Stuck somewhere between grad school and giving myself over to acting.

Who am I?

I’ve worn many identities in the past thirty-two years. I have been the chatty child and the quiet question. At one point, whenever I met anyone new, I’d say, “Hi, my name is Grace, I am divorced.” That identity lasted a good year in a half and it was awful. I have been the sexual abuse victim but I’ve also witnessed victims who became over-comers

I’m deeply reflective with many stories fixated inside my skull. I spend hours staring at paintings and even more hours contemplating the memories of yesterday. …

Everyone really is doing the best they can

Her name was Agatha. Agatha was raised in the midwest. She was poor with a small family who sold cherries when they were in season. Agatha went door to door late into the night asking people to buy her cherries. She was exceptionally beautiful for her age. Her hair was long and blonde, her eyes were baby blue, and her face was rosy pink. Put her in a little red dress at five years old and she could sell some cherries.

Agatha’s parents seemed to sell her in other ways as well. “I don’t understand how they wouldn’t have known,”…

I couldn’t get Tom unhooked

We were at a K-Mart. The cardboard box was filled with kittens. My mom caved over the sound of meows. A dark-gray almost black cat looked up at me. He was sweet and now he was mine. We took him home with the understanding that he would live on the porch, not inside the house. I couldn’t make up my mind what his name should be. In the morning he was The Little Mermaid and by nightfall, he was Beauty and the Beast. …

It may true that you were abused, but it does not mean that you were made to be abused

Dear Medium,

The first time I told my brother about a sexual abuse situation involving me was at Thanksgiving in my early twenties. I walked into my grandma’s house and entered the living room where a majority of the family was sitting. On the couch sat one of my uncles, he was playing with my nephew, my brother’s son. I couldn’t help but notice between the giggles coming from the happy eight-year-old was a scummy smile on my uncle’s face.

They both laughed as Mikey fell onto my uncle’s lap over and over again. My heart trembled. Vomit bubbled up…

What choice was there really?

My Dad: The way I see it you got two choices, you can either move out or not go to your prom next week.

Randall: I’m out then, that’s not fair. It’s prom. Nikilia is expecting me, I have my tux.

My Dad: Make your choice.

Randall’s plea seared the room. My parents were blind to the part they played in losing Randall to his terrible friends. Mom always worked or slept and Dad demanded his way regardless of reason, what choice was there really?

Randall tugged the back of my hair. “I need you to call Nikilia and let…

You’d never know if you saw her

She was a smart cookie and always was. When we were in high school, she learned calculus on a computer. At the time, that wasn’t normal. In 2005, dial-up internet was still a thing and online learning was not. Her name was Hailey. Hailey’s mom skipped town when she was in middle school for a Hispanic man named Victor. Victor didn’t like when anyone spoke at dinner, he was against soap in the shower and wore a leather jacket (he didn’t have a motorcycle though). The day they left was the cliche kind. …

The name can be a curse

Grace, I disliked my name when I was a child. The name meant that I was cursed to love people I didn’t like, look over what bothered me, and be friends with those who hurt me. The name felt like a big job, a job I didn’t want.

I was at a coffee shop years ago. It wasn’t busy inside and the outside drive-thru was dead at six-thirty pm on a Saturday night in June. I ordered a classic white mocha and waited by the Pickup order sign. Fifteen minutes passed and there was no classic white mocha in sight…

My point of view crashed and burned into an egoistic oblivion

I walked into the gym lobby and sat at the nearest chair. I went to open my journal to write down the thoughts that swarmed during my workout. A man was on his phone. This wouldn’t normally bother me except this man had his phone call on speaker.

“I don’t know Joe, I think it’s fine to change the flooring. I don’t particularly love the idea. If she doesn’t like it, we don’t really have any other choice that I can come up with. I’m sorry man I need you hear today.”

I was aggravated. Why am I hearing this…

Grace Louise

Writer of Non-fiction, Memoir, & Opinion Articles. Philosophy & Psych alumni. NASM Certified Trainer. Dance Educator. With a great love for hiking.

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