As the school year comes to a close for summer vacation, I too am still wired into that internal calendar within me. I’ll be taking a pause for several weeks to renew, refresh and delight in switching things up a bit. This is relating only to my weekly blog posts as I am still happily engaging with those I’m mentoring and warmly welcome anyone new on the horizon. I enjoy pondering and discovering what piques my curiosity and attention. Perhaps it might meld itself into someth

The Shape of Grief The shape of grief – is 1,788 square feet with four bedrooms, two bathrooms a mangled orange tree in the backyard...

I am sharing with our community a text I received from a dear friend who last year lost her precious husband. This tool she received from her counselor is absolutely brilliant. “Recently I was sharing with my counselor all the aspects of life without my husband earth side. Top on the grief list was missing our long talks and daily advice we’d share with one another. The counselor said, have you thought about writing your thoughts and questions down to your husband as if he wa

I still love my puzzle games on my laptop. Yesterday after I finished building a puzzle, the name of the painting (or picture) appeared on the screen: "Between two worlds". The picture was a mystical scene in the woods, with a path dividing the trees. This picture and especially the name of the piece immediately let my mind wonder off. I thought about the name, "Between two worlds", and realized that we, the moms of angel children, also live between two worlds. Although we a

Internal Family Systems (IFS) founder, Dr. Richard C. Schwartz, was the guest on We Can Do Hard Things podcast in episodes #295 and #296. It was transformative for Glennon, Abby and Amanda to experience a session with him. All three of them quick studies as he described, yet seeing in action what IFS is about has me very curious and yearning to learn more. Just as a family has members, we have these internal parts of ourselves that are each doing a job, and the overriding on

My mother, LoRaine, held by her mother, Ruth. Missoula, Montana, 1921 The Mothers by Cheryl Strayed There are so many kinds of mother. The mothers you cherish and celebrate. The mothers who were never really there. The mothers who broke you. Who built you. The mothers who cheered you on. Who chipped away at you until you were dust. The mothers who reveled in your astonishing intelligence and grace and power. Who saw only their own light. The mothers who died painfully young.