I don’t care.

I care so deeply.

To be right? No, I don’t care.

I don’t care to prove, defend, explain.

I don’t care about assumptions and unbendable beliefs. There’s no opportunity to share my truth. The doors are closed, and I’m hanging in the hallway of shut doors.

I don’t care about drive by conversations.

I don’t care about vapid apologies.

I don’t care about ‘shoulds’, obligations, and clichés.

I don’t care about an identity so fragile it can’t hold my mistakes and imperfections, my own or yours. Like when I go to my attorney and she says, “Oh, you poor thing.” I don’t allow that in anymore.

I care to mark important conversations on the calendar.

I care to be on time.

I care to witness you in my silence. Just listening.

I care to live in the AND zone.

I care to create ceremony for my losses.

I care to make appointments with my overwhelming emotions.

I care to change my behavior after I say, “I’m sorry”, so you trust me.

I care to lead through the lens of love.

I care about my lineage.

I care that I am becoming whom my girls want to role model, should they choose.

I care about the fertile soil a shattered heart gives rise to.

I care deeply about




I care deeply about making friends with my reality.

So, I went to this transformative workshop and they talked about the two levels of listening. Level 1 is when you tell me something, and I respond right away about the same thing that has happened to me. It feels empty. Every time.

Level 2 is witnessing and listening to someone without having to weigh in immediately.

I think I got it.

Then, Stella tells me something about her job, and I jump right in going on about my job experience at her age. She says, “Mommy, you just level one’d me!”

I care deeply about embodied humility.

It’s a practice.

Here I am.

Anything is possible.

I’ve got this.

I care deeply about the opulence of a beginning again.



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