I am crying now.
Finally the gates opened.
I look for my heart.

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Selected byGrady VanWright
Image credit:Viri Gutiérrez
Dale M. Tushman
Dale M. Tushman

I have been a psychotherapist for over forty years. .  My practice areas, mental health & addiction, provide me with more opportunities to see how much of a kaleidoscope life is. I started as a prose writer at five when I first wrote to Santa Claus explaining how thrilling it was for a little Orthodox Jewish girl to secretly be writing to him. 

Poetry showed up after a 12-year writing silence due to life demanding more than full attention.  Poetry became my shelter-in-place and means of recognition, a highly satisfactory space for this core introvert until a recent doctor’s note referring to my age rattled me so badly, I decided to tell my stories by any means which is what I ask of my clients. The teacher keeps learning.

I write to remember my origins and dreams. I write because other people’s risks have helped me find my way, so telling my story may light the way for another spirit on the loose.  The teacher keeps learning.

I am a transplanted New Englander living in southeast Georgia, a place not terribly much touched by modern times.  One of the good things about this buckle-of-the-bible -belt is that it does love its crazy people