HEALING FROM.....life

Thursday, April 3, 2025

A DREAM OR A CURSE -Poetry :

A Dream or a Curse

A dream I’m tired of chasing

Can overtake-consuming

Overpowering all thought

My mind burnt to a black smudge

I want this

I hate this

Hold it above everything else

It grips my inner core

Mudding all else

I hate this

I want this

The soot of blackness smearing my mind

Thought overpowered all

Consumed, overtaken

The dream chased everything else away

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A Dream or a Curse

by Stephanie Daich

Monday, March 17, 2025

DELETED FOR YOUR WELFARE -Informational Piece

   What are your thoughts on social media fact-checking? Do you believe that Meta platforms have the right to protect us from untruth? Even if it is you spewing their deemed lies? Are you comfortable with them suppressing your views? Perhaps you don’t mind censorship thrust upon your rival political party, but what about on you?
   Who gets to be the one who holds the measuring stick to truth?
   J.Brough explores these ideas by showing how we are often unaware of the degrees of inappropriateness that never meet our eyes. Social media algorithms and fact-checkers must wade through seas of disbarring images such as sex abuse upon a child or beheadings. Shouldn’t we thank them for shielding us from graphic images and thoughts that would fill our minds with toxic sludge?
   Brites, M. J., Castro, T. S., & Contreras-Pulido, P. highlight the changes in journalism through history and how, today, young people mix their views with the story shared, truth or not, ultimately controlling and participating in the narrative. Brites, M. J., Castro, T. S., & Contreras-Pulido, P. implore that with social media, there are no safe grounds to protect the vulnerable from misinformation. Social media opens the eyes of the world to different thoughts and cultures. Can we trust the ideas they share (2024)?
   Hameleers, M., & van der Meer, T. G. L. A. detail how misinformation can polarize and influence politics. It regards fact-checking as a way to deliver trustworthy news and limit falsehoods, yet the truth is hard to define. Fact-checkers can change the message delivered and the audience receiving it. Hameleers, M., & van der Meer, T. G. L. A. ran a study that showed fact-checkers block ideas contrary to their views and stance. If this is the case, why would we want to give such power to a group of people with alternate views of the truth? Fact-checkers may have a bias that they want to cover up. The ability to hide information from the people gives massive amounts of power to those who might taint the truth. Hameleers, M., & van der Meer, T. G. L. A. concluded that “fact-checkers do have the potential to correct attitude-congruent misinformation” (2019).
   Is this where we are today? Are we so afraid of our abilities to discern truth from fiction that we allow a group of people to decide what information we consume?
   Brannon, V. C. shows the conflict between those who want social media regulated and those who believe in free speech, highlighting how the Supreme Court grants free speech even on social media, which the First Amendment protects. (2019)
   What are your thoughts? Do you support the restriction of information for the good of the people, or do you believe we should be accountable for researching the information given and making an informed decision? But how do we regard the youth who take deception at face value? Do we have the right to shield and protect them from what we deem invaluable? Are our values the pinnacle to the rest of society? Are you comfortable only seeing posts and articles curated by your political opponent? Who gets to define truth? There are compelling arguments on either side. What is your stand?

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Deleted for Your Welfare

by Stephanie Daich

References:

Stephanie Daich | Phoenix Z Publishing

We punish ourselves the hardest, do you agree? Prose and poetry open our souls to introspection. I share with you…

stephdaich3.wixsite.com

Monday, February 17, 2025

THE PARENT’S LAST CUDDLE -Memoir :

THE PARENT’S LAST CUDDLE -Memoir

Holding you, I remember not, when was the last time, your hand in mine, your arms around my neck.

I lived for these moments yet neglected that they would end.

From the morning welcome to the nightly tuck, this is just what we did.

When did it stop?

When was the last cuddle, you wrapped in my arms and everything in life on pause?

Had my thoughts been cluttered, looking to end it, seeking something else while you placed your trust in me?

I had put you to bed a million times, an unthought task, just routine.

And now I stand at your closed door. I am not even welcome to say goodnight.

Pain grips my heart. We had our last cuddle, our last moment as a mother and child where nothing else in the universe mattered to you?

And I missed it; the final cuddle.

I didn’t realize it was the last time you would snuggle in my arms.

The last time to inhale your scent.

Would I have released you if I had known you’d never cuddle again?

Just us, with your faith in me, your love in me.

I didn’t know it was the last time.

And now your door is closed.

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The Parent's Last Cuddle

by Stephanie Daich

Tuesday, February 11, 2025

WET NURSE -Flash Fiction /

WET NURSE

If you had lived in another time, say a hundred, even a thousand years ago, somewhere in Britain or even Egypt, and you were not a member of the chosen people, stuck in a race, a system where there was no way to rise out of, you might have found the deprivation of living unbearable. Everything you did, loved, kicked to the ashes. Those who felt superior to you, even the children, would look at you with scorn if they looked at you at all. They would say amongst themselves, is this a human at all? I doubt it.

