Category Archives: courage

Dec2

faith

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Let me explain what faith is and how it works. Because your life depends on it. And you are not going to grow, have peace, or live any life worth living until you get honest with yourself about this.

Let’s start with what faith is not: it is not religion. It has little or nothing to do with religion. It is, however, a basic and essential element of your spiritual, emotional, and psychological makeup. It is your connection to God, the divine, life force, intuition – whatever you want to call your inner knowing. There is no inner knowing, or even ability to connect with your authentic self, without faith. It’s the connective tissue of spirit. Without it you’re screwed. You had best become comfortable with it sooner rather than later.

I’m addressing this today because I am in a pissy mood dealing with other people’s lack of faith. No less than four people reached out to me this morning for advice they won’t use. Specifically, half dozen family and friends who want to cry, whine, and vent about the narcissists who treat them poorly. Who undervalue them. But they don’t really want to change anything. They don’t want to let that relationship go, to be precise. They don’t want to quit the job or the marriage. They don’t want to face their fear. They want the other person to get it and change.

Now, lest you think I might be flip or impatient here, let me tell you that I have been listening to the same sob stories for years from these few loved ones. Many years. Maybe decades. Same story, different day. But when I offer some fairly mature, sound advice, they balk – and become immediately defensive. There we go with that defensive shit again. They explane ‘a me…for the umpteenth thousanth time, why they can’t leave. And my mind just tunes it right to the station it is – faithlessness.

I don’t care what you think is the perfectly justifiable reason you cannot leave the narcissist. There is only one reason: lack of faith. And it is costing you your life. Own that decision.

When I decided to leave my narcissistic husband, I had no money. We had less than 5K in equity in our home, which we would split. It wouldn’t cover moving costs. I had no job. No income. Nothing worth selling. No savings. I was 60 and not yet eligible for social security. Nothing. So, your excuse of not enough money doesn’t hold sway with me. I left with nothing. Myself and two dogs to support. NADA. But IT WAS THE RIGHT THING TO DO. I jumped and the net appeared, not the other way around.

There are many, perhaps most, people who would never leave their hated job until securing a replacement. I’m talking to you. I have lost more friends over this issue. I do not want to hear about you hating your job. Quit. Now. STOP MAKING EXCUSES. Pick up your coat and walk out RIGHT THIS MINUTE. Or stop complaining. Do not tell me what your bills are. That is entirely irrelevant.

A (now estranged) old friend, who happens to be a PhD. psychotherapist, would tell me that this is black-and-white thinking, and that it is dangerous. But she remains married to a narcissist, so I will aver that she, in fact, has nothing of value to offer her codependent clientele. She doesn’t walk her talk. She makes excuses. Because…no faith. And then, I must tell you that black-and-white thinking IS THE ONLY APPROPRIATE WAY TO THINK in this culture. In a dualistic environment all energy is divided by good or bad, healthy or unhealthy, right or wrong, love or fear. In a dualistic environment black-and-white thinking is the only appropriate response. If you want to outgrow that limitation, you will have to exercise…guess what?

There is NO justifiable reason to put up with any kind of abuse. And let’s define abuse while we are at it. I adopted this definition from a therapist I met in my 20’s, because I have never been able to prove her wrong: ALL THOUGHT, WORD, AND DEED IS EITHER NURTURING OR ABUSIVE. Period. There is nothing else going on here. Are you being nurtured? No? You walk away. Next question.

If you are rationalizing and adapting to anything that does not serve you well, you are making excuses. You are 100% willing to compromise your health and well-being to accommodate someone else’s agenda. You cannot be free from there. You are enslaved. Whether you physically can’t leave (you are in a body cast) or you are feeling obligated to stay, or guilty, you are not free. And you are willingly participating in a dysfunction that is harmful to everyone concerned.

Faith is your spiritual muscle, and either you exercise it or it atrophies. And just like charity, or compassion, it starts at home. With you. Right now. So cut the crap. Stop waiting for the knight on a white steed, or your one dollar lottery ticket to make you a billionaire. Muster up some courage. Grow a pair. Take a chance on yourself. Show some faith. Don’t look backwards for guidance to chart new territory. Take a leap of faith and then ask God what’s next. “Lead me.” And know that you will get an intuitive hit, an idea, an inkling – and then you will act on it. Do not reason it away. Do it. No matter how insignificant it seems, or how crazy it sounds. Don’t tell anybody. Don’t run it by four people. Do it.

