Tough love can have its place, but without true compassion, it can also be very destructive; dismissal and indifference were gasoline on my ever-smoldering fire of pain and confusion.
Tag: Maria Burns
Chipping away
I know I ended with another teaser last month (that I’ve been introduced to a new medical approach to my long-standing spinal issues), but you’ll have to endure a bit of a wait for that revelation. A little sidetrack is in order.
Mountains of melo-trauma
I could spend an entire year’s worth of columns trying to share the volume of information floating in cyberspace (and piled on brick-and-mortar bookshelves) about trauma.
Sticking with my chosen metaphor, it’s like that giant snow bank at the end of your driveway as December draws to a close, and before any January thaw comes to the rescue.
One flake at a time
I thought about taking this column on a 90-degree turn from last month’s “Snowball” cliffhanger, but I’m feeling too guilty about stringing you along ad infinitum, so we shan’t skip a beat.
Melting the snowball
Any followers of this column (I’ll ingratiate my ego and assume there are one or two) will recall that I promised in November to delve deeper into my steps out of the dark night of the soul after the first of the year.
Holy help for Holy Week
Another Holy Week is upon us. I’d like to be able to say, “Holy Holstein, where did Lent go??” However, I find myself falling short on that score.
The changeup
Those who caught last month’s column may recall that I was on a bit of a hopeful high: Savoring my Valentine décor, embracing a reinvigorated devotion to The Little Flower, and resting in the solace of my epiphany regarding heavy crosses that are long in duration.
A rose by any other name
The older I get, the more I become a creature of habit. Does life work any other way?
In God We Trust
Welcome to a brand-new year. We’re two weeks into it (as of this writing), and all seems to be going according to Hoyle by my metrics: Snow on the ground, ice on the side roads, a wind chill or two that has reached subzero.
My quiet strength
I’ve been working my way through one of the loveliest Advent prayer and meditation guides I’ve encountered in years: Behold, by Sr. Miriam James Heidland, SOLT.