sometimes it hurts

sometimes it hurts when wiggly teeth come out

sometimes it hurts to nurse your sweaty baby and know it could be the last

sometimes it hurts to be so tired and weary that it feels like you can’t take another step

sometimes it hurts to look back weeks later and ache at the love

sometimes it hurts when you love your baby so much but can’t stop his tears

sometimes it hurts to watch him climb higher and higher without you

sometimes it hurts to not be able to be with your love because a million tiny things keep you busy-important things

sometimes it hurts to see your baby’s cautious steps and know that next year she’ll be sure footed

sometimes it hurts to see your child covered in dirt and happier than he has ever been

sometimes it hurts to watch everyone you love from a distance and know that tomorrow isn’t promised

sometimes it hurts to breathe because love fills your heart

sometimes it hurts to push through crying and whining and packing and so many other unpleasant things

but it always is worth it to be together

sometimes I think hurt must be love

that ache so deep for things to be frozen so you can drink in one more moment of that time in life

Fondly remembering this little trip we took in May to celebrate our 11 year anniversary.  It was the time that Lucy had an ear ache and Barclay’s tooth almost fell out.  It was a time of pausing-even if just for a day.  It was a time when my love for Noah had never been stronger and his beard had never been fuller.  It was a time when Sullivan dug for hours in dirt without saying a word.  It was a time when my body and soul was so weary that I just sat and watched from afar with tears falling.  

My family.  

My family.  

This day breathed life back into me.  Every day we adventure together does.     

amy | breathing me to life

It's no secret I struggle with seasons of deep and paralyzing depression.  Whether it's in my genes or caused by my sensitive soul, who knows.  There are seasons of life that feel like walking through mud to get through.  

I'm a lucky girl to be surrounded by amazing people that champion me on and who tell me "You're doing your best!  Don't be so hard on yourself!  Give yourself grace."

One evening I left my chaotic home to slip away to a girls night at a local restaurant and I showed up frumpy, hair unbrushed and thrown in a bun and an aching heart.  

That's when Amy saw me.  

Amy is a friend of friends that I knew casually and who happened to be sitting at the other end of the table on this particular night.  Somewhere at the end of the evening when many had trickled back to their homes, I just burst into tears and said, "I just suck at life."  Many hands touched my back and comforted me and told me "No you don't, Helen Joy.  We love you."  

But Amy looked at me and saw me and in a beautiful confidence she said, "I will help you."  

We decided to do a trade.  Pictures for coaching sessions.  

The first day she came we sat on cushions on my messy living room floor, we walked through the kitchen with left out peanut butter and jelly and crusts left over from the school morning rush. We sat on those cushions and I cried and Amy listened.  Then came her first,life giving breathe.  She said "I believe you can be better."  Said so lovingly and compassionately, not discounting the work ahead.  She did not clip my wings and say, "Be thankful!  You're doing the best you can!"    

She heard my longing and she gave weight to it.  

I told her the silly longings that seemed so out of reach and she didn't blink.  She said, "Why not?!"  She didn't flood me with cheesy quotes about motivation or steps to achieve my goals.  Every week she came to my messy home and sat with me and listened and she gently lifted me to the sky.

It started with little things like finding shoes the night before and packing lunches in the evening.  Things that come easily for most people but to me seem like mt everest.  She came over one day and stood in my laundry room with clothes up to our waists and we sweated and worked for hours and found a system that works well for ME.  

Little by little tiny bricks have fallen into place and I feel more and more comfortable in my own skin and in my own home.  It's like a ripple has started and I don't even know where it will reach.

This doesn't tie up in a bow.  I still struggle getting out of bed in the mornings, my laundry room is up to my knees because I've been editing this week but I am not paralyzed by it.  

Amy, these pictures show just a hint of your genuine warmth and the love you so beautifully give.  

Thank you for seeing me.  

To contact Amy, go to www.amybracken.life

a river retreat | austin texas

It was just about the point in winter when I couldn't remember if I was still alive.  Days bled together in a grey blanket over my spirit and I could barely remember what it was like to feel vibrant again.  It was during the worst of it that I boarded a plane to Austin, Texas to meet artists from around the country at my dear friend Michelle Gardella's River Reatreat.  

Maybe it's from growing up with 4 sisters and a single mother, or maybe it's just so incredibly primal...but women breathe life into me.

And so I arrived at that old barn, feeling weak and wounded and like the fire had gone out.

And one by one these women, these artists, these WORLD CHANGERS breathed new life into me.  

And so now, I am living with the breathe of 12 new sisters running through my lungs, and the feel of their hands pressed in my palms.

Our time together was gentle.  It fostered such respect and space for others that there was not a drop of competition.  And the primal community of womanhood was as it should be.  

I knit a scarf. I laid in the sand with my arms and legs sprawled out and contentment washing over my face.  I slept and wrote and swam in ice cold water.  I cried and laughed and felt cocooned by those around me.  I felt inspired and awed.  

I sensed ever layer of my tough bark stripped and me, bare and naked to the world, was embraced.  This is a gift that many don't ever feel in an entire lifetime.

I. am. so. grateful.

photo by thomas gardella