Seana Speaks

Just confess…and ask for help.

It’s true, I haven’t been doing a very good job at this Christian thing lately. I haven’t really done anything wrong, not those things that make devout people shudder and swoon anyway, I just haven’t really done anything. Between action and apathy, I’d say apathy is the greater danger.

Say something!

  Say something. Say anything. Shout loud and proud and full of wisdom, or whisper weeping remorse.  Just say something, out loud. The silence is what kills you.  Say something. Say anything. Release the noise endless in your head. Give pause to the maybe and the what if and speak your way to peace within. […]

better than alone

Now that I am healing, changing, growing, is it normal to demand a certain level of authenticity in my relationships; to believe that if you say you are my friend, you behave as though it is true? Am I being too demanding or am I breaking old and bad habits? Is the guilt I feel when I assert my rights or my boundaries actually just the last cries of an old identity who has no place anymore?

the beauty of sadness

I am sad today. Today I think somber thoughts and feel tangibly the veil of sorrow settle over me. It’s odd, though, the way this particular sadness feels. It’s a gentle weight, almost a comfort. It’s feels familiar, like a hug from a dear friend when you’ve been fighting to maintain your smile and you suddenly know, in the comfort of that hug, that you’re safe for that moment just to be sad.


I loved you then
in a way I tried to love you now.
Funny how you can’t love what doesn’t exist.
Who…where… are you?

a thousand to spare you the one

You sit, a posture of defense, and speak, an accent of entitlement. I know what lies beneath. What crippled heart can do to lay barren a field of dreams. Oh that it had not been you. I would endure a hundred nights to spare you the one. I laid the promise that was me into the blossoming that was you. He would see us both destroyed.

Drugs? Well, that was easy.

Asking for drugs makes me uncomfortable, like I’m opening myself up to criticism and judgment, like the doctor is going to look at me and know that I like to get high and that’s why I’m asking. At least, that’s what I think they’re going to assume about me. Asking for pain killers, for me, is like openly asking for cocaine. It just feels wrong. It feels like it should be frowned upon.

addiction felt organic

Addiction felt organic. Like I went back in time, to when people worried about the basic needs: food, shelter and warmth. Addiction feels like that, like modern society’s only solution to returning to that level of simplicity, except the basic needs change – to money and drugs.

the meaning of life

As we walked I prayed some and thought some, feeling the attention of a very large and very personal God. My prayers covered a variety of things but, as Bella and I turned back toward home, something seemed to spring out at me from the jumble of prayer thoughts. The meaning of life, of course. What else would one discover on a silent morning of sparkling dew and fluffy white puppies?

Epiphany (one): I’ve been judging you.

I war against judgment and believe in acceptance of a person for humanity’s sake without regard to the how and why of their life and lifestyle. It’s true that change is a beautiful and necessary part of growth and redemption and true liberation, but it would be wrong to allow any perception I may have of how you should or could change affect whether or not I can embrace you for who you are in your today. I have not extended that grace to myself.