Senior year of high school I walked around the corner to see my very best friend surrounded by a bunch of laughing girls. At lunch, they’d been talking about a party one of the girls was having—a party to which everyone except me was invited. Hurt and angry, I wrote
When my sisters and I were selecting which “I’m over it” blog posts we would write, I got sulky and sullen. Everyone was enthusiastically claiming the fun topics and I remained silent. I didn’t want to write about this. I didn’t. And yet I heard myself saying, “I’ll take unforgiveness.”
At one of my first jobs after college, I was an art director for an Indianapolis ad agency. I worked with some really talented and intelligent people. I reveled in the discussions about advertising and design, laughed at the witty, irreverent conversations, and drooled over boards of Pantone color chips.
A couple of years ago, I was feeling really sorry for myself. Out of nowhere, a fluke accident caused me to tear my biceps tendon—snap! Big ouch. A couple of weeks of pain and a sling, followed by surgery, followed by eight weeks of immobilization in a stiff brace. As
Have you ever had one of those days when your insecurities took over? On this particular day, I didn’t set out to be down on myself, but I was triggered by a simple question asked among my sisterhood group—“Do you feel safe sharing here with us?” Although I felt safe
What is sisterhood? It’s not a club or sorority, but a special kind of soul connection—I can call you sister because you call Him Father.