All I’ve Ever Wanted

I breathe love as the wind moves the clouds above fields rich in their emerald lushness. I feel it radiate in my heart and shine out through my eyes so full of hope because I love with the force of a thousand armies yet with the softness of my Mama’s arms.

Yet it seems no matter how sweet my kisses are, or how pure my heart, I’m just never the first choice.

It’s not that I make a habit of questioning my worth but it just seems that no one else can read the language of my heart, no matter how many times I bare it.

I thought that once or twice it may happen — that someone would stand up and say that he chose me above all others — but then reality would creep in like the black smoke churning from a midwinter’s fire and I’d be left alone and shaken to my core once again.

Sometimes I was partially chosen, in pieces and bits for those parts of myself that they loved to taste. But regardless of how sweet my smile, or how hot my bare skin burned, no one’s ever stayed and said they wanted more.

Perhaps if I’m honest, I’ll admit that sometimes I’ve wondered if I was simply unloveable — that maybe it was my lot in life to remain without someone to hold me close during the dark nights that sometimes seemed too long.

I doubted my truth and wondered if there was something wrong with me — if I just loved too strongly or too differently. Possibly I was just a little too passionate, or maybe it was just that the fire burned so bright behind my eyes that anyone who dared come close enough feared they’d be burned within the flames.

Yet even on occasions when I’ve wondered what was wrong with me that no one ever chose me, I knew deep down it had nothing to do with me at all.

If I’m being honest, I’ll admit that at times I’ve settled for less than I’ve wanted — just to feel the way a man’s hands got tangled up in my long hair and how intoxicating words slung in sugar could be when they were tossed out underneath the blood moon.

I want to be someone’s first choice so much that I hung onto the men who promised someday, and just not right now, because it was the draw of a potential high that kept me addicted — the lure of having something I’ve never had before.

Yet when days dragged into weeks, and weeks became buried by months, I know that (once again) I wasn’t the first choice. Maybe I wasn’t even the second or the third but really all along it was a secret so seductive it couldn’t ever be whispered aloud.

I know that maybe it was just that I was in a different category all together — that perhaps I’m not the typical girlfriend type and that wives aren’t supposed to look or act like me — and so, maybe it was just that none of these men ever truly knew what to do with me.

Yet, even though none of them ever chose me, even fewer could stay away for good.

It’s painful not being good enough to be seen out dancing underneath the streetlights together or sharing a glass of wine as the sun dipped below the horizon — yet once the moon rose high, it seemed there wasn’t any other place these men wanted to be.

If it had just been about sex all of the time, then it might have been easier for me to barricade my door to these men once and for all — but it often was not.

I know that I touched a special place in each of these men, but perhaps it was too electrifying or too deep, because regardless of how they cared for me or what an amazing woman they think I am — I just am not the type to be their first choice.

It hurt me — more than I’ll ever admit — to have cared so deeply for these men, who in the end pretended as if they barely knew me, those that made it seem so effortless to walk away from me and my soft brown eyes that show nothing but truth. But I’m used to this role, and so it was one that I knew how to play brilliantly — that is, until I lost the ability to pretend that it didn’t matter.

Because once I took off the shrug of my shoulders and a full toss of my hair, all I was left with was a cold lonesome bed — and as I would crawl beneath the heavy down comforter, I would wonder how a bed so full of life and pleasure could ever be left as frigid and empty as the one I occupied.

For a long while I pretended that it didn’t hurt — and I just simply chose myself, thinking that at least I could put myself first, even if no one else could.

While I found happiness once again, and became impassioned about the way the moonlight radiated off my skin and how the sunrise always seemed to understand, I realized that just because I had chosen myself, it didn’t mean that I still didn’t long to be someone else’s first choice too.

I don’t doubt my worth anymore and instead I know that it’s just going to take someone truly spectacular to understand the song my heart sings.

I know that he is out there somewhere, wishing for a woman exactly like me — and that when we finally do meet, nothing about me will scare him. Except maybe the thought of losing me.

“I just want to be someone’s first choice. Not second, or third, or someone they only want to keep as a secret on the side. But someone’s first choice.” ~ Whisper




She Was Done.

She realized she was the only self she could be — and not being unapologetically true to herself was a disservice to her soul and to the world.

She was done listening to the noise of the world. She realized the quiet voice of her own soul was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

She was done questioning her motives, her intentions, the call of her soul. She realized that all questions seek answers and maybe she already knew those answers and didn’t need to wait around for someone to respond.