You don’t hear intuition like that? You aren’t just quite sure…? Well, duh. How do you expect to hear God if you won’t trust? The trust comes first. The faith comes first, by it’s very definition. You don’t find the right job until you leave the wrong one. What if you make a mistake? You’ll learn how to be discerning about what is and isn’t intuition. You’re exercising your faith muscle. You are hard-wired for faith. It won’t take long for you to see tangible evidence.

I’m gonna tell you something else that sounds radical: lack of faith is mental illness. Prove me wrong. And let me close with this thought: that this awareness requires my forgiveness, for I, too, lack faith at times. I, too, am just practicing here.

Sep2

I don’t clean up for less.

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Okay, I admit, I am easily entertained. Although I’ve become increasingly pickier with age. Want my money, my time, my attention? That bar is high these days; it will remain so. My standards have been raised. Some people have the gall to tell me that my standards are too high. Others might say they had nowhere to go but up. However, I don’t much care what some might say anymore…

My criteria for acceptable entertainment (as well as information) has been refined, taste aside. I expect high quality in everything I take in, whether that be news, movies, television, music…or our relationship. And by quality, I mean on every level. My senses are going to be bombarded with the culture of sensationalism every day, so bring it. If I am going to watch, I want high quality cinematography. Listening? Crisp high quality sound while I’m weeding out the crap. No more perfumey candles to smell or scratchy fabrics against my skin. I’ve had to improve the quality of the food I eat if I want to be healthy – and isn’t that work these days?! Read the labels, research – and then pay more to have them leave the chemicals and the seed oils out. Even my cat deserves nothing less than the best quality food I can possibly afford.

Now in my 70’s, I’ve survived more than most people can imagine. A lifetime of narcissistic abuse and neglect, sexual abuse, physical abuse, financial abuse. I have walked through hell. I’ve watched – and felt – almost every person I’ve ever loved suffer through cancer and addiction. Now I watch my beloved child struggle from decades of absent adults, never present enough to protect him from the same ravages. My gorgeous, brilliant nieces and nephews – and their children now; living out the 4th generation of trauma. To say I have paid my dues is an understatement. The only thing I’m sorry for are all the years I wasted making compromises. Repeat after me: “All my debts are paid, seen and unseen.” And be absolutely certain of it.

Now – just now!, am I really getting to the good stuff of life. Droppin’ off the shame. I’m not made for that. Neither are you. So, no more apologies. No more begging to belong. We are everything we are meant to be.

“Be kind to me, or treat me mean. I’ll make the most of it; I’m an extraordinary machine.” – Fiona Apple

Aug6

a new religion called NOPE

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“STOP letting your mental health be damaged by systems that were never designed to protect it!” – Sheila Hammond

If someone asks you if you’ve heard the latest news, and you think, “Dear God, please let it be aliens,” you are not broken. Sheila Hammond has made the YouTube channel I wish I’d thought of. She is funny, and she is tellin’ it like it is! She’s done offering her sanity to systems that profit off her exhaustion. Amen, sister. Amen.

You can care about the world and you can set boundaries. You can opt out of chaos without opting out of your values. You can disengage without being in denial. You can scream into the void…and log off for a nap. Personally, I am done with risking participation in anything likely to jerk me around emotionally. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

In recent posts I have written about losing friends and family members because I won’t attend the protest march (what you resist persists) or join the group or contribute to the cause or watch the news. Don’t get me wrong, I respect them immeasurably. Their heart is in the right place. If I feel compelled to do so, I do know how. As far as I know I still have an FBI record from being arrested in the protests in Detroit during the 60’s and 70’s. Meanwhile that isn’t how I’m most effective. That does not mean I am sitting here doing nothing – but it is amazing the changes you can implement silently from your sofa once you get focused.

It’s scary at first to realize your personal power. However, you have to pull your spirit back into your body and listen. In order to overcome the addiction of culture you have learn to stop the performance art you called life for the past decades, otherwise you won’t know your authentic voice when it speaks. And it does. I hope you’ll join the me in the religion of NOPE. Because as Sheila says, sanity is trying to stage a comeback.

