Confessions of She

CONFESSION 1:  I’m Hungry.

This blog is an excuse to get lunch with my womenfolk. My family never knew what to do with me, so friendships have always been the most important part of my world. And from Day One, Austin has offered me a wealth of women to love and learn from.

During recent years of isolation while taking care of and ushering on my elderly parents, I didn’t read, didn’t write, didn’t move, didn’t see anyone. Being away has been rough. Now, returning to my world, I find myself hollering, Who’s there? Where y’all at? 

CONFESSION 2: I’m a Hater.

The fact that I used to do a mean backflip doesn’t mean I’m a natural-born cheerleader. Positivity does not come naturally. The effusiveness you’ll see in these pages does not come from an innately upbeat disposition. (My friends are rolling their eyes—I can hear you, bitches!)

What I am is this: A woman so impressed by others, feeling so lucky to call them my friends, that I can’t help but gush a little. The city is carpeted thick with my lady crushes after years of witnessing the heart, resilience, talent, drive and compassion of hundreds of Austin women.

CONFESSION 2A: Working to Be a Lover.


I grew up in the Alice Roosevelt school of social interaction, like many of us. My first best friend in Austin told me within my first month here, “You are the meanest girl I’ve ever met!” I cried, but I can’t pretend I didn’t feel a little perverse pride, too.

Talking shit is a hard habit to shake, especially when you’re good at it. I’ve worked my whole life to upend and replace the hater habit. I’ve had some success so far, thanks to examples set by women who choose love and the higher, harder path.

CONFESSION 3: I’m Trying.


I am not a scholar. Although I’m a writer and careful with my words, I’ve been known to fuck up sociological terms. I might call you by your wrong pronoun… a couple of times. But it’s not because I don’t care. I do care, and I do try. I am committed to learning. (Don’t we all have to be?)

I am a middle-aged, American white cis woman living in a beautiful city with fucked-up insidious class and racial dynamics. A city whose population has been blown up by an overclass that seems to have no concept what it’s grinding under its expensive heels. In a country where every time we fuck each other up, it aids the Downpresser Man in taking away what we’ve achieved and replacing it with darkness. I don’t want to be party to that, any more than the world makes absolutely necessary.

So I just wanna say this: Whoever you are, I’m not afraid of you—not afraid of listening to you, not afraid of talking to you, not afraid of knowing about you. And I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I am willing to get corrected respectfully, respond respectfully, and disagree respectfully.

(However, I am also more than willing to egg your house if I find out you’re trolling me.)