To the Parent Without the Right Answers

By: Jennie Scott

Tears streamed down my child’s face, the frustration apparent.

The frustration was clear, but the real issue wasn’t. I couldn’t get to the root of the matter. Was it exhaustion? A misunderstanding? Did something happen at school? What was really going on?

I never figured it out. My questioning and probing did no good with the child sprawled across my bed, so I couldn’t make sense of it.

Which basically summarises being a parent.

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When Belief and Actions Collide

By: Jennie Scott

The words that stopped me cold weren’t shouted or even spoken angrily. They were gentle, coming through the speakers of my laptop. One sentence, spoken sweetly, as part of a longer podcast episode. One sentence that gave me chills:

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Why Mending What's Broken Always Means Moving

By: Jennie Scott

Only hours before, I lay immobile on the operating table. Numb from the chest down, I could only watch as nurses draped the sterile field of my abdomen with blue cloth. They counted gauze strips and scalpels, forceps and scissors. They prepared my body for the birth of my child, a birth in which I would be a passive observer.

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