The Journal

We had waited for days to see her. Several sunrises and sunsets sitting by the river where they say the wild horses come to cross. I wanted to know what it looks like to be that free.

In the box were photographs from over the years, baby photos, dinner snapshots, my mother pregnant in a long dress with her leather brown boots that my sister now wears. A time capsule of memories. A letter dropped from one envelope. My mother’s handwriting, I catch my breath. Are there answers there perhaps? Answers to the things I would ask her if she were here?

There is a movement happening around the world and in our nation in particular, where women are coming into their power and moving us in a new and better direction. It is hard. It is emotional. It is challenging. And women are still being hung in the town square in modern ways for their courage and convictions.

What are we holding onto for dear life as we “plan B” our way to stress, disease, and mental illness?