coping
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Why do you hurt me?was the prayer I never said aloud.It lived in my mouth like a dying bird,fluttering, breaking its neckon the cage of my molars. You looked at me likesomething ungrateful.Something wild you forgot to tame.I didn’t understand.Not when I still thoughtblood meant safety,that family meant shelterand not war dressed as tradition. Later—I
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The witch said, fear me, but I didn’t.And I won’t. Fairytales don’t survivewhere real living begins.No spellbook can outdo the acheof waking up and still choosing grace. Energy is a circle,not a dagger.What you put out comes back, not through magic,but through truth.Through consequence.Through the quiet way life returns what you give it. Call it
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Friendships and relationships. Missed, hidden, and mourned There’s a part of coming out no one really prepares you for. People talk about the joy, the freedom, the sense of finally stepping into yourself. And that’s real. But there’s another side too. A quieter, harder side. One that lingers. It’s grief. The Ones I Never Got
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Lately, I’ve been feeling the weight of time. It’s hitting me that I’ve lived more years than I probably have left, and no matter how I try to shake it, the truth stays. One day, I won’t be here. And that day is coming faster than I ever imagined. One morning, people who love me
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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what faith really means. Not the version wrapped in rules or ritual, but the kind that grows quietly inside you. The kind you don’t always have words for, but you feel it. It shows up in how you love. In how you choose kindness. In the way you
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Life isn’t supposed to be a series of “gotcha” moments. You know the kind—those little traps people set in conversations, waiting for someone to slip up just so they can say, “Aha! I caught you.” In healthy relationships, that kind of behavior doesn’t belong. But in dysfunctional families, it can become the norm. I lived
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I hate secrets. It’s true—I always have. All my life, I’ve struggled with secrets, especially keeping them. It’s just not how I live. Very early in adulthood, I realized how important it was not to live in secrecy. Some of you who know me might say, “But you were in a straight marriage.” That’s true—I
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I was talking with my husband, Rick, the other day—just one of those quiet moments after we’d dropped our bags and taken a deep breath. We’ve been on the road for a month now, weaving our way from one city to the next, and I could tell he sensed something in my mood. Madrid had
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Yesterday, in the heart of the Madrid train station, we stood shoulder to shoulder in a dense, unmoving crowd. We waited more than four hours to pass through security, just to reach our train platform. Our train was delayed by three hours, and the atmosphere was thick with heat, frustration, and fatigue. The crowd pulsed
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When I was little, my mom told me she was going to redecorate my room. I remember the thrill of choosing paint swatches—so deep a royal blue it felt like diving into the night sky. As the first coats went on, the room took on a hushed glow, and we pressed glow‑in‑the‑dark stars into the
Steven LaChance Blog 