My Blog
Tools and strategies for owning, valuing,
and celebrating your life.
I said a prayer for my heart tonight.
I felt that cold seeping in.
The inky blackness that hides in my veins. Just waiting for a call to duty. To harden and cement a barrier so thick that I will be protected from this hurt.
The white hot barbed-wire that courses from my gut. Twisting and turning a tangled rusted knot. Weaving itself a corset through my rib cage. Suffocating and stifling. Tighter. Till there were only two words.
Love me.
I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. A little piece of heaven surrounded by ranches, farms and ocean in the middle of the California coast line.
This morning, I took advantage of an unusually-blank weekday morning and jumped in my car to go to one my favorite running trails about 20 minutes from my house.
Mornings can be utterly gorgeous in this valley. For the short time that California is green - it’s almost arrogant with its vibrancy. Showing off for the sky.
But not today.
Nope. Just grey. Subdued.
Rounding the bend into the valley, to the left you can see all the way into wine country. And the hills beyond. To the right, you look up the valley to the ocean. Beyond the ranches.
And today there was a single horse in the middle of the field.
Surrounded by vultures. In an equidistant circle.
There had be at least 30 of them. Sitting there. Ring-around-the-rosie all facing the horse.
My heart sank. Something is wrong.
I got to my trail but couldn’t shake the thought of that horse and those vultures.
In 2011, a few years into single-motherhood, my daughter (9 years old at the time) told me that she didn’t want me to be her mom anymore. This post was written late one night during one of the worst times of my life. Here’s the original post. Scroll down to see my update, written 12 years later.
