Tag: #healing

Quiet Dreams

I can remember as a young child pondering in my mind if God created me to be a nun.

I’m not Catholic but I’ve always admired the life of nuns and monks (I’m not Buddhist either).

I’ve always been drawn to the slower life.

In my profession I see the extreme hurt so many carry. The scars of the world are real and deep. It is a privilege and honor to bear witness to those scars and to help others on their journey of healing.

The work can feel heavy.

And so, perhaps, my dream of starting a solitude retreat feels more needed with each passing day.

I am dreaming and longing of land, next to nothing but God’s country. Dreaming of a few yurts and THE121 where you can simply come.

In silence or in longing.

To talk or not.

Several times in my life, I have had the immense privilege of attending solitude retreats at a local convent. Each time, my visits have been truly impactful towards my walk.

I imagine a day where I could give that gift back to others. To those who are hurting, weary, tired and worn out.

To those who have been carrying more weight than one is meant to bare.

I can imagine a greeting of tea and a warm bed. Perhaps even a crazy cockapoo who may or may not be sleeping.

These are the longings of a tiny house girl who dreams of living an even simpler life and maybe…perhaps, inviting you into that life, even if it’s only for a moment or two.

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

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It came and went…

I laid down to bed, thankful for another day. As now has become my routine,

I pat my pouch

my Ostomy pouch, that is…(I know I have a stomach pouch and I’m working on that too!)

I try to gauge how long I have until it needs emptied.

Tonight as I patted my pouch, I pondered to myself how long this has been my life.

Or how short.

6 months.

2 days ago, 6 months came and went.

It’s almost normal now.

How has it been?

While life will never be normal.

I have adjusted to my normal.

I have a little inquisitive 3 year old friend whom I adore. Today at church while we waited for a meeting she began asking many normal 3 year old questions.

What’s in your purse?

Why do you have a bag in your purse?

What’s in the bag?

Can I see?

So piece by piece I opened my ostomy “emergency pack” and we discussed each piece. Including the extra underwear.

I explained that it was “kind of like my diaper bag.”

My. New. Normal.

Was it normal for two people to dissect an Ostomy supply bag in the chairs of the church?

For us. Today. It was.

My ostomy has given me my weekends back. I’m no longer living in the bathroom each weekend emptying my colon.

My ostomy has taken away pain that once knew my name.

It has given me some tiredness and new rhythms.

Overall, I am so incredibly grateful.

Today I celebrate.

6 months and 2 days.

God gives good gifts even when they aren’t wrapped like we would expect them to be.

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The Good & The Bad

Thanks for journeying with me. What a journey 2026 has been so far!

If you’ve been journeying with me, you know that in the middle of January I had a pipe burst and have been without water ever since.

In my last post I wrote about how each day I’ve been without water, the Lord showed me that HE had indeed, provided water. I just needed to go outside and scoop it up.

Which leads to this weekend…

The Bad News:

Another leak.

The Good News:

Friends who showed up. Friends who sacrificed several hours of their weekend to help this tiny house girl with a super basic need: water. They were able to repair the initial break and patch the secondary

DRUM ROLL PLEASE….

This amazingly glorious liquid poured forth from my faucet yesterday! Which also means the melting snow IS filling my tank!

I may or may not have sent a video to a select few of me singing the Hallelujah Chorus…!

If you’ve spent any time here or with me, you know I’m passionate about one word “REMEMBER.”

In Exodus, God said to Moses & Aaron

“Get a jar and fill it with two quarts of manna. Then put it in a sacred place before the Lord to preserve it for all future generations.””
‭‭Exodus‬ ‭16‬:‭33‬ ‭NLT‬‬

While we clearly don’t live under the law, there are so many Old Testament principles that serve as beautiful Reminders.

And so…

This morning I found a jar and poured in the remaining melted snow I had reserved and marked the top

Manna 2026

I set the jar in a place reserved for the things I need to Remember

When you come to visit THE121, you can ask,

“What’s with the jar of water?”

And I will say

“It’s the manna God provided.”

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When words run short..

I’ve been silent lately because truly words have fallen short.

My last post was on Jan. 26. Two days before that was when my pipe burst…20 days ago. For 20 days, THE121 has sat dry. Here in the mountains of Pennsylvania, the winter has been BRUTAL. Temps well below average including multiple days of negatives…

I sat with some friends last week with tears streaming down my face.

I. Am. Tired.

Literal survival mode had taken its toll.

The next morning a text came through from a good friend.

A warm house, family away. Come.

I took the gift.

Gratitude.

So I’ve been able to rest this week away. To regain my strength.

Please pray with me as friends come on Saturday with the hopes of fixing the broken pipe in warmer temperatures.

During the sitting with friends, our task was to write a name of God and pray around that name for our situation.

The name I wrote down was

El Roi

The God who sees.

He has indeed seen me. My distress. My discomfort. My cries.

He has seen me. I have seen Him.

Such a loving and gracious Father in the midst of one of the hardest times at THE121.

