Fast forward to my early twenties and I found myself in the safety of the trees once more, finding a path to hope in the wake of my sexual assault. I was in grad school, living for the first time on my own and still a long way from home. It was a year and…
Recently I was speaking to a friend and in the midst of our conversation remarked “I run my life on hope.” (You know, a car runs on gas. A parent runs on coffee. America runs on Dunkin. A.Y. runs on hope.) Though I hadn’t intended to be witty or humorous, he started to chuckle. Per…
There was a time, in the not so distant past, when I feared the results of my writing so much that I failed to see the possibilities that could result instead. I feared not having enough to say. What I said not being said right or well. Having what I said hurt, impale, embarrass, traumatize…