I had a familiar feeling today when I was out in the woods with Bird: I gotta get out of here.

I have been reading a new book by David Lauterstein and Jeff Rockwell called The Memory Palace of Bones, and it has me thinking about my skeleton and the stories that it holds.

I wrote the blog post yesterday about frozen dreams because I felt like I wasn’t going to be able to write the post I really wanted to write: this one.

Maybe when a baby is adopted, they should come to their new family wearing a t-shirt that says I’M GOING TO CAUSE TROUBLE so everything would be out in the open from day one.

I’m inviting you to join me in these groups because I believe in myself; I believe in Dr. Joyce, and I believe in you. I believe we can make good things happen if, together, we put our shoulders to the wheel of what we believe is true and push.

I got divorced from my daughter’s father over twenty years ago, and the reason why just hit me today.

Mom and Dad: We’re thinking about adopting another baby.

I understand the notion of three strikes and you’re out. You have two chances to figure it out, and one final chance to hit it out of the park. The thing is, if developmental trauma affected your prefrontal cortex, what if you need more chances to do something right?

Lie down and get comfortable.

Since writing You Don’t Look Adopted, something in me has been…not right.

After a lifetime of avoiding difficult conversations, I have found my deepest joys in walking straight through doorways that look as if they are on fire.

I heard You Don’t Look Adopted before I wrote it.