Until We Are Fine

Last week, I was taking too many pills. Not purposefully, but also not by accident.
This week, I’m more solid, starting somewhat anew. Still tired and afraid, but possessing a bit of momentum. Not quite hope, but an expectancy.

I’m trying to move ahead, and have several supportive friends and family members who have helped me unburden. There are moments I feel adrift, propelled by the winds of pointlessness. Then I remember others, and decide to finish buttering the bread, get the dish from the sink to the dishwasher. I decide to answer a ringing telephone. Pretend. 

It will get better, at some point. It already has. But I’m still tired and can’t sleep, still sweaty but freezing. This isn’t going where I meant it to go. 

We have to ask for help. If we don’t ask, no one knows. They just think we’re mean or shy or FINE. But we are not fine, are we?

We are not fine. 


Eat the bread. Drink the tea. Hug the child. Pet the dog. Write the poem. 

Until we are fine, or a facet thereof.


On Living the Suit of Cups

wpid-fb_img_1419911658126_tony_frame_cornered.jpgOhhhhh, I love New Year’s Eve! The day before a brand new start! It feels like the start of something incredibly sparkly and exciting!

2014 has been a rough year in terms of work issues and depression. Perhaps one of my worst years of depression, actually, especially with regard to how long each episode has lasted, and how it has affected my work and life, in general. In years past, I’ve been better able to compartmentalize my depression, so that it didn’t affect my job. Not so this year.

It’s also been the year of disengagement from certain integral, life-long, family relationships, relationships that have been messy and hurtful, both from my side and from theirs. For all parties, I made the choice to detach, disconnect, and well, to disown, really. It was a struggle at first, but the freedom of it, and my virtual lack of guilt (miraculous…) has been liberating. It’s been a wonderful choice for my psyche and my general well-being. Entanglements are exhausting. I’ll be having no more of them.

But the most incredible things have also happened in 2014. I found friendships and a community that I never expected to find, especially at my age (I’m middle-aged, which actually reminds me of Middle-Earth, so has a nice, solid, earthy ring to it). I’ve found my pagan community, and as far as friendship is concerned, I’ve made more true, authentic friends in 2014 than in any other year of my life. My friends have truly become my family.

I’ve spent more time in the company of my friends than in any other year before, and rather than being draining and stressful, being with these friends has been rejuvenating, fun, enlightening, healing, and joyous. I’ve had more delicious cups of coffee than any one woman should be entitled to, had more wonderful and inspiring conversations in one year than ever before, and have learned so much about openness, authenticity, acceptance, and open-mindedness from each and every one of these beautiful and unique individuals.

I’ve heard some of the sweetest words, had some of the most comforting hugs, received some of the most incredible hand-made and soul-felt gifts (see Queen Bee above? She is a small and lovely part of a gorgeous tarot cloth embroidered by one of these friends…isn’t it exquisite?!), heard, and shared, some of the most heart-warming, and heart-wrenching, personal stories, and have partaken of some of the most delectable meals around friends’ tables than any other year before.

So despite the darkness I’ve felt so often in 2014, the moments of light have been so bright and vivid and full of warmth that any moment of desperation I’ve felt has been worth it, if it meant that I had to accept the bad to claim the beautiful.

I have incredibly gifted children, a loving, creative and selfless partner, and the best, most loving and accepting group of friends of anyone I know. The gifts of 2014 have been immense, and the beauty immeasurable.

I’m so grateful to be rolling into 2015 with a heart that seems to have grown three sizes this year. It seems that the more one brings into a heart, the more it will hold. 

And my cup runneth over.


This heartbeat is Timpani, hollow but resounding, rolling out, circling in, reminding my soul to move. This heartbeat is reverberating, winding, wrestling free of ropes and strings and apathy and restlessness. This heartbeat is carrying on, moving through, stirring after a cold and lonely self-induced hibernation. This heartbeat is alive. Living. I am living. I live. I will live. And I will be fully alive.

Share your heart with like-minded souls and Word Alchemist Marybeth Bonfiglio here. And notice how the ordinary is turned magical.