Georgiana lived such a life, where all was taken from her, but nothing given back, where she sacrificed the good of her children for that of her master, and such a word is that, master, someone taking dominion over her every breath.

Georgiana thought, for once, that providence had smiled upon her as she held her newborn baby in her arms, the new baby suckling at her breasts. All the persecutions, the beatings, and the sacrifices were all worth it to be the mother of the sweet baby. Georgiana didn’t understand why her master let her rest in her bed for two weeks following the miracle, but she relished every second with her baby.

For now, you will no longer work, they told her. Georgiana could scare breath, yet they realize their mistake. Some part of her knew that the moment would pass, that things would change, but she tried not to think of it as her son took loud, pleasurable gulps of Georgiana’s pure milk of life.

But then, Master gave birth, and Junior was brought to Georgiana’s breasts. You will no longer feed your child from your breasts. There must always be an ample supply of milk for Junior. A sentence passed upon Georgiana, almost as damning as being thrown in the dungeon. And from that point on, Georgiana’s son wailed in hunger; his belly used to rich, thick cream, now consigned to drink water with bread soaked in it. Whenever Georgiana could steal a small dribble of pig’s milk, she brought it to her son’s lip. Oh, how her breasts ached for her child, how they swollen and engorged to his cries. But to be caught nursing him would be the instant sale of her son. She knew this, for they threatened her about it daily.

I want to say that things worked out well for Georgiana’s baby, that she was able to stow him away in a basket, send him down the river, and eventually be called to nurse him. But I can’t.

In other times, in other places, life moves slowly and hard, weighing down those forced into slavery. The unfortunates bury their will, their very sense of being human.

So, Mama, if you have the fortune to raise your baby, do so with gratitude and joy. Hold that infant tight as it suckles your breast. Sing them songs and tell your stories, for you have what millions of others have been denied: the privilege and freedom of being their mom.

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Wet Nurse

by Stephanie Daich

Tuesday, February 4, 2025

LET YOURSELF FREE -Poetry :

LET YOURSELF FREE

This is the pillar which you build your life upon.
You fight to show the world it’s rosy and grand
You try to hide your struggles
And when you fall and land, you keep your image rosy and grand.

These are the people you spend your time with.
You adopt their mannerisms and ways, often becoming someone new.
You stuff yourself deep within,
Hiding yourself true, often becoming someone new.

These are the lies you feed yourself and others,
Pretending and deceiving, veiling your heart,
Constantly fighting with your true self,
Until you feel you’ll rip apart, veiling your heart.

Scrape off all the stucco and stains you have accumulated.
Throw away the foolish trends that bind you; let yourself free.
Stop hiding and suppressing who you are.
Take a breath and let yourself be; let yourself free.

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Let Yourself Free

by Stephanie Daich

Monday, February 3, 2025

RETURN TO YOURSELF -Poetry /

RETURN TO YOURSELF

Reenter your imagination with a child-like hunger,

And allow it to wash over you.

Surrender your rigid schedules

And destroy your oppressive walls.

Once you traveled this realm freely,

Once you let it in.

When did you shut it out,

Close your doors to its possibility?

Kick out your mind’s curator,

The one who has boxed up all your innocence,

And filed it deep into the vaults of the forgotten,

Unobtainable memory. Rehire the organizer of

Your mind from yesteryears.

Allow curiosity and wonderment to be your

Constant companion, for it swelled in you once,

And it can regain its place in you.

Why do you have to rush about,

Too busy to even notice the small flower

Growing out of the cracked asphalt?

Have you taken the time to lie on your back

And gaze up at the clouds, noticing Heaven’s palette?

When did you really listen to the magic of music

And allow it to paint pictures of wonderment in your mind?

Return to yourself,

The one who felt intrigued by a

Stranger and made an instant friend.

Open your heart to adventure and spontaneity,

For that is the spice to life, the icing on the

Cake that you always took time to taste.

Today is the day! The minute is now.

Toss out all your reserves

And allow imagination and curiosity

Their rightful place in your soul!

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Return to Yourself

by Stephanie Daich

Wednesday, January 22, 2025

NOTEBOOK -Poetry :

NOTEBOOK

Crafted lines in the tattered book.

Pen to paper, in my nature nook.

Conduit open.

Inspiration abound.

Meditation open to sound

Senses feeling the power surge.

Brush strokes and ink, ideas emerge.

Bloch of paint.

Charcoal smear.

Emotions expressed, tender and dear.

Imagination forever encaptured.

Heart and soul, eternally enraptured.

Feelings raw.

Talent shook.

The power of a blank notebook.

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The Notebook

by Stephanie Daich

Thursday, January 16, 2025

THE HOME HAS MOVED ON- Poetry :

THE HOME HAS MOVED ON

You gave everything to it.

Time.

Love.

Resources.