“I command my spirit into my body in full at this time.” – Carolyn Myss, Anatomy of the Spirit

May I suggest we nurture a song worm today:

Jul11

the world is made of spider webs

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“When I’m an old lady I want to be one of those women that has a house full of plants, weird rocks and crystals. That just looks after her animals, paints and minds her own business with her crazy hair.” – unk

Well I don’t know who said that, but I am that woman now! It’s the second week of July already. I’m getting around to spring cleaning. Better late than never I suppose. For starters, it’s been a little-shop-of-horrors-like around here for a couple of years now. I seem to have a green thumb (I am an old witch, after all.)
I take home little forlorn plants from the grocery store clearance for $3. and two years later there is nowhere to sit in the same room. One small monstera I brought home (it had tipped over and lost half it’s dirt) is now eight feet wide and ten feet high. Seven years ago I bought a foot-high Norfolk Island Pine (indoor only in my climate) to use as a tiny Christmas tree and it’s almost hitting the ceiling now. My son helped me move the plants out to the back deck the other day. They aren’t coming back in. I need to find homes for them. Removing them has opened up every room and it feels so spacious in here I could dance. No really – I could actually dance in here.

This is a small house. Originally built as a summer cottage by a University of Michigan professor, the idiot I bought it from tore out most of it’s original features and knocked out walls to create an open floor plan. If you don’t know how I feel about that you might read some of my older posts. Suffice it to say that open floor plans are an abomination of the human spirit. They suck the dignity out of relationships by unnaturally forcing everyone in the household to share the same noises and smells. It feels like living inside a shoe box. Open floors plans are for worms…just sayin’…

But I live in an open floor plan, because, well, it was the right house in the right place. The plants apparently like this arrangement. They have taken over, spreading from the studio to the kitchen and the living area to the dining area. And down the stairs and across the ceiling. This ends now. I’m taking back my home! I love nature, and I will always have a few plants. But this has become ridiculous. I’m ducking and penguin-ing myself around them.

For my next trick, I’m deep cleaning all those creepy corners I haven’t been able to reach or crawl into. Getting all the spider webs and tumbleweeds of cat hair out. Eeeeewwwwww…and I have taken down the curtains and washed them. Everything has sticky dust. And I wonder why I’m so sick all the time?! Twelve loads of laundry later and the place is looking like new.

So here’s the thing. I’ve read a bazillion books on decluttering and feng shui-ing your space back into order. Psychology journals about how decluttering helps your mental health. And I’ve always done it throughout the years…in little increments. It has never felt like this. Maybe because I’ve been ill? It’s true that I’ve never let my home get this dirty and cluttered before. But something about this is coinciding with a huge shift in awareness.

A few months ago I participated in a Beta test group for a program designed to help older women traversing life changes. I’ve mentioned it here briefly, and I will provide a link for you at the bottom of this post. It’s called the Wayfinding Road. I don’t know what any of us were expecting, but this process with this group of remarkable women has been beyond helpful. The small group I was working with included a recent widow, a woman retiring and moving across the country, a woman whose husband was ill, one who had left the country and relocated to Europe, one who is a political refugee in exile. All manner of circumstances – one uncompromising commitment: a life of continued growth. We quickly realized we had much in common despite a wide variety of life experiences. Soon after the 6 week program began I started having dreams with these women in them. And my dreams were fantastic, adventurous and profoundly healing. I was wealthy beyond measure. Something supernatural was happening. We discovered we were all having experiences we could not explain. We started calling it “magic” for lack of a better explanation.

I have never met any one of these women in person. I have interacted with them only online and via email. If one of them called tomorrow and said “I need your help,” I’d be on a plane. They taught me how to love myself. I’m done with depression and shame and guilt. They taught me how to stop performing my life and begin to live it, deeply. They are well educated, articulate. Some of them speak more than one or two languages. They are all extraordinary. The 2nd time we met I confessed to feeling unworthy of their friendship – but I knew I had 2 choices: drop out or show up. I showed up and they lifted me higher.

I hear them talking to me in meditation, telling me precisely what action to take to heal myself. This morning’s meditation told me that my chronic pain and illness serves only to remind me that I took on the responsibility for my family, and that it is long past time to let them go. Not only can I not be responsible for them, but this addiction to saving them is not helping anyone. I gave it up today and got out of bed pain free.

My life has begun to change now in the last few months. Not in any way I had planned. It’s still going on; it’s a process. I don’t know what this means or where it will lead me. Watch this space. But wow…change is afoot.

Lynnelle Wilson is the creator of Wayfinding Road. Contact her through YouTube or Substack:

Jun29

“you’re my friend kind of…”

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“I am restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again…” – Anais Nin

This morning I told a friend that I must have accidentally opened some energy portal – and it has mistakenly been taken as availability by several needy people in my life. Perhaps you have experienced this phenomena. After weeks or months of silence people are all calling all at once, wanting time, attention, and even money. You sent out a psychic signal and they got the message that you might be hangin’ around waiting to hear from them…or some cosmic signal telepathically invited them all to call the same day. Weird.

