One Christmas Eve, I decided that I would bring Mrs. Beasley to the church and put her in the pile of toys on the altar.

Ever since my first retreat to Italy in 2019, I've been dreaming my way back.

We didn’t ask to be born. We didn’t ask our mother’s to give us up. (Or, who knows, maybe we did.) But we’re here.

If the pandemic were a movie, it wouldn’t make any sense.

I was just fine before. Struggling, but fine. Now I’m in shock, and my brain feels murky and sticky. Now I feel like I’m living in a fog.

I can’t focus.

A woman emailed me recently because her boyfriend had broken up with her and she was hoping it was because he was adopted.

I am in HEAVEN and it’s all because of an app I found for people with I.B.S. I don’t even know if I officially have I.B.S., but after a free week-long trial and then a $60ish payment, I officially have the Nerva app.

Motherhunger is so expensive.

Why do we teach our kids sex ed before we teach them self love?

The reason why you would tell your story when you are afraid you will lose those you love when they read it is so you will lose them.

Oh, dear, sweet man. My heart goes out to you and your daughter. Living in and with a relinquished/adopted body is so painful and confusing.