What happens when the present moment itself can become terrifying? Our plural family calls it a Terror Peek. During the pandemic, a quieter world helped us discover another possibility: Present Presence—the ability to inhabit the life that is actually here, together.
Tag Archives: Trauma-Informed Care
Solis’s Day Is Reclaiming the Sabbath
We stayed home on Sunday because we needed rest. By midday, the journal—and the analysis that followed it—was uncovering something much older about urgency, safety, work, faith, independence, and what it means to reclaim the Sabbath.
And Then Saturday Happened
Daniel said no, so we stayed home. What followed wasn’t a therapeutic exercise or something devised for a blog. It was simply Saturday: blueberry waffles with peanut butter, boys needing Daddy, Hilda, quesadillas, an old letter finally sent, an octopus reclaimed, and ordinary family life unfolding because we listened.
Daniel Does Not Need to Become Brave Enough
On the eve of Daniel’s Day, a five-year-old says, “I don’t want to go tomorrow.” What begins as a question about Saturday plans becomes something much deeper: a father learning that his child does not need to become brave enough for tomorrow. Tomorrow needs to become safe enough for his child.
And All Before Breakfast
Before breakfast on Jude’s Day, a night of disturbing dreams opens into questions of belonging, work, therapy, faith, family, and what it means to build a life in which no one has to disappear for the family to survive.
Sometimes You Run Out of Glue
Sometimes what looks unfinished is finished. Sometimes what emerges from the fire is more truthful than what we intended to make. And sometimes the next step in rebuilding a life begins with knowing when to stop, look at what is already here, and let God turn the page.
One Little Thing
Some problems arrive so large that we disappear inside them. On Hope’s Day, an insurance envelope, memories of architecture, a lesson from Mom, and a Bruce Springsteen song taught us something different: one little thing. Then another. Hope is not knowing how everything will turn out. Hope is learning how to remain here while we find out.
There is So Much Life Here
A plural family can look remarkably functional after hours of invisible work helping one another move from fear and overwhelm toward safety, connection, and ordinary life. This is the story of what happens between the storm and the person the world finally sees.
After the Storm Has Passed
A plural family/system can look remarkably functional after hours of invisible work. This is what one morning of panic, freeze, relationship, regulation, affection, prayer, food, and finally getting up looked like from inside the Treehouse.
A Letter from the Treehouse
We are a plural family/system of nine people sharing one body: Dad and his eight sons. This is the letter we wrote when we were frightened, needed help, and asked a trusted friend to help us cross the threshold. It became something else too: the first raindrop of Notes from the Treehouse.
