Tonight I went looking for answers in Scripture, as I often do.

I found three people without names.

A son who left, a son who stayed, and a father who waited.

I had been pondering the parable of the prodigal son differently lat…

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For a few brief weeks, my life was moving in a straight line.

Graduation.
Barcelona.
A master’s program in the fall.
Research with MY name attached to it.

After years of surviving my life, I had finally begun participating in it.

Barcelona, especially, felt impossibly far away for most of my life. Not geographically, but existentially. It belonged to healthie…

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Last night, instead of sleeping like a responsible adult, I read every essay I wrote this year for Substack.

This was not a planned decision.
It was a one more scroll situation that turned into nineteen mini commitments, yes, I counted them at the end.

The anti–blue light glasses sitting on the other side of my bedroom were not improving my circadian rhyth…

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Dearest readers (and self),

Not to worry, I didn’t stop writing.
I just stopped writing here for the past six weeks.

This last semester demanded everything I had. Every ounce of focus and every spar…

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Sometimes we tell ourselves not to take it personally.
We repeat it like a mantra: It’s not about me. It’s not about me.

Or, my favorite Ekhart Tolle concept from the late 90’s, one I’ll never…

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Apologies are easy to say and brutal to mean. Half-apologies keep the armor on, protecting us from shame but leaving the damage unhealed, but real ones cut straight to the bone. Exposing us, humbling us, forcing us to face w…

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The Grandfather I Never Knew

My grandfather was only five …

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I am forty-five years old, a white woman in Florida, a mother, a writer. I will never pretend to know what it is like to live Dennis Coles’s life, the man the world knows as Ghostface Killah. He is W…

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Dear friends, today I’m sharing something special, a local story from right here in Jupiter, my hometown. It’s the story of Stacy, a lifelong friend of mine, who turned a small act of care into a trusted business that now serves hundreds of families in our community. What struck me most in her journey was how it mirrors so many of the themes we explore …

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Tonight, the vibe feels a little different.
Backpacks are lined up. Lunches are packed into the fridge, ready to grab’n’go. Alarms are already set for tomorrow. Even if you’re not sending anyone back to school, you can feel t…

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My son sent me a video this evening.
He was rock climbing on vacation with his dad and his dad’s girlfriend’s family.
He looked strong, confident, happy, healthy.
I was proud of him, watching him make it to the top, seeing the smile on his face.

But the truth is, I could barely press play.
Because I knew what it would cost me.

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I don’t always make eye contact with patients.

It’s not a lack of confidence, it’s the intensity. Real eye contact collapses the distance between you and the other person. It invites something deeper than words. In a clinical setting, that can be too much.

But I’m not just clinical. I never have been.

My time with patients often turns into therapy sessions…

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Some victories come wrapped in irony.

Last week, I got pulled over and was stunned to learn my driver’s license had been suspended, apparently due to expired tags I had completely forgotten to renew. The truth is, I had been so consumed with finishing my semester strong…papers, exams, projects, that things like that slipped through the cracks.

I spent the…

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Some weeks I pack light.
Other weeks I’m hauling around an emotional carry-on I never meant to bring.

That extra baggage shows up in the texts I still haven’t answered, the dumb comment I keep replaying, the to-do list multiplying faster than I can cross things off, the canceled plans, the pressure to “fix” my kids’ problems… the list goes on.

This weekend…

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I didn’t expect my mandatory “Exploring the Bible” class at a Christian University to feel like a therapy session hosted by Jeremiah. Nothing mandatory sits well with me as it is. I am a single mom who just turned 45 (**5/28 shout out to fellow Geminis**..damn! 45??… that can’t be right), who returned to college a year ago to pursue a masters ’s degree …

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🕯️ Sunday Ritual

This week, I turned 45.
I know, it’s weird. It feels like just yesterday I was working the Estée Lauder counter at the mall, selling mascara and bingeing Godiva chocolates on my breaks. Now I’m writing essays on covenant theology and trying to remember if I took my magnesium.

To everyone hustling through school, work, parenting, and manda…

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I was sixteen when I folded a tiny piece of paper and tucked it into a little girl’s jewelry box. My phone number was written in pencil. The box was purple, with a twirling ballerina inside, and a secret compartment beneath the velvet lining. A hiding place.

“Call me no matter what, if there’s an emergency,” I said.

She nodded, serious-eyed, six years old…

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The middle school years are a uniquely awkward and complex period for both kids and parents.It's a time marked by the transition from the carefree innocence of childhood to the more complicated terrain of young adulthood.

As a parent sitting in the audience at one of these concerts, you experience a whirlwind of emotions, typically including holding bac…

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The Fade-out

“Twenty-five years and my life is still / Tryin’ to get up that great big hill of hope…”

Releasing my children’s early years brought unexpected grief. I recall cautioning my brother's friends during my niece’s birthday celebrations about what their future held. My efforts to prepare other parents for the challenges ahead may have been somewha…

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Sundays can feel like a strange ache.
Like the quiet before a storm.
The weight of a week about to begin.

My anxiety has driven me here this evening, to write, just to sidestep the dread of Monday.
Is it really that bad? Not always. But somehow, this weekly unease finds me anyway.

I haven’t officially launched Ash & Ink ye…

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