Growing up on the east coast meant many things: Summer thunderstorms, fall leaves that just won’t quit, and the requisite 5th grade trip to Williamsburg, VA.
You’d clutch your brown paper lunch as you walked past wig makers and silversmiths to the town square where the tour guide in a three cornered, felted hat would stop quite suddenly. There before him were two tall wooden contraptions with holes for arms and a neck.
We all have times when we feel the weight of shame. Sometimes it comes in a fleeting moment when comparison creeps in, and at others it’s a season to be wrestled with and learnt from.
It isn’t common to speak of shame. Often confused with guilt,
As summer is fast approaching, I’m more conscious than ever that there are certain parts of my body that are a little less than perfect. I wish certain parts of my body weren’t there, but they are, and barring some serious time at the gym,