every two minutes.

In the United States, someone will be sexually assaulted every two minutes.

60% of sexual assaults are not reported to the police.

15% of sexual assault victims are under the age of twelve.



While I drank my coffee this morning, someone was being raped. While I brushed my teeth, someone was being raped. While I applied my eyeliner, someone was being raped. Waiting to pick up my son from school: that amounted to five people being raped.

(By the way, I do like Valentine's Day. But I am choosing to get involved and bring awareness to an issue that very few seem to want to discuss. My friend Jennifer has inspired me to get moving.)

This is an issue that is close to me, though not in an expected way. My husband was molested and raped by his half-brother from the ages of six to twelve. I have seen first-hand the devastating effects of such abuse, and how it can literally destroy a person.

Please get involved. Go to www.vday.org, and donate to this cause if you can. And if you've experienced violence against you, please speak. Tell your story. Silence gets us nowhere.

only what i can do.

On days like today, I hurt. I can't turn my head to the left or right. I can't take a breathe without wincing. I can't cook pancakes for my boys, I can't go for my jog, I can't stand, can't sit, can't lay. I am bursting with agony and discomfort. There is not a thing anyone can do.

After a while--maybe because of the immense fatigue that comes with high amount of physical pain--the stabbing feeling just IS. It is there. It is huge. It is not leaving. I accept this, though I don't know how. It's amazing what the human body can physically adapt to. I hurt therefore I am.

There is only what I can do: sit and hurt. Lay and hurt. And watch my boy play blocks. That is all I can do, right now, in this moment. Watch. Notice that his hair is turning the exact same shade mine was when I was small. Notice that he can now write the word "the". Notice that he can get himself a yogurt from the fridge or a pear from the fruit bowl.

I cry. Sometimes in privacy, sometimes out in the open. Pain will lay waste to inhibition, will devastate pride. I have no pride anymore.

self-portrait: struggle.



taken immediately after an hour of trying to dance.

 Oh this neck injury. All I want to do is dance from my heart and I can't.