For All The Little Kids Climbing Trees (Spoken Word)

Thought Catalog


When I was 7,
I used to climb the tallest tree in my backyard,
nestle myself in her open arms,
and we’d watch the entire world pass us by.
I named her Grandmother Willow, not only because I watched Pocahontas so many times the tape broke, but because this tree too could talk.
She would whisper secrets,
the chime of her leaves in the wind was our special code,
and she knew she was safe when she confided in me.
She told me of my neighbor, that he often stayed awake until odd hours in the morning,
that once she saw him kiss a woman who did not look like his wife in the middle of the driveway.

We were mortified.

We laughed when we learned the boy with sun-kissed cheeks and glasses had a crush on my mom.
Grandmother Willow learned this when he stuffed anonymous love letters…

View original post 440 more words


What happened?

So, the other day I was talking to a guy friend from high school. And, we had a great big heart-to-heart and were filling each other in to what we’ve been up to since graduation. About halfway through the conversation he says to me, “Wow, you are a goddess.” Like…..what? While I agree (as all women should feel like the goddesses they are) I was just shocked that he said this to me. Where was that kind of adoration when we were in all the same high school classes? Honestly, I’m still the same person today that I was all through school. So, why did it take four years for this kid to recognize my redeeming qualities? I’m just so confused. It’s as if he had to hear about all of the great things my boyfriend and I do together to think, “Hey, she is actually something that other men like. Maybe I like this too. I definitely like this too.”

Oh, if you’re wondering, my response to him was: “Of course I’m a goddess; I always have been.”

Goals and Disappointments

As you might be aware, I’m currently on a journey toward getting more fit and loving myself more. Well, things are going spectacularly in the love department! However, my fit challenge has fallen off a little in the past week.

My best friend and I go to the gym multiple times during the week and keep each other accountable for our exercise. This week I, unfortunately, have not made it to the gym a single time. Now, I’m not upset with myself for not going; I’d rather be alive and less fit than be in a car accident. I am upset that I haven’t been making the best choices as a result. When I work out I feel more than prepared to turn down desserts and all of the terrible food that has had its hands on the control center of my brain since I was very young. When I fail to go to the gym I am more tempted to indulge myself, and I have more time to do so. I’m really trying. More than I’ve ever tried before. I have so many people encouraging me, but I want to make sure that I don’t give up. It just gets really hard when there are so factors keeping me from the gym.

One bright side is that I really do miss working out. I miss being able to focus and give all of my energy toward something so positive. It helps to reduce my stress and sleep at night without overthinking everything. Above all else, I miss the time I get to spend with Tori (seriously check her blog out:

Just writing this keeps me motivated to get my bottom back on that track!

Hopefully my next post will be about all of the walking and biking I was able to do 🙂

Until then, I wish you the best.


I have to let out the anger…

My car wouldn’t start today. I was spending the little time I have with my boyfriend, when we were about to leave so he could get to dinner and his night class. I put the key in the ignition, turn, and…click,click,click,click. No. Not now. Please.

My battery was just as done with this wintry weather as I am. I panicked immediately, as I do with everything that I’m sort of expecting, however dreading to occur. Keith called the campus police and they said they would send somebody in a few minutes. He had to leave for his class, so I waited. And waited. And froze.

After about ten minutes campus security rolls up. Let me be the first to say that every encounter I’ve had with these men have all been negative. Every time I have asked for help or explanations I got talked into circles and ended up crying. I tried to be friendly.

“Hello,” I cheerfully greeted the policeman as he lumbered out of his car. Well, as cheerfully as I could muster while I was still having a semi-anxiety attack.

“Hi,” he grumbled in return, “open your hood for me.”

“Okay.” (I mean, wow, I realize it’s cold, but this is your job.)

I watch in silence as he lifts my hood and attaches the sparky thing onto my battery.

“That should be good,” more of his bad attitude.

“Okay, I’ll try it!” I turn the key and luckily it starts with a roar.