Tucked in tight enjoying the gift of a warm home with water 💧.
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But…

Have you ever heard that if you speak a sentence and then add the word “But,” it negates everything that comes before the word?

I would let you know this has been my week…

Wednesday I woke up to frozen pipes…

BUT GOD.

Thursday I took another trip to Danville as my GI tract continues to struggle…

BUT GOD.

This morning, I woke up to no power and a frozen generator

BUT GOD.

I could be tempted to despair. I am tempted to complain.

BUT GOD!

Each and every day, He has allowed my nervous system to reset to the point where I could sit with Him and ask him two questions

1.) What do you want me to do about this?

2.) What do you want me to KNOW about you in this?

I am so tempted so often to panic and think that it all depends on me.

God wants me to know that it all depends on HIM!

Each time something has gone awry at THE121 this week, God has told me what to do and He has revealed himself as El Ro’i – The God who sees.

While it may sometimes feel like I am all alone at THE121 at Teaberry Acres. God has used this house and this land to teach me that I am not. That HE IS HERE.

So I do not fear the impending storm. I do not fear the cold.

Because God is in control and so much more powerful.

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Please park…

WARNING: ‼️

GRAPHIC CONTENT BELOW

I received and email recently that sent my anxiety way higher than it should have.

The email went something like this..

“If you are able please park in the overflow parking to allow room for our guests.”

The email truly could not have been any nicer. The problem in my mind was two fold:

1.) the overflow parking is a couple blocks away

2.) the words “if you are able”

How exactly does one decide if they are able?

This was the conundrum in my brain.

At this very moment. I may be. However, in a few moments, I may not be.

And this my friends, is what my new disability has caused.

If you’re being 100% honest with yourself, have you ever seen someone park in a handicap spot, get out and seemingly look completely….fine?

I have.

I have judged.

100%

Hence my conundrum.

What if…I’m not able?

What if…my bag explodes and I need to make a quick escape?

What if…I get sick and can’t walk to my vehicle?

What if….

What if…I appear able but I’m really not?

I made the decision.

The anxiety wasn’t worth the walk. I am not able.

I wanted to be able. But this is not my reality.

Disability doesn’t always equal visibility.

Exhibit A

My apologies if this picture is disgusting. This is the shirt I was wearing under my sweater to the event I was serving at…with the email.

About half way through said event, I began to be sick. I’ll spare you the details, however I did indeed need to make the quick exit due to unforeseen circumstances.

I prayed and prayed the entire drive home, with the windows down as I was heaving and trying to be safe.

I don’t have the ability to vomit and we all know I don’t have a colon. So what happens?

Exhibit A happens.

Did anyone notice 💩 flying out of my abdomen at the event?

I have no idea.

What do I know?

If I can, in whatever way I can, help just one person reframe what ability is and isn’t. I’m here for it.

I use to be that person. The one who use to judge. God forgive me.

If you’ve journeyed with me, you know He is in the business of growing me.

May we all remember disability doesn’t necessarily mean visibility.

Invisible disabilities DO exist.

Some days mine gets the better of me. Praise God, He is sanctifying me.

I also thank God for my cute cockapoo who stays by my side through all my sicknesses.

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Decompress December

A week ago I was talking to a friend who declared December to be “Declutter December.” I so loved that for her!

Her declaration got me thinking, “What do I want December to be for me?” If you read my last post, you know that 2025 has been HARD. As I laid on my couch talking to the Lord, He gave it to me, Decompress December.

As a therapist, I spend a lot of time listening to sacred stories. All of our stories are sacred because the Father is writing them.

Some of our stories hold sorrows. Sorrows and pain get stored in our bodies. As a trauma informed therapist, I have become even more aware of how God created our bodies so miraculously.

You may have heard the phrase, “I’ve been triggered” before. I prefer the word “activated.” Why? Because when you feel “triggered,” your body is actually responding the exact way that God designed it to react. Your amygdala is being “activated” to keep you safe.

Again, why? Your body remembers that at some point in your life, that feeling, that sound, that smell…wasn’t…safe.

I’ll stop there. I could PREACH (or geek) on this for a while.

So when my friend made her declaration, I also knew that I needed to make mine.

My body has held the weight for awhile. It has been remembering the hard.

God has been asking me to decompress.

Do the things that bring you joy tiny house girl.

Release the stress and decompress.

December is hard enough with ALLLLL the things. Why do we need to make it any harder for ourselves?

What brings you joy?

What do you need to let go of in order to decompress?

Release the stress and decompress.

You. Are. Worth. It.

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And here we are…

It’s the eve of December, the last month of the year.

I had the opportunity to sit around the Thanksgiving table with 42 relatives and 3 new friends this past Thursday. Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday. Multiple reasons solicit this answer, but mainly the opportunity to gather, reflect, eat lots of my favorite food and of course stretchy pants.

At the end of each year, I ask God for a word for the next year. The word He gave me for 2025 was “hard.” I asked Him for another word.