She was done striving, forcing, pushing through and staying on the hard path. She realized that “toughing things out” might be a sign to pick a new path.

She was done with friends that wished her to be happier, more present and more like them. She realized they didn’t understand just how deep she swam in the waters of life and she felt at home in the dark depths and would die if she hovered the surface.

She was done with the distractions, the denials, the small addictions that pulled her away from the true desires of her soul. She realized that strength of character came from focus and commitment.

She was done not following the desires that yelled out in her soul every day. She realized that if she did nothing about them, they died a quiet death that took a piece of her soul with them.

She was done trying to please everyone. She realized it could never be done.

She was done questioning herself. She realized her heart knew the truth and she needed to follow it.

She was done analyzing all the options, weighing the pros and cons and trying to figure everything out before leaping. She realized that taking a leap implied not fully seeing where she landed.

She was done battling with herself, trying to change who she knew herself to be. She realized the world made it hard enough to fully be herself, so why add to the challenge.

She was done worrying, as if worry was the price she had to pay to make it all turn out okay. She realized worry didn’t need to be part of the process.

She was done apologizing and playing small to make others feel comfortable and fit in. She realized fitting in was overrated and shining her own light made others brave enough to do the same.

She was done with the should’s, ought to’s, and have to’s of life. She realized the only must’s in her life came from things that beat so strong in her being she couldn’t not do them.

She was done with remorse and could have’s. She realized hindsight never applies because circumstances always look different in the rearview mirror and you experience life looking through the front window.

She was done with friendships based on shared history and past experiences. She realized that if friends couldn’t grow together, or who were no longer following the same path, it was okay to let them go.

She was done being so tired. She realized it came from spending her time doing things that didn’t bring her joy or feed her soul.

She was done trying to figure it all out, know all the answers, plan everything and see all the possibilities before she began. She realized that life was unfolding and that the detours and unexpected moments were some of the best parts to her story.

She was done needing to be understood by anyone but herself. She realized she was the only person she was guaranteed to spend her whole life with and understanding herself was more important than being understood by others.

She was done looking for love. She realized loving and accepting herself was the best kind of love and the seed from which all other love started.

She was done fighting, trying to change or simply not accepting her body. She realized the body she came into the world with was the only one she was going to get — there were no exchanges or returns — so love, health and acceptance was the only way.

She was done beating herself up and being so hard on herself as if either of these things led to changes or made her feel any better. She realized kindness and compassion towards herself and others accomplished more.

She was done comparing and looking at other people’s lives as a mirror for her own. She realized holding her own mirror cast her in the best, most beautiful light.

She was done being quiet, guarded and holding her tongue. She realized her voice and her emotions could be traced back to her deepest desires and longings if she only followed their thread.

She was done having to be right. She realized everyone’s truth was relative and personal to themselves, so the only right that was required was the one that felt true for her.

She was done being drained by others — by people who didn’t want to take the time for their own process and saw shortcuts through hers. She realized she could share her experience but everyone needed to do the work themselves.

She was done with not being content with where she was. She realized the present moment held all it needed to get her to the next moment.

She was done seeing hurt as something to be avoided, foreseen or somehow her fault. She realized hurt shaped her as much as joy and she needed both in order to both learn and grow.

She was done with regrets. She realized if she had known better she would have done better.

She was done with being angry. She realized anger was just a flashlight that showed her what she was most scared of and once it illuminated what she needed to see, she no longer needed to hold onto it.

She was done being sad. She realized sorrow arose when she betrayed her own soul and made choices that weren’t true to herself.

She was done playing small. She realized if others couldn’t handle her light, it was because they were afraid of their own.

She was done yelling above the noise of the world. She realized living out loud could be done quietly.

She was done being something she was not. She realized the purpose of life was to be truly, happily who she was born to be…and if she paused long enough to remember, she did in fact, recognize herself.

I’m Done. I’ve realized that.


I Am Me

In all the world there is no one else exactly like me.

Everything that comes out of me is authentically mine because I alone chose it.

I own everything about me; my body, my feelings, my mouth, my voice, all my actions, whether they be to others or to myself – I own all my triumphs and successes, all of my failures and mistakes, because I own all of me.

I can become intimately acquainted with me. By so doing I can love me and be friendly with me in all my parts. I know there are aspects about myself that puzzle me and other aspects that I do not know, but as long as I am friendly and loving to myself, I can courageously and hopefully look for solutions to the puzzles and for ways to find out more about me.