According to Melody Beattie (Codependent No More) who I respect immeasurably, I am categorically a master codependent. In recovery now! In recovery! Agggghhhhhhhh….a lifelong practice, I’m sure. It was not until I finally – and painstakingly – extricated myself from narcissistic abuse at the age of 60 that I even began to have any appreciation for solitude. Oh, I had been pursuing it all of my life. Literally since childhood. But I would not achieve it until I lived alone, for the very first time, in my 60’s. And now it is precious. In fact, required.

And I am still naive about protecting my solitude. About keeping the demons of narcissism and codependency (yes, they are psychic siblings) at bay. IF there is any smidgen of hope to live a creative life, I must defend my boundaries and channel my inner Hushpuppy. I must face the mythic Aurochs. I gotta take care of mine.

This week was my brother Ward’s birthday. He would have turned 64. That same day my neighbor and friend Hal died; he was my age, 71. He reminded me of my brother. They both understood animals better than people. Soft spoken and kind, in many ways they were too good for this world. I am grieving and sad. I miss my brother. Maybe that was the psychic memo I sent out. But I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am strong and infinitely guided; “blessed and highly favored.”

And so I will keep to myself for now. I apologize that I don’t respond quickly; I am currently unavailable. I will read and draw and “potter” about the garden and hang with my cat. Heal. And carry on.

Feb8

there but for the grace of God

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Okay. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we? We are less than a month into this new political administration. Regime, more accurately. I see it. I see the evil. Listen, I’ve lived with evil. Come face to face with it in my own home. You know that scene in Constantine where he puts his feet in a tub of water and travels into hell? Done it. (Don’t tell anybody I know how to do that.) That movie’s depiction of hell looked like a Disney ride compared to my experience. But I was successful in my mission. And I learned a few things. I’ll keep them to myself for now.

I was born into an upper middle class family in the suburbs of Detroit during the automobile boom. Both my grandfathers were in business together. They owned a company that built and maintained railroad tracks. That’s how the cars were moved. I was also a direct descendent of more than one founding father, cousin to several Presidents. I was destined to live a privileged life.

It will never cease to shock me how white Americans are so drastically unaware of their privilege. I’m still regularly shocked when I see it in myself, deeply ingrained as it is. But somehow I began to see this as a young girl. Somehow my parents and grandparents and teachers taught me some true values. I know right from wrong. And true from evil. You see, good is not the opposite of evil: truth is. Do not be fooled – we are not in any sort of political dilemma; the political era we see playing out is a symptom of a much deeper struggle over values. We are in a spiritual battle for the soul of humanity. Out there is a hologram we are projecting. We humans WILL come out the other side of this healed, whether it takes a decade, a century, a millennium – or ten minutes*. Our choice.

Perhaps this is the reason I don’t fear the future. Maybe it’s just my old age. Are we looking at some horrifically hard times here in the U.S? Probably. If we survive, will we lose loved ones? Very likely. I am looking as purposefully and accurately as I can, in order not to be naive or shy away from painful awareness. And, I am doing my homework.

News flash: the sky is not falling. It already fell. You are standing on it. Now, pull your head out of your past and get busy. Take the absolute best care of yourself possible. Love the people in your life. Love your pets, the animals around you in nature, all life. Love them all fiercely. Live with intention. Sage your house like a mutha, especially after you feel anger, fear, or sadness. Detox your body. Vote with your money. Practice your rituals. Keep calm and stay inside the salt circle. KNOW, beyond a shadow of a doubt, your values – and never, ever – EVER – compromise them. Not for any person, not for any amount of money, not even if your life seems to depend on it. Don’t be the Judas. Stand true to yourself at all costs. And to the best of your ability, give nothing to fear. Contribute nothing to defensiveness.

Would I stand up to a bully? Absolutely. And I’ve had a lifetime of practice. Would I defend my loved ones – or anyone less fortunate, for that matter – against a bully? With my life. But make sure you aren’t one. Don’t go looking for the others. There are no others. And the best way I know how to do that is to extricate the unhealed trauma from my own body; to face my own demons. Believe me, we all have them. As long as you are still sitting there in your lovely home, sipping your tea or coffee, only think about Heaven. Imagine it. Open your heart and radiate warmth. Read uplifting stories. Learn who to trust. Turn off the news. Most importantly, expound endless mantras of gratitude.

