Breaking The Silence
While going through my second divorce, I had been referred to Dr. Roberta Damon through a divorce recovery workshop at First Baptist Church, the largest in Richmond, located on a sprawling block of historic Monument Avenue. Her office was located across the street in an aged but stately two-story house that had been donated to the church. As I made my way up the brick steps for our first appointment, my hands were shaking, my heart racing, and a pit was forming deep in my bel
Generational Grit
A picture of my great-grandmother, Mary Ella Dawson, sits on my desk as a reminder of generational grit. In the photograph, she is dressed in a suit, a brimmed hat with a big bow, and round glasses. She is not smiling; her eyes are dark and cold, yet steady and determined. Every day I am reminded that courage runs deep in my ancestral bones. I had only seen her, as well as my grandmother, Lillie, wear a house dress with hose and clunky black shoes. My grandmother had never cu
The Ritual of Morning Pages
I rise before the world, the quiet of the house still wrapped around me, and I sit with my journal. Three pages. Handwritten. No one reads them. No one judges. It is the rhythm of reclaiming my voice, the sacred act of listening to myself. I am fulfilling a promise I made to Jon. One day while standing in our kitchen, he held my shoulders, looked intently into my eyes and asked, “Will you write our love story?” I shrugged off the suggestion. He was serious. He told me it was