However I look and sound, whatever I say and do, and whatever I think and feel at a given moment in time is authentically me. If later some parts of how I looked, sounded, thought and felt turn out to be unfitting, I’ll keep the rest, and invent something new for that which I discarded. I can see, hear, feel, think, say and do – I have the tools to survive, to be close to others, to be productive, and to make sense and order out of the world of people and things outside of me.

I own me, and therefore I can engineer me – I am me and I am okay.

~ Virginia Satir



A girl, like myself, who has lived through trauma has lived through a situation where her body, her mind, her self was not her own. Where she felt disjointed, ripped from her self, safety and sanity. It was a moment, an experience, a something where her trust and Faith was smashed, her worth was gone and all there was — was pain.

A girl who has lived through trauma is the girl who was pushed into the deep end of the pool when she didn’t know how to swim, but somehow found her way to the edge anyway. She walked through a forest fire and didn’t succumb to the smoke, but dealt with the burns and made it out in spite of the flames. She found herself in free fall but refused to break upon impact.

She survived.

But the thing about trauma is that even when it is over it never really goes away. And sometimes trauma is loud. Sometimes it’s the monster banging on the windows and screaming gutturally and demonically inside of nightmares. It’s nails on a chalkboard and an earthquake that rattles everyone’s floors. It smashes everything in its wake and forces, no, demands that everyone acknowledge its terrible, terrible presence. She won’t have any choice but to sit with hands clapped over her ears making sounds that are barely human because she just wants everything to stop and it won’t.

But other times, trauma is quiet. It’s sneaky. It’s the feeling that she is being watched or that she is walking down the street with the word “victim” painted on her forehead in red and everyone is privy to her secrets. It’s the nagging fear that if she goes to sleep her dreams will be anything but restful. It’s the little whisper saying, “You will never be whole again,” that itches its way into the back of her mind and repeats over, and over, and over. And you won’t even see it because she convinces herself that she is the only one who knows that it is there.

It’s the feeling that she is a 100,000 piece puzzle of black and grey and everyone staring at the mess realizes that putting her back together is simply not worth the effort.

So when you love a girl who is going through trauma, you’re saying that you see the worth in helping her bandage the wounds. You’re saying that you see the worth that someone, or something, else tried to bury. You’re saying that you’re not afraid of the bad days and you see the beauty in the good days. You’re saying that a lot of things may scare you, but trauma isn’t one of them.

Loving a girl who has managed to make it to the other side of a traumatic experience is like trying to restore an abandoned house. She has the framework and the good bones, but you may need to spackle holes left behind on the walls. She has the makings for beautiful, light-filled windows, but you’ll need to replace a few of the cracked panes with new glass. She has the door frame, she just needs a door.

See, loving a girl with trauma in her history is definitely not something chosen. It takes time, it takes patience. It’s not something you ‘win at’ it’s something you deal with day by day. It takes a level of commitment because reality is, loving her will not be simple.

She is inherently complicated to a certain degree. She is stained with visions and memories she wishes she did not have but that she will never be able to forget. She is pieced together and the stitching may be tighter in some spots than others so you have to be careful not to unravel her with one careless tug.

But oh, is she brave and so very strong. And when she realizes that you are choosing to love her, and not hurt her, she will love you back with the same tenacity that it took to walk through fire. And she will hold out her palm and show you her burns and scars and instead of apologizing for bothering you with their appearance, she’ll trust you to hold her hand anyway.


My Someone

I hope I end up with somebody who truly and honestly and passionately loves me back. I don’t mean someone who likes my long hair or the hip new jeans I just bought. I want someone who’s genuinely interested in my world. Someone who wants to know what my favorite songs are…not the songs I like while with a crowd of people at a function but the songs I listen to while I’m driving alone or falling asleep at night. Someone who wants to know what my favorite books are and will take the time to read them because they want to see what intrigues my mind. Someone who wants to know about my favorite childhood memory and my favorite hiding place as an adult. Someone who wants to work out with me and then eat a tub of ice cream with me on a Friday night. Someone who uses words like charming, stunning, delightful, lovely, graceful, dazzling, radiant and dashing instead of cute and pretty. Someone who wants to read every journal entry I’ve posted on my blog. Someone who wants to find all the imperfections on my skin and wants to love every blemish and scar they find. Someone who knows my favorite quotes by heart. Someone who wants to know if I prefer almond milk or fat free milk. Someone who wants to learn about my past but more so what I dream for my future. I hope I find that someone who wants to know every detail about me. I hope I find them and I end up with them forever.


