At forty-two, I had never done anything that took my own breath away, and I suppose now that was part of the problem--my chronic inability to astonish myself. I promise you, no one judges me more harshly than I do myself; I caused a brilliant wreckage. Some say I fell from grace; they're being kind. I didn't fall. I dove.

I've always been a journal-keeper. I've always tried to write about how I'm experiencing life, and my feelings and thoughts.

Loss takes up inside of everything sooner or later and eats right through it.

Once you know the truth, you can’t ever go back and pick up your suitcase of lies. Heavier or not, the truth is yours now.

There is no place so awake and alive as the edge of becoming. But more than that, birthing the kind of woman who can authentically say, 'My soul is my own,' and then embody it in her life, her spirituality, and her community is worth the risk and hardship.

He'd gone to church for forty years and was only getting worse. It seemed like this should tell God something.

Everybody needs a seashell in her bathroom to remind her the ocean is her home.