* (what A Course in Miracles calls the Holy Instant)

Feb2

what if the dreams are ours to keep?

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We did it! We did it! We survived January! Woohoo…let’s celebrate already. It is still brutally cold outside, but I do sense the days getting a bit longer, and we have had some intermittent sunshine the past few days. It makes such a dramatic difference in the way I feel. Apparently I have terrible seasonal affective disorder (SAD) and I think I always have had it, since childhood.

I’ve had a lot of things since childhood…ha! Autism and ADHD and anxiety and…and…a great big open musical heart and a pretty good mind and some artistic talent…and best of all, an innate curiosity about how life works and a sense of wonder about the world. I wouldn’t want me any other way.

And in my deep and endless curiosity I have always asked, myself and you: what if? What if, in fact, we are right where we need to be doing exactly what we need to be doing? What if, as Einstein posed, everything is a miracle? I’ve always known the truth of it – as have you – somewhere deep inside. And the 238 days of January just reminded me. I need reminding, seemingly constantly.

I need reminding that the world was made to be free in. I need reminding that all life is precious. I need reminding that I am enough – just right, in fact. Not too big, too small, too smart, too stupid, too much. And most especially, I all too often need reminding – SO ARE YOU. You’re just right.

I’ve left far too many people behind. They silently disappeared in the rear view mirror when I moved away. They ghosted me out of anger and frustration. They threw up their hands in defeat and walked away. They drank themselves into oblivion. I told them off and never looked back. They died of cancer. Their heart gave out. Some I didn’t really know. And some I didn’t know how to lose and I still haven’t caught my breath. All just right, right where they needed to be, doing exactly what they needed to be doing. It’s hard to trust, but it has to be. It has to all be sacred. Nothing else makes any sense.

What if…what if we wake in the afterlife, in the many mansions prepared for us, and find we brought all our dreams with us? What if, as I hope, we get to meet everyone again under different circumstances, in peace? Without expectations or need. Just love…

…just love. These are wild historical times we are living in. Everything gets overwhelming every day. And yet something inside us recognizes the moment as a choice. Love or fear. Trust or doubt. Yes or no. If every choice, every thought, every action boils down to yes or no it suddenly becomes straightforward. Yes to love. No to everything else. That doesn’t always mean it is easy, but it is simple. What if…we were made for a time such as this? What if it is all just right right now? What if…we didn’t know we were ready?

Jan12

elephants on parade

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Okay. Let’s address the elephant in the room. Actually, there is an entire herd gathering. It’s getting crowded in here…the most recent elephant is my ADHD diagnosis. I’ve been gonna talk about it, but I’m still figuring it out. When the doctor and I talked I had just started back on an antidepressant and was in for a three week consult. I was not feeling a whole lot better, which is to say that I was still having trouble functioning. Just that morning I had made a pot of coffee and forgot to put the carafe under the spout; coffee poured out everywhere before I noticed. My doctor was adamant that I give the ADHD medication a try, but suggested we postpone the start of that another three weeks. That way I was not introducing two new medications in less than a six week span. Sounded wise to me.

So I had my first dose of generic Adderall yesterday. I didn’t feel any different. Perhaps a tiny bit more able to focus – I am writing here, after all. That hasn’t been happening easily for weeks now. I will have to keep you posted on progress. I will say that the ADHD diagnosis has been a huge thing to come to terms with. I don’t want it. It feels like something that I would associate with children or young adults, and it’s embarrassing. But man oh man…it rather explains a lot. Like, my whole life. I think the hardest part to accept is how profoundly different my life might have been if this had come to light sooner.

I am seventy years old. Relationships have been hard all of my life. I am a classic under-achiever, often procrastinating important deadlines until the last minute and then exhausting myself to meet them. Anxiety has been a lifelong companion. It was my Mother’s lifelong companion, and all four of my siblings. Out of seven people in my biological family I am the only one without substance addictions, and the only one who never smoked cigarettes. I have a son, a niece and two nephews. They all have it, I’m sure; the younger two were treated with Ritalin in grade school, which was a new treatment 20 years ago.

All of us, all four generations if I include my grandparents, exhibit the symptoms. And it is debilitating. I have seen counselors all of my adult life, so for the better part of fifty years. I have gone on and off antidepressants with mediocre results. It is entirely possible that all of this dysfunction and struggle could have been alleviated to some degree with the diagnosis and treatment of ADHD. But it’s relatively new for doctors and therapists, especially to address in older women.