Your best memories are in those walls

(and even some of your worst).

You grew there.

You cried there.

Loved ones surrounded you on the inside.

And at times, you felt all alone.

Yet, it knew you more intimately than your closest friends.

It saw you at your greatest.

It witnessed parts of you that you wish no one to see.

But now, the home has moved on.

It was sold without your consent.

A mother, father, or lover wishing to move on,

Though, you have not moved on.

It was your home.

And in your heart, it always will be.

But when you drive by it, it has changed.

It doesn’t acknowledge you.

The home has moved on.

In its walls, another family lives.

It has given its whole self to them.

They run through its halls.

They have destroyed your loving hand,

and put their flare to it.

And the home has moved on.

But you have not.

How you ach to go inside.

How you want to feel its flooring beneath your feet.

You know its intimate secrets as well.

The place where the floor creeks.

The windows that don’t latch properly.

You knew it with its hideous wallpaper

(Thankfully, now hidden from the world).

You knew it when its plumbing failed

(how embarrassing for it).

You knew every inch of it,

Yet the home has moved on.

But you loved it.

You still do.

You desperately want to go inside,

To smell it, to feel it, to see it.

But the home has moved on.

Yet, you can never move on.

It is the essence of you,

The one sure thing.

It was your foundation,

Though you can never return.

If only it would smile at you as you drove by,

Invite you in, where you can exchange memories.

But sadly,

Heartbreakingly,

Devastatingly,

The home has moved on.

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The Home Has Moved On

by Stephanie Daich

Saturday, January 11, 2025

NO MOTHER -Poetry /

NO MOTHER

No mother

Will return to her former self.

She is bits of who she was

But entirely new

Refined by the nights she sacrifices

Cultivated by putting others first

Polished yet dulled by her service.

No mother

Is free like she used to be

Giving her will to others

Winning and losing

But never whole.

Scarred by unmet dreams.

Blasted by daily guilt.

Chained by obligations.

No mother

Is the same.

Nor would she ever change this.

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No Mother

by Stephanie Daich

THE WORLD NEEDS GOD MORE THAN EVER -Poetry /

THE WORLD NEEDS GOD MORE THAN EVER

Spring forth, all the good, spill out of me.

Don’t get beguiled by the clever.

Share my light so others can see.

The world needs God more than ever.

Stand tall, all the strength, do not flee.

Stay strong, in the good endeavor.

Give my time, bend my knee.

The world needs God more than ever.

Hold tight, all the love that I might see.

Stay close to God forever.

Atone for my sins, God sets me free.

The world needs God more than ever.

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The World Needs God More Than Ever

by Stephanie Daich

Wednesday, December 11, 2024

I HAVE SOLD MY SOUL -Poetry :

I HAVE SOLD MY SOUL -Poetry

I have sold my soul to the mighty pen.
I have sold my soul for the very few wins.
I give my time to the characters I created.
I give my time to the stories dictated.
I hold my disappointment to rejection.
I hold to the hope of the submission selection.
I want to walk away and do something else.
I want to stop and walk away.
I want to quit, but I am pulled by the sway.
I need to leave for some social fun.
I need to leave for a bit of sun.
But the ideas are flowing through my head.
To stop now fills me with dread.
I will ignore all my other needs.
I will neglect all my other deeds.
I have sold my soul to the mighty pen.
I have sold my soul for the very few wins.

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I Have Sold My Soul

by Stephanie Daich

REMINISCING SWEETER TIMES -Poetry :

REMINISCING SWEETER TIMES -Poetry

Do you remember the feeling of chalk, David
And the screeching sound it made pushed
Against the chalkboard?
Do you remember the erasers as they stirred up
Little dust storms of white powder
And the burning of pink erasers against misspelled words,
Back and forth, over the smell of freshly printed papers,
Still warm to the touch?
Do you remember the sound of assemblies, Dear David?
Do you remember the vibration of the metal chairs as we slid them across the industrial tile
And our eyes scanned the room for a glimpse of our special friends, who happened to be in separate classrooms
And the staring eyes fixed on stone-faced teachers as they made their way around the room
And avoiding those eyes, constantly feeling as if we had done something wrong?
Do you remember the lingering smell of lunch urine as you watched the fifth graders on the stage, singing about the fifty nifty United States, secretly hoping to grow older for your own turn?
Do you remember the play yard, which seemed ginormous with its fields and grass for chasing each other, and the playground with slides that burned your skin
And sand that made its way into every crevice and the treasures beneath if you just dug deep enough
And the rubber balls and jump ropes
And the bullies always just out of sight of the duty teachers?
Do you remember how badly we wanted to grow up, to leave it all behind, to become part of the league of big kids?
Do you remember how desperate we were to leave?
Now David, what I wouldn’t give to return, to return to the good-old days, days with hardly a care.
Don’t you agree, David? Wouldn’t you like to return with me to a time of innocence and to a time when you were still alive?