My doctor’s love is important to me, but he does not know.

“My doctor’s love is as important to me as his chemotherapy, but he does not know.” I read this sentence and tears roll down my cheeks. I am alone on a hilltop somewhere without a name in New Zealand and the sun is out and everything is idyllic but I am weeping. This sentence hits

Can we all just agree there’s no monopoly on suffering?

It’s become a pissing contest, particularly in American society, of who’s suffered more, of who’s endured the most trauma and lived to tell the tale. How often do we feel the spoken and unspoken question asked, “Who are you to suffer–who are you to cry trauma or claim hardship–when there’s x y and z happening

Find What Heals

The other day a friend said to me out of the blue, “Jessica, are you happy?” He said it like he meant it–and not in the unspoken I’ll-promise-to-be-interested-in-how-you-are-as-long-as-you-promise-to-keep-everything-but-“good”-to-yourself kind of way. I felt his sincerity and without a moment’s hesitation I answered, “Today? Not a drop.” And it’s true. Today I don’t have any heartwarming