is signaling to them that they are not alone and that he is an ally. This is especially important for those who are passing as straight and see no other alternative.

There are many men and women passing as straight, who have chosen to marry a straight partner. There are many reasons for this choice. Some do so out of religious and/or cultural pressure. They know they will be cast out if they show their true colors. Some want a family and biological children. Others believe that marriage will cure them of their unwanted attractions. Some genuinely love the person they marry and cannot imagine life without them. There are many reasons for these mixed orientation marriages, and they work for some people.

But there are many queer folks who know they will take their secret to the grave with them. Married or not, they do their best to pass as straight because they see no other option.

We want them to know they are not alone. That they are precious. Enough life has been lost.

Signal for change

While this is not the only reason Austin chose to come out publicly, it certainly is a very important one to both of us.

I hope to write more about other reasons some other day, but suffice it to say that it takes an incredible amount of energy to pretend to be someone you are not. Austin was tired of hiding. I was tired of him hiding. It was time.

When someone like my husband comes out publicly, it’s a bit like a thorn in the flesh to the straight community. He no longer fits the narrative they are familiar with. By breaking molds and being bold, he is calling out long established norms that are hurtful to the queer community. He is a fresh voice, calling for change, fighting for inclusion and challenging long-held biases.

In honor of the friend who took his own life, we are going to keep talking, keep pushing the conversation forward. We are not going to stop raising awareness because it’s time that no more lives are taken over this issue. By coming out, Austin has chosen life for himself and many, many others, who are not free yet to do so on their own.

No matter your views, you can be an ally for life instead of death. You don’t have to completely agree or understand in order to be an ally. Anytime someone chooses death because of the narrative of those who say they are for life, something should trouble us deeply. It’s time to be brave enough to admit we may have been wrong. It’s time to look at things with fresh eyes and truly be pro-life. For all. Period.

How will you choose life today?

If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, or know someone who is, The Trevor Project has someone available 24/7 to call, text or chat with. PFLAG also has links to other support groups. You are important. And you are loved.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.