#EvolutionofaHolyBadAss
I found a therapist who feels like a smart best friend. She understands my context and my subtext, and as a writer, there are few things more profound. 2022 has been the hardest year I can remember...the year that everyone died, or at least it seemed that way. 2022 soundly kicked my ass. Slayed me. …
Four days to watch a miracle unfold. It is not my story to tell, but it is my praise to offer. None but God could've moved these mountains. I look now and say "what mountains?" There Were Never Any There.
No schedules. No (very little) stress. Minimal guilt. I am learning not apologize for everything. I am not sorry because everything is not my fault....
Despite my treatment (and the millions of those like me) by this country, even as my voice (and at times my body) trembles, I rise, asserting my rights. I display the flag upside down. I am in EXTREME DISTRESS.
I never stop when I should. I have never believed that the rules of self and soul care applied to me, even as I excoriate those I loved, "Do Better." I steadfastly refuse to take my own advice.
A repost from a while ago. Often, it's experiencing your own words through someone else's lens that makes them fresh again.
This is the last day I'll ever be 55. I'm leaving the speed limit behind. As the song says, it's time to "Take the Limits Off."
"If God be our God, He will give us peace in trouble." That peace is Sabbath.
..whereas I was asking God to open the door if that was God's Will; God burned the house down, eliminating the door.
More than satisfying, breakfast was a faith lesson. It was also about communion, as it satisfied my hunger and that of the adorable interloper who nicked what I didn't finish (I was done).
Chelle A Wilson 
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