I am the strength of a bold Parisian coffee at sunrise and I will never try to pretend that I’m not. I am one of the wild ones, and no matter how I try to hide that fact, I can’t be anything other than what I am — and that’s okay. I am just as I am supposed to be, magnificently wild in all my chaotic beauty.

I’ve had my heart broken and I never understood why it always seemed to never work out until now…

I don’t need a man, I need a goddamn warrior.

It doesn’t matter if this man drives a jeep or a shiny sports car, and it won’t matter if he wears silk or cotton — it will not even matter if he works in a high-rise or the night shift.

What is going to matter is that when it comes to taking bets on my heart, he is going to be high stakes — all the way.

This warrior of mine will crave my strength and my intensity. He’s going to look at me and not see something to tame but something to just admire. He won’t be someone that I can manipulate or play with, and I won’t even try, because I’m going to love him more because of it.

My fierceness is going to bring him to his knees every single time we lock eyes, but the difference is, he isn’t going to be scared off. No, this time, I will have finally met my match — because too simple of a man just won’t do.

I need someone to match the fire in my eyes with his own. Not only that, but this warrior of mine is going to want to encourage the flames instead of trying to douse them with his own insecurities.

He won’t have to do anything extraordinary to earn my love but he would walk through fire if it meant seeing the smile that I reserve only for him.

The one I seek, is seeking me, too.

I’m sure he’s had failed relationships that have left him wondering if maybe he was meant to be alone for the rest of his journey — and I want to change all of that for him. We have both been traveling along on our separate journeys and have been doing an okay job at it, but that’s about to change.

I’m not going to run this time — my heart has broken before and I’m not used to things working out, but next time it’s going to be different. I will give myself the time and permission to see that.

This warrior needs to see that it’s possible for someone to see all of his will, and still be there when he craves his freedom and ventures off into this world for a bit. I won’t always need to follow him, just as he won’t always follow me. I will always stay wild even when all I want to do is curl up in that spot along his side and forget the rest of the world exists.

I will still let myself wander under the full moon and talk to the stars. I will feel the pull of the wind on my heart and also the sun towards new journeys. Because this warrior of mine is going to love me because of my wild — and he’ll want me to keep it.

We’ll be in this together, this amazing, crazy, chaotic, wonderfully heartbreaking life — because it takes a warrior to love someone like me. And it’s going to take me to show him what real love is.

So I will pack up my insecurities and my ideas about picket fences, because that was never me anyway. I was born knowing that I was destined for more and now is the time for me to see what all those dreams look like.

There will be no stopping a love like I seek and I will hold out as long as it takes. I have hope and I will always give love another try because I know that this particular love is out there seeking me, too.


You were just a simple seed.
Nothing more than a maybe.
A possibility.
Dare I say, a probably.

And in my heart you were watered, sunned, nurtured and adored. There, you sprouted and bloomed. I could feel you, see you, touch you, as if you were right in front of me.

I was, in my naïveté, so sure of you. So sure that you would steadily grow from a dream into a reality. I assumed you were tied, tethered, secured to the hands on the clock. And as they would surely click forward, you would grow bigger, stronger, realer, until everyone could see you, know you the way I have. It was simply, as they say, a matter of time.

But time is so much more than a simple matter. And I was wrong. Seconds on the clock seem so definitive, certain, innocuous, but every single one is stuffed with choices and possibilities. And the circumstances that will create and negate them.

How do you say goodbye to something that you never had? And how do you mourn something that never was?

Maybe all of our maybes are real in their own right. And maybe, they can be mourned for exactly what they were. A hundred tears for lost years. A thousand for each of the possiblys and the could be’s, and the who knows. And a million goodbyes for the millions of seconds that you will never see. Every circumstance that will never reveal itself to you. Each choice that you will never get to make. All of the roads that have closed and the paths that you will never get to take.

Time always finds a way of bringing us back into the now. The future is a wave pulling you under, strangling your breath, spitting you back onto the shore. Reminding us that we can visit but we cannot live there. Here on the shore, in the now, is where we can breathe and start again.

And as time has brought me back to my proper place, I will start building new roads, piece by piece, with each second that time gifts me. And maybe I’ll see you again. Maybe some version of you will finally sprout and bloom on these new paths. Maybe you will get to claim as many minutes and moments that were stolen from you.

Or maybe I will simply visit you in my heart, where you lived and where you died. And each second that we spend in that sacred space of dreams, will solidify into a moment, a moment that will forever be yours and mine.

~ Ours