Reflections from a walk on the beach.

Photo by Chema Photo on Unsplash

It was January.

We were walking on the beach, and it was sunny for a winter day — but even with the sunshine dancing in the sky, it was cold. So cold that the tears dried upon my face. We walked in silence for a while, the sound of the waves mixing with the sound of my tears.

The evening before, I had been told by my doctor’s that our pregnancy wasn’t going to be viable. …


A poem

Photo by Ingo Doerrieon Unsplash

Sometimes, it’s not selfishness; it’s survival.

It’s survival to give yourself more rest,
and to let yourself feel joy,
and to find the stillness within your day.

It’s survival to say “no” to the tugs on your time,
and to stick to the boundaries that you need,
and to keep the promise that you made to yourself.

It’s survival to let yourself feel sad,
and to allow yourself to laugh,
and to vocalize what it is that you want and need.

Sometimes, it’s not selfishness; it’s survival.

It’s trying to get yourself out of that rut, it’s finding your flashlight…


Lessons from a garden.

Photo by Becca Tapert on Unsplash

I’ve never been a gardener, and yet, I now have a garden.

There are azaleas, and there are hydrangeas, and there are peonies and magnolia trees. There are plants I cannot name and trees I’ve never seen, and birds that sing to us in the morning and at night — perhaps that’s what happens when you move into the woods.

Yesterday I noticed that the azalea bush next to our kitchen window is blooming — but there is a considerable chunk of it that is still a cluster of sticks.

My husband says we need to prune it.

My father-in-law…


Gentle reminders for the ones who worry too much.

Photo by Patrick Schneider on Unsplash

I’m a worrier.

When I was younger, I worried about skeletons. I worried about bugs. I worried about something terrible happening to my parents and my brother and never seeing them again. I worried about mean people, and I worried that I was too nice and worried about everyone getting along. When my worries bubbled to the surface, my mom would find the words to introduce me to a sense of calm.

Now, I still worry about hurting other people’s feelings. I worry about strangers on the news I’ve never met. I worry about the spiders outside that I’m convinced…


Sometimes, knowing what you don’t want is just as important as knowing what you do.

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

It’s graduation season.

College seniors worldwide are leaving their cocoon of learning and love and the life that they’re known for the past four years and emerging into the workforce — hopefully. Students I taught when they were fourteen are now grown adults seeking to find their place in the world. They have hearts full of hope and ideas that make me proud and are itching to make things with their hands and leave footprints on hearts wherever they go.

It’s a beautiful time, it truly is — but it can be scary, too — for sometimes, the plan you…


A poem

Photo by Artemis Faul on Unsplash

I love the way art takes up space.

It takes up space in your home:
on your computer, and
on your walls, and
on your television, and
on the table beside your bed,
but it claims a bit of real estate in your heart, too.

I love the way a song that you love can feel as if it’s part of your bloodstream,
as if it fuses with the salt of your tears,
as if the melody itself is what turns the corners of your mouth into a smile.

I love the way the stories that you read, and the…


You’re allowed to feel it all.

Photo by Thiago Cerqueira on Unsplash

Her name is Lara.

She is pregnant, and her body isn’t taking to it as kindly as it once did. It’s been four years since she has her first child — and so, she is four years older than when she first gave birth, and she has a toddler who is running around, something that didn’t happen her first time around. She is a wonderful mother, wife, friend, sister, and daughter, but she is in pain. Her back is hurting, and her knees are hurting, and she has trouble finding something to eat that doesn’t want to make her throw up. But she doesn’t…


A poem

Photo by Charlotte Thomason Unsplash

When your soul whispers, slow down; I hope you stop and listen.

I hope you listen to the laughter of your loved ones,
and music that makes your heart feel like it could sing,
and the sounds of Mother Nature buzzing outside your window.

I hope you count the magic in your mornings, like
the cups of coffee swirled with cinnamon, and
the way the sunlight breaks through your blinds, and
the quiet peace that falls upon your house like a blanket.

I hope you stop to have a meal that nourishes your body, and blesses your soul, and that…


Nobody gets to tell you who or how to love.

Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

My Nonna initially met my grandfather when she was sixteen.

It was a Saturday night, and they both were at the only movie theatre in the area.

At that time, there was an intermission, so the employees at the theatre could switch the reels of film. They had to wait for the reels to be brought from the next town.

Nonna was wearing a bright pink sweater that stuck out from the crowd. She was sitting by herself, dark hair pinned back from her face, intently playing her crossword puzzle.

My grandfather saw her and was immediately transfixed. And then…

Megan Minutillo

I write essays and poetry about life lessons, love, relationships, and self-awareness. More info: meganminutillo.com. Find me on Instagram: @meganminutillo.

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