Samantha Branch

I reach over to quiet the alarm, double checking the time because surely it’s not time to get up yet. Begrudgingly, I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom where I splash water on my face in an attempt to wake myself up. I’ve never been a morning person, but with four kids at three different schools with three different start times, I’m required to be a morning person these days. The rest of the house wakes moments after I do, each kid making their way downstairs, and soon the kitchen is buzzing with activity. We scrounge for breakfast options, pack lunches, double check that assignments were finished, and one by one I get the kids out the door and off to school. By the time I return home from delivering them each to the front steps of their respective schools, the house is quiet and in a state of complete disarray due to the frenzy of early morning activity. I busy myself with the task of returning some sort of order to the house and turn the radio up to drown out the silenc...

 There it lies on the top of my head, shining in the harsh lighting of my outdated bathroom: my first gray hair. It mocks me as I continue my gaze down the mirror reflection to the sunken, dark potholes that are supposed to be my eyes. I quickly grab the tube of concealer and dab some, ok a lot, under my eyes before I send a 9-1-1 text to my best friend.  “I just found my first gray hair [insert horror faced emoji]. And it’s right in the front! What do I do?”  “Girl, no worries on the grays. I got all the grays. Your blonde hides everything.”  “But if there’s this one, there’s got to be more...!”  I contemplate plucking it out but decide pulling out hairs when my hair is already thinning at a rapidly alarming rate is probably not the wisest course of action.  When did I get so…old ?                                                  ...

                                                                                               If you could have any superpower, what would you choose? Someone at the table answers, invisibility. I’ve been invisible my entire life I think to myself.    I’ve been a shape shifter for as long as I can remember, melding and molding myself into various contortions to become whoever I need to be at any given moment in time. Forever a rule follower, I took the Scriptures a smidge too literally and did indeed die to myself. Quick to erase hurt feelings and sweep conflict under the rug, contentment is the name of the game. And by all appearances, I’m winning. Like a chameleon changing colors at a moment’s ...

Remember those Mystic Tan spray tanning booths? I’m 24 years old. I’ve stripped down to nothing except for a shower cap and I’m standing in the booth waiting to be sprayed with a freezing cold mist that promises to make me look like a freaking goddess. I push the button, but nothing happens. Panic. If I mess with this thing too much I run the risk of coming out looking more Oompa Loompa than goddess. I wait, then push the button again. Still, nothing. Shoot. I’m naked. The only person in here is a tanned body builder/male model who appears to be running this place, and I’ve spent the last of my “fun money” on this tan. I creep into the little room where I’ve left my clothes in a heap. I can’t very well walk out into the lobby like this, but also if I get this guy to come push this button and start this timed spray tan, I’m not going to have time to undress again. And that’s how I found myself butt naked, wedged behind the door yelling at a hot male model to come fix my Mystic Tan machi...

Because one day after her injury we were talking with her surgeon in his office, and he casually threw out that I needed to start using a vibrator on her arm to break up the scar tissue. Because I couldn’t believe he so casually was talking about sex toys with me. Because my face turned the color of deep scarlet, and I had to nod and pretend like this was a totally normal thing to prescribe eight-year-old patients to do. Because I went out and got a small pink vibrator for this specific purpose. Because she was eight and loved all things princess and pink. Because we used it on her forearm every day in an attempt to break up the solid scar tissue, and I never once let on that it seemed like an odd part of the therapy routine. Because she grew to think it was fun as it seemed like a cool, pink toy that no one else could play with. Because I kept it hidden when we weren’t doing therapy exercises. Because heaven forbid a friend came over and she wanted to show them her new toy. Because ca...

Four years ago, I embarked on a journey to unlock something inside of myself that felt buried under a pile of rubble. On a whim, I signed up for an online course designed to help me unearth the dreams I had locked inside of me. Optimistic but slightly skeptical, I plunged headfirst into a four-week dream scavenge. Many in the course had lofty dreams of writing a book or starting a small business. My goal, the thing I wanted most for myself, was to have friends. Sure, I had plenty of acquaintances. I interacted with wonderful people on a regular basis, but when it came to true vulnerability and allowing others to see who I really was at my core, I was locked up and that door was deadbolted. Going through that course and tackling my “dream” by coming up with real ways to build community in my life kickstarted some real changes for me and liberated a newfound confidence in me. I decided I’d create a book club and invited several people to join it, knowing full well that I lacked the leade...