She Walked a Crooked Path

The first time I remember being in Arkansas was the summer of 1974. I was 4 years old. My mother was halfway through her pregnancy with my little brother. My favorite grandparents, her parents, had scooped me up for a month with them in their home 5 miles outside of Pocahontas, Arkansas. I called them Bapa and Sha, my first attempts at pronouncing Grandpa and Grandma locked in that nomenclature forever. They called me My Julie.  I loved them and I loved every part of that summer with them.  We drove down the blue highways in the Oldsmobile with the teal vinyl seats, singing songs and telling stories and laughing. At their tiny house, I had my own bed but still ended up squeezing into Sha's arms in the middle of the night. We were up with the dawn and in the garden not long after the sun cast its warmth on the vegetables that we harvested. Bapa and I drove to town sometimes and he would always buy me a Dr. Pepper with a single coin from his leather change pouch. Everything was ...

I found this post in my Facebook memories from a year ago today: "This is me. 11 years old. That year my body betrayed me. That year I felt shame over and over in deep layered tunnels of my being that resonated to the day I pulled this picture out of a box 2 years ago and grimaced with that shame and so much pain, I almost burned this picture. But then I remembered, the time for burning down my life is over. I pinned this picture to the corkboard by my desk instead, and vowed to keep looking at it until I could find love for this child.  It took almost 2 years, but I looked at this picture the other day and not only did I not hate her anymore, I saw her incredible, beautiful spirit. This is the girl who hated herself but had hope that one day she wouldn't. This is the girl who started writing stories and found in them an escape tunnel. This is the girl who kept dreaming in the darkness.    This girl is my warrior child. This girl is the awkward tendril of me, feeling her ...

Pulling Back My Power I am the rooted fingers of a 400 foot sequoia tree,  Reaching deep into Mother Earth for nourishment and anchor.  I am the lava flow of Madame Pele,  Risen from Gaia to form this land that is me.  I am the unseen breathing  Of the sun kissed hills on the horizon. I am the curtains drawn back  On magnificent morning sunlight after a night of storms.  I am the beautiful insistence  Of Janis Joplin’s raw and cracked throat chakra. I am the antenna at Arecibo, Looking deep into the universe of me for the answers. I am the divine radiance  In the halo watching Jesus descend to an earthly body.  I am the space flight of the Perseids,  Skipping and burning through the atmosphere,  Hoping for a landfall.  I am a black shiva lingam floating  In the exquisite depth of the void,  Silent and still and about to become  All that I am. -Me

 Today, I am sitting in the same recliner that I sat in every day during the height of my active addiction. Today I am writing this blog. 2 1/2 years ago, I was praying to God to help me find a way out of the secretive box I had trapped myself in. I had been stoned every day for 8 months at that point. Some days I would wake up and say I wasn't going to use that day, hoping for the click I used to have in my brain that told me when I'd had enough and it was time to be fully conscious again. But that click hadn't come when it used to at a couple of weeks, or a month, or even a month and a half. I could not stop using, not even until noon of a single day. I knew I was in trouble. I have a post-it note on my computer monitor that says "There's probably a reason for that." The origin of the note comes from an old lady I used to sit next to when I first started my job reviewing medical coding denials for a government-funded health insurance company. Susan, who wore...

 My name is Julie. I am 51 years old, a first born, and a Leo. I spent the first 7 years of my life in a northern Illinois industrial town with my mom and my dad, and the next 11 years in a rural northeast Arkansas farming community with my grandparents. My brother and I suffered through some things growing up, and then suddenly, we were adults, fumbling our way through the world. I spent a long time in a sort of shock, trying to come to terms with my suspicions that something was wrong with things that happened when I was growing up. My sense of self and my sense of worth were damaged, and I did a lot of self-medicating over the decades to shove down feelings I thought I couldn't cope with any other way. I started going to therapy when I was 25 to try to make sense of my life. In the past 26 years, I have had 5 beloved therapists who have guided me through the process of figuring it out. The most impactful thing I have ever done for myself is to dedicate myself to my spiritua...