Bearfoot Mama

  I live in a small city in Indiana that is world famous for her  architecture. I can trace my maternal history in the same county for 4 generations. I live in a cookie cutter sub-division, privacy fence and all. That being said, I am what is commonly referred to in my family as a "hill-jack".    My Father's mother's people are from the hills of Tennessee, his father's  people immigrated from Holland and the little I know about his family history is sordid at best. Suffice it to say that my grandfather joined the Navy at 15 after forging his own birth certificate to escape a broken home; and became a golden glove boxer, before returning home after his mother's murder to try and put his broken back together; marrying my grandmother in the process. Sadly, the pieces continued to sever, but in the process my father was born and eventually met my mother, the daughter of proud Kentuckian from a town so small it's not on a map.    His father was a junk dealer

  Barefoot and (Wishing I were) pregnant. Masters Degree'd stay at home mom. A mystic steeped in Christian tradition who honors both Christ and the image of the divine feminine I see in myself, my daughters and the great mother earth on which we tread.   I cannot abide organized religion and yet I desperately miss the feeling of community and family it brings. I curse like a sailor when riled, and adore sappy movies with happy endings that make me cry. A stack of contradictions, one right on top the other. Perhaps we all are. Shadow, light, joy and pain. Some people see life as a tapestry, and I suppose there's a lot of truth to that,. But ever since I was a young girl, I have envisioned it as a stained glass window. I 'spose it's because I have always been aware that people are broken- and yet can and more often than not, are just plain beautiful if you take the time to look . In my last blog post I was downright raw about  the many times, and ways I have been shatter

  Hello all, I decided to start blogging again today because I was both reminded of my struggle and that I am not alone in it.  For those of you  who might not know me, My name is Heather. I am a 34 year old mother of 2. I have met all of society's goals for me. I am married, I am highly educated and can in many ways be classified  as a middle class American- home ownership suburbia and all.   Be that as it may, there was a moment today, a brief moment that came like lightening I was overcome with the vision of my wrist splayed open- and this vision- brought a cool sense of relief. You see, I have experienced trauma. Rape, molestation, I have been slapped, grabbed by my hair and thrown on the floor.Degraded, terrified, and silenced. I am strong, I have risen, but I am bruised. The bruises have names. PTSD, Generalized anxiety disorder panic disorder and chronic depression.   What am I supposed to do... I'm not sure. I can only tell you what happened next. I saw my sweet babi