I sit here, at my dining-room table with a fresh cup of coffee, typing and deleting as I try to turn my life to story.

My mind pictures a little girl climbing up the old cedar tree in her front yard with tears rolling down her cheeks. Always so sensitive. A little girl, unable to refrain from eavesdropping or touching the delicate wings of a moth. Always so curious. A little girl, telling wild tales with great theatrics. Always so imaginative.

I then see a teenager. The light and color dimming around her as she navigated the new world. Always trying so hard. Painfully hard. Trading pieces of herself for the acceptance of others. Stumbling down a path of self-denial and harm. Creating a long, but necessary, road ahead.

As I grew into adulthood, I walked through a plethora of experiences that forced me to choose whether to confront or avoid; to feel the discomfort of the human life or to distract myself just enough to dull the impact. I’ve chosen to plant my feet and face it all, which is how I ended up here. In this very space. With you.

Writing is quite literally how I cope with life. And this space? My books? My blog? My meditations? I share because something in the deepest part of me asks me to. I think it has something to do with being connected.

I’m glad you’re here.

Torey