“Now, you’ll need to drive it around for about 20 minutes so it powers back up.”

“Okay, thank you so much for your help!”


And, that was it. He left.

Sometimes I really don’t understand people. This man chose this job knowing that he would be dealing with college students and issues like this. It wasn’t like I was rude to him, breaking any laws, or being belligerent in any way. I was just an unfortunate student who needed a little help. I tried to be as warm as possible to him and all I got back was disinterest, annoyance, and resentment. I’m so disillusioned with our campus police. I think next time I’ll just find a peer to jump my car; at least they might be nice to me.

Thank goodness I’m dating a firefighter and not a policeman.

I see you.

After more than a year of dating my boyfriend just started following this blog. ‘Bout damn time, seriously!


Before we started dating I noticed (I mean I wasn’t stalking his facebook or anything…) that he posted a link to his first blog post. I followed it and drank up every word (I wasn’t looking for clues that he was thinking of me, goodness!). I’m telling you, I looked for updates on that blog daily. I read every word, and mostly in between the lines. I waited for some kind of clue that he enjoyed spending time with me. And, I (not-so-subtly) made sure he knew that I had a blog on here as well. I secretly hoped that he was checking for signs of me liking him as well, but I had no way of knowing. He never followed me. Now, I guess he realized it’s time since he’s locked into this relationship 😉

Losing It

Yesterday I was sitting with my boyfriend, Keith, and for some unknown reason I began to think about all of the writing I did while in high school and how proud I was of all the pieces I created. I shared the beginnings of a fiction piece, utilizing two points of view, with him. It was ten pages long, and if I do say so myself, was a solid foundation to what could have been a popular young adult book.

This all sparked my thinking: Where has my passion for writing gone?

I have a teaching class right now that focuses on teaching writing to grades K-4, and we are forced to keep a journal. Every week we must have a peer read our work, fill out our self-produced rubric, and critique us. Without fail, my partner tells me every week that my writing makes her feel inadequate. After ten minutes of reassuring her of the differences in style and subject matter she still insists that I am simply a better writer. However, I only find value in my writing because I am passionate and have always loved writing.

In elementary school I would write fiction and creative nonfiction short stories every week. I was pumping them out faster than my parents could read. But, sometime in middle school some girl told me my writing “sucked”. Instead of commenting on her limited vocabulary I chose to internalize this comment and never shared my writing again. Well, that is, until I took a poetry class in tenth grade. My teacher loved having everyone share their creativity, but the idea of sharing my writing with strangers terrified me to the point of tears. My senior year I took a creative communications class and discovered my voice again. I wrote every day and took pride in my ideas.

Now, I find myself started stories and never finishing them. I abandon them in faux-leather journals, discovering them months later and wishing I had ridden my wave of inspiration to completion. I think I’ve lost some of my creativity in writing. But, I sure as hell will never stop; no matter how much I “suck”.

Galentines and Valentines

The day of love and all things romance is quickly approaching. I have so many people in my life that I appreciate and love. I can’t thank people enough for helping me get through my neurotic breakdowns and feelings of inadequacy. You know who you are and you mean the world to me.

I’d like to also take a moment to celebrate how far I’ve come in my relationship with my best friend and partner in crime. He has helped me become a better person in so many ways and has helped me overcome some of my biggest anxieties. For example, I was eating with my friend, Olivia, the other day and she asked about what I’d been up to. I informed her of how my boyfriend and I went to the gym together and then cooked dinner together. The look of shock on her face surprised me. I had been so used to our level of comfort that I didn’t at first understand why she was puzzled. Then she explained her perspective: “Just a year ago you couldn’t eat a single piece of food in front of him, let him touch you, or even dream of working out with him.” She was right. I was so immersed in my experience with him that I wasn’t able to see how much of an accomplishment that was. He really is the best and I hope I never lose him. He did promise to live to 200 years. Hopefully he wasn’t lying.



Here’s to a billion more memories created and mornings of eggies and Portlandia ❤