,Ich breche zusammen’ is one of the first German phrases to confuse the hell out of me. “Break” was clear, but to add the word “together” made no sense. How can one “break together?” Of course, that was my B1 level self literally translating, which as we all know, should not be attempted. In reality the phrase can mean to “break down” or “fall apart.”

Und dieser Woche, ich brach zusammen.

And this week I broke down.

The events of the past ten days have left me feeling as if I’ve been run over by a train.

My thoughts are jumbled this morning, like when you wake up and try to piece together a disturbing dream, so I’m going to write as the pieces of this story come to me. …

How to make a house into a home

I am 47 and am lucky to have two dynamic grandmas. One is a social butterfly; the other prefers to stay at home (even before COVID came along). Grandma O tends her garden and Grandma L tends her menagerie. Both are active; both are widows; and most importantly, both know what makes a house a home. Grandma O and Grandma L still live in the houses they’ve had since before I was born; and when I visit, each place feels like home.

Each was (and continues to be) a safe place for me. Each makes me feel loved and accepted, no matter what phase of life I am going through. For decades I’ve felt I didn’t have this talent of homebuilding. What is it about these places that makes them so inviting? It’s not even the years of happy memories I have in each of my grandmas’ houses: it’s something more; something I’ve felt lacking in my own attempts. …

If you were to formulate an opinion of me based on social media, you would see a strong, positive-thinking, widowed mom, kicking the world’s ass and taking names. It’s not that I’m deliberately presenting this confident woman to the world — it’s simply in those moments when I’m lying in bed in a fetal position, the last thing I want to do is reach for the keyboard.

There are times when stress sends me into a spiral of self-doubt.

I grew up with a perfectionist, over-the-top mom. She was gorgeous. Put together. She had one of those floors off which you could eat. I was the screw-up. Not smart enough. Depressed. Overweight (compared to her). Perpetually sloppy. …

I have this weird anxiety when something comes in the mail. It’s because historically, anything that came in the mail was stressful — an unexpected bill, unintelligible legal documents in German, the energy company wanting me to somehow read the meter (which I always screw up, and they end up calling to talk me through it).

Instead of opening the mail, I would put it in a stack and try to forget about it. The thing is, I want to be the kind of woman who opens the mail as soon as she gets it. Not only do I want to open it, but I want to throw away the envelope instead of leaving it in a pile on the dining room table. …

The wild ride of online dating came to a halt on my date with the Lumberjack. Instead of rolling gently into the station, this ride ended with an unexpected bump into the barricade. A little dazed, I unlatched my safety harness and made my way on shaky legs to the exit, feeling a little high and a little scared. Thankfully, the Lumberjack was there to take my hand.

He’s not really a Lumberjack, by the way. He’s simply from Canada. …

Many of you have been asking what happened to Mr. Labrador, and I can’t believe an entire month has gone by since I’ve related the gossip. Partly, it’s because the story hasn’t been that juicy lately. The lack of oomph led to massive writer’s block. I began three different narratives, which are sitting in my ‘edit’ bin.

The big problem with my writer’s brain is I can envision myself almost anywhere. Does the guy like sailing? I’ve never been, but yet I could see myself lounging on deck while he takes us across the world. Is he an introvert who likes to stay home? We could cuddle on the couch and binge watch every episode of the old Twilight Zone. I have to be extremely careful I don’t become the chameleon for these guys, changing my skin to fit their environments. …

Honest Thoughts When Your Teen Says They’re Trans

I’d just gotten back from a month in the Himalayas. The family friend staying with my teens had gone, and I was rummaging through the duffle bags in my room when my child Three of Four walked in and closed the door.

“Here it comes,” I thought, scrounging Buddha and Ganesh from the depths of the bag. I’d imagined Three’s coming out as one of those weepy moments I’d seen on YouTube, where the teen, frightened nearly to tears, tells their mom they’re gay, and the mom says, “I knew it all along.” I lived for those heart-felt moments, because it was my chance to show what a loving, open-minded parent I was. …

For me, clothing is an expression of who I am — and people can take it or leave it. But with online dating, I find myself concerned with the dreaded “first impression.”

As humans, we carry with us sides of our personalities that advance or retreat depending on circumstance. Take any Jungian personality quiz online, and you’ll get an inkling of the shadows that make up the person you are. Are you a warrior, a wanderer, a victim, a mother? This Jungian theory has resonated with me recently. …