There will be follow up with a specialist I must wait to see, and I will explore all the options for treatment and hopefully find something natural that will help. But I will seek help. I will always seek to be ever-increasingly healthier mentally and physically. Regardless of age, I will always seek to improve myself, my life skills, and my quality of life. That’s a given. I hope the same is true for you. Let’s get well and then let’s get better!

Dec20

the biggest bugaboo of all

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Early this morning I woke from a nightmare. A silly common nightmare, you know the kind…back in high school, can’t find my class, hearing snickering behind me as I realize that my shoes don’t match. And I also woke realizing that I am terribly dehydrated. So up, feed the cat, put the coffee on, and down a big glass of water.

Routine is my new best friend. I say new because, well…recently at the doctor we had the conversation about getting a formal diagnosis for ADHD, and trying some medication. I can’t stay focused; I am literally losing track of time. Like a living nightmare, I must admit to myself that this is a typical pattern for me around the holidays. And I am far too old for this.

I’m too old to be just waking up and seeing how debilitating this has been my entire life. Better late than never. I guess. It suddenly occurs to me that this is why wisdom doesn’t seem to stick; I repeatedly have to learn these patterns over again. It feels like psychological amnesia. Hence the school nightmare.

But what I do have is a toolbox, a repertoire of resources, developed over the decades. At 70, I finally have a doctor I trust and love. That only took way too long. I have a therapist who knows me now, 3 years into treatment. A support system of friends. I know who has my back. Those things take a lifetime to develop when you are dysfunctional. And they are precious.

That’s the only gift I have for you this Christmas – learn psychological self care. Learn to recognize when you are being gaslit, yes. More importantly, learn to catch yourself when you are gaslighting yourself. When you are undermining your self esteem, or making compromises that threaten your integrity.

Will I continue to have nightmares of being back in school all my life? I suspect I will. I am certainly committed to being a student all my life. I would never want to stop learning and growing. I would never want to stop being curious. Just a little more curious than scared. That’s all it takes to keep moving forward. As my Mom Doris would say, “move along smartly now.”

You’re in the constant company of God. Act accordingly.

Dec14

Gloria!

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“If we are lucky not to be displaced by war or poverty, the places we live are like bird’s nests.” – Gloria Steinem

I have long since lost count of how many times I have moved. Here’s a confession few know about me: I have been married four times. Three husbands, four marriages. All four ended in divorce. My first husband was a high school boyfriend. My parents had agreed to send me to boarding school after I threatened to run away – and I did so one summer. I managed to hide out for a couple of weeks in friend’s basements before a friend’s mother agreed to intervene on my behalf. By the age of 15 I couldn’t live at home any longer. I instinctively knew the situation was abusive, although it would be decades before I even began to unravel that situation.

I was 18 the first time I got married, and it only took a few months to figure out that my husband had a drug problem, and a few more months to realize there was nothing I could do about it. So I went “back home” to my parents, but only for a few awful days before finding a girlfriend I could rent a room from. And I never looked back, although I did go back again and again to pack up my younger siblings one by one and move them out. Not soon enough, of course, as the damage was done. Scrambling for survival myself, a safe place to sleep was all I had to offer.

By the third time I got married in my forties, I was no longer enduring physical or sexual abuse. That marriage would also prove intolerable, and not once, but twice. To this day we are still friends, and to this day he yet fails to comprehend any responsibility in it’s failing. As he so often said, we didn’t have a problem. I had a problem. As it happened, he was right, and my problem had a name.

The first fifty years of childhood are the hardest. I survived them by being scrappy. For the first 3 decades of living on my own I was able to find decent work, and when an emergency or large expense threatened my housing and independence, I would supplement my meager income by selling off family heirlooms, primarily beautiful antique furniture. I wish I could have kept it. Only a few small momentos still exist.

But this way of life (which I am only grateful for) leaves it’s scars. One of mine seems to be a deep, simmering grief for the home – THE home – that I have never known. It is truly all I’ve ever wanted for. A home of my own. Safe. Clean. Beautiful. A nest. Perhaps that is why I have always been fascinated by bird nests?!

In October of 1990, House and Garden magazine published an article by Gloria Steinem about her newly decorated NYC apartment, ‘Ms. Steinem on the Home Front.’ I still have that magazine. Somehow weird items have survived all the relocations…but in truth, this article made my heart sing. It has continued to inspire me all these years.

This morning, the 12th of December, 2024, I opened my YouTube feed and found this story. Gloria Steinem talking about her home of 58 years. I am watching through tears. If I had no other inspiration at all, Gloria would be enough.