Deborah Bryan's Blog

The last week has been a whirlwind of learning for me. I’d been taking the steps necessary to achieve such learning for fifteen months, and had certainly learned plenty, but it’s all really started coming together the last week.

After I described this to one of my sisters last weekend, she mentioned something related Pema Chödrön had once said. Based on that, I bought one of Chödrön’s books in digital format. I began reading it in the wee hours of that morning.

Not so long ago, I constantly r...

Several months ago, I searched for a cross I could wear on a necklace. I wanted something really small, plain, and inconspicuous–just enough to remind me it was there, but nothing that would call any attention.

I couldn’t find exactly what I sought. Instead, I found a cross contained within a circle. Outside the cross, it said “faith.” On the cross was mounted a tiny gold heart, which I then found gaudy.

Since it didn’t fit my specs, I bought it with some reluctance. I did so primarily becaus...

Over breakfast several weeks ago, a friend told me something I didn’t want to hear.

It wasn’t that her words were unkind. Far from being unkind, they were filled with evident compassion and love for me.

She wasn’t trying to force anything. She wasn’t trying to change me. She was, quite simply, asking me to consider being kinder to myself.

—

My friend’s words sank in deeper and deeper over the hours and days that followed our breakfast.

I came to see that she was right. I was pretending to mys...

The last month or so, I’ve been studying French in the wee hours of the morning.

At one point last week, a little voice inside me whispered, “But how cool would it be to grow deeper Spanish language roots?”

I considered that. I set down my French materials, got up from where I’d been sitting, and went to retrieve the easy Spanish reader I’d once bought. I opened it up and was flabbergasted when I saw the date I’d written on the first lesson: 12/30/17.

Recently, I’ve had the sense that I alway...

Where people are concerned, I’m suspicious of scale these days. Today, I’d like to hold more candid conversations with a smaller number of people.

If you’d like to be included in those conversations, please comment here. I won’t publish your comment, but I will add you if I feel comfortable doing so (which will be the case for virtually everyone with whom I’ve exchanged comments here; please don’t be shy).

For months now, I’ve been the target of resentful stalking.

This type of stalking “arises when the stalker feels as though they or a loved one have been mistreated or that they or a loved one are the victim of some form of injustice or humiliation.” The language in italics is my own; I’ve added it to reflect the existence of what’s called “flying monkeys,” or “people who act on behalf of […] a third party, usually for an abusive purpose.”

The first book I read on stalking said to pull back f...

Almost every morning, my sons and I each share three things for which we’re grateful. If he’s awake, my husband joins in. As the sister who suggested this to me said, this is a healing way to begin the day.

Yesterday, all four of us began our day in this way. As an added bonus, we ended it this way, too. It felt so good, we might have to make this part of our almost-daily routine.

The rest of my family–dog aside–is still asleep, and will be for about another hour. But I’ve got gratitude to sh...

I have been stalked for several months.

The stalking having begun immediately after a specific discussion, there’s no doubt in my mind as to the instigating party’s identity. Nevertheless, because covert aggression–not letters signed with a name–is the stalkers’ approach of choice, there’s not adequate evidence of identity from a legal perspective.

The police officers who visited my home earlier this week were swift to say this means there’s nothing they can do, throw up their hands having h...

I’m not much of a TV watcher. I occasionally listen to episodes of blackish and grownish, but that’s about it.

A few weeks ago, though, I overheard snippets of a cartoon my nine-year-old was watching. I giggled once, then twice, then again, and finally looked up to watch. For a few minutes.

Li’l D, noting my interest, asked if I wanted to watch a few episodes with him. At eleven minutes per episode, I felt I could commit to that. I was also reasonably sure that was all I’d watch.

Um, yeah. Th...

The last few days sucked.

Sure, there were small moments of warmth and laughter scattered throughout. I was glad for each of these, briefly, before being swallowed again by the sucktitude.

Remarkably, I’m grateful for all that suck. Hours of it. Days of it.

But how could that possibly be?!

In my tumultuous, trauma-filled childhood, I often–quite reasonably–feared for my life. I became very, very skilled at reading people’s emotional cues and responding accordingly, which could sometimes save...