MULTIPLE TIMES

Each time, His answer was the same…

Your word is HARD.

I think we all can attest we like fluffy words or words that inspire. Not worlds like HARD.

I walked into 2025 bracing myself for what was to come. Without the ability to see into the future, I stepped in faith knowing that God had more of my sanctification in mind.

2025 has been HARD.

Relationship difficulties, two job changes, health challenges, major surgery and a host of other personal obstacles.

This Thanksgiving as I ate an ENTIRE plate of scrumptious offerings, it wasn’t lost on me that this was the first holiday in elven years that I ate my entire plate with family and I wasn’t sick.

This Thanksgiving was the first time I was able to spend valuable time with individual family members thanks to a remote job.

This Thanksgiving was the first time I left my tiny house for more than 7 days and returned to a home without incident.

Has this year been hard? 100%

Am I different because of the hard?

You bet.

I am stronger.

I am healthier. Physically, Mentally and Spiritually.

I am learning.

So as the calendar flips tomorrow to the last month of 2025, I am thankful God isn’t finished. He continues to push me, to challenge me and sanctify me.

Why?

Because he loves me that much.

He also loves you.

I am grateful for both.

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This I know

I can’t say that life has magically gotten better. That’s just not true. Most days are like ground hog day.

I don’t hate the days.

I don’t hate much of anything.

If I hate anything, I hate mental illness and diseases that plague so many of us.

I have heard from several of you after my last post. If I look at the stats, I would say mental illness hits most of us, if not personally, than perhaps relationally.

What does mental illness look like when you live alone?

It looks like, for me, doing what I know.

I know spending time tucked up with my Jesus is helpful. Even if, cognitively, I can’t go as deep as I normally would. I do it.

Why?

Because the word is alive and active.

I’ve been spending each morning with one verse of my favorite Psalm.

He is my safety. The Holy Spirit dwells in me. I know He is present at THE121.

He and He alone is my safe place.

I sleep.

Some days I can sleep more than others and that’s ok.

I advocate when I have the strength.

Just today, I advocated for more liquid supplements. The Dr wanted me to take over the counter. However, when I’m on short term disability, money is still tight. She heard me and sent a prescription. Thank God for insurance and empathetic doctors.

Physically, I feel better than ever with next to no pain (my pacemaker stitch is being a little spesh).

So I do each day, what I KNOW to do.

I’m so thankful for my tiny house tucked up on the woods that allows me peace and solitude to heal.

Heal physically.

Heal mentally.

Heal emotionally.

Healing takes time. It takes work. It takes each other.

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We must do better

As I write this post, it’s well after midnight. While most days have felt pretty mundane as of late, every now and then (like today), the day is anything but.

On the ‘anything but’ days, it’s typically a doctors appointment that sends the day in a tail spin.

I’ve prolonged writing this post because I needed some time to ground myself, to seek the Lord and make sure that I wasn’t writing out of haste.

I write this post for advocacy, awareness and perhaps to help someone know they aren’t alone.

My first month of recovery felt a lot like trying to catch my breath. Between doctor’s appointments, meals being delivered and friends visiting, there was a lot going on, not to mention trying to learn this new body.

When week 4 hit, it literally felt like I had fallen off the edge in every sort of the imagination. I felt like the earth had stopped moving and I was just here…in mid air…somewhere…

I tried to distract myself by attempting to create things, trying to “do” all that I knew how to “do.”

It all fell so very short.

I just knew I wasn’t…me.

Cue the vulnerability….

My mental health tanked.

The days grew darker and darker.

Nothing I did was helping.

I called my dr.

We can’t see you until March

Not helpful was my reply.

Go to urgent care.

Was theirs.

We can’t see you.

Was urgent cares reply.

Between what felt like sheer absurdity, one kind scheduler in the dark web of Geisinger found one lone appointment with one lone physician “in my area” who could see me the next day.

I took the appointment, trusting it was what God provided.

I explained the darkness. Told him I didn’t think I was absorbing my mental health pill due to my new system.

Are you going to kill yourself?

He asked.

No

I replied.

Then you’ll be fine.

WE HAVE TO DO BETTER.

With tears in my eyes, I advocated hard with every fiber I had left in my being to get my mental health meds re-prescribed to liquid (ileostomy surgeries are notorious for malabsorption problems).

I write this because had I not been a therapist who knows a thing or two about mental health, I wonder where the non-therapist Tiny House (and big house) girls and boys of the world would be.

Sadly, I don’t have to wonder.

It is absolutely not ok for anyone, let alone a physician to declare the mental health baseline to be death.

I have also since advocated for a complete blood work up and found some other contributing factors to my floating out in the abyss. Which, once corrected will also help my mental health.

I write to hopefully remind us all that we all have struggles.

You are not alone.

None of us can know what others are going through.

Ask the questions.

If your mental health is struggling. Reach out. I’m a huge advocate of talk therapy (yes therapists need therapists!) along with medication.

988 is a valuable resource.

As a society, as friends and yes in the medical profession.

We all must do better.

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