The Key Within
Try something new and
you’ll feel like a bird,
locked in a box
closed with fear
not knowing
where the key is.
But just like the magic trick,
the key is inside the box.
Your courage is the key.
◊
Wishing you a beautiful day.
💙
Let Us Be Those
When all are in trial,
When all are in denial,
Let me be the one
to share a smile.
Let me be the one
to share a dance.
Let it be an advance,
to be enhanced,
when all are weary,
let me be the one
to share thinking clearly,
to share being ever so cheery.
This is what I ask.
Because I don’t want us to wear a mask.
So let us join hand-in-hand, for this to be our task.
◊
Lovely words by Autumn reminding us to always encourage and uplift each other.
May we be those willing to share a smile…even from a distance.
Wishing you all a beautiful weekend.
💙
Broken Womb, Shattered Soul: Living with Infertility (part 1)
By Barbara Leonhard | Featured Contributor
As we grow and develop, we learn how to identify with many labels or roles, such as daughter/son, aunt/uncle, mother/father, and grandmother/grandfather, to name a few. It seems as though our stories are written before we are born to conform to these labels. In a way, these roles become rituals that comfort us as we agree to them and even expect our lives to go “as planned” based on our social codes and blueprints for survival.
I know I certainly expected my life to unfold much like my mother’s life did with marriage and family. She had seven children, and being the second oldest and oldest girl, I was able to help with all the babies she had. It never occurred to me that I would never be able to have my own children. Little did I know that my helping her at the ages of 9 and 10 with my youngest siblings would be my only times to experience at least part of what a mother does for her kids. I am not sure I appreciated this time because as much as I loved playing mommy, I also wanted to be with my friends.
Continue reading “Broken Womb, Shattered Soul: Living with Infertility (part 1)”
Spinal Con-fusion: A Poem by a Survivor
By John Gregory Evans | Featured Author
There remains
a deadened,
freezing,
almost an anesthetizing
sense of dread
upon my fingertips and hands,
reaching deep into my leg’s nerves,
shattered spinal cord,
peeled away
as one peels an orange.
Walking,
now a challenge,
con-fusion of the fusion,
cervical cord,
Ruptured and bruised,
arrogance of the humanity factor.
Pain
within the eyes
like lightning fingers
to the crown
of God.
![The Grace of Forgiving Yourself [a poem]](https://i0.wp.com/healthinspiration.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/pexels-photo-37840029.jpeg?fit=1200%2C800&ssl=1&resize=40%2C40){kind=small}
![What Is Enough? [a poem]](https://i0.wp.com/healthinspiration.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/5383362.jpg?fit=941%2C588&ssl=1&resize=40%2C40){kind=small}
