I’ve done a most drastic thing. Call it a risk. Call it foolish. Call it brave. I’ve called it all those things and more. Basically it’s part of a transition I’ve been going through for a while.

For 35 years I’ve called myself a Leadership and Organizational Development Consultant. That’s one hell of a mouthful. My most favorite part of that work has been the leadership side. Supporting, challenging, training, coaching and counseling leaders have been the juiciest parts of my work by far. And it’s paid the bills to boot.

For 25 years – in tandem with my consulting - I’ve been an activist for ending childhood sexual abuse.

A few years ago my daughter and others in her generation (and younger) started telling me I needed to offer my writing workshop for survivors online. I had ten years under my belt running them “in-person,” co-leading them with the wise and wonderful Jackie Humphreys. Doing them online – only audio, not video – sounded like a ridiculous idea.

Every support group I’ve led, every counseling session I’ve offered, every training I’ve performed, my eyes work overtime. They’re my second set of hands – holding the speakers heart while they talk, cry, laugh, roar or whisper.

If you’ve participated in a TTT writing circle before and want to register, click here.

For those new to this process who are interested - let’s set up a time to talk to see if this is the right fit for you. Click here to make a phone appointment with Donna.

A brilliant new and different way of honoring women’s voices is taking place. It’s being done by That’s What She Said in Denver, Colorado. Jamie Newton, Founder and Hannah Smith, Senior Producer explain:

“We collect stories from women of experiences they had that were based on gender (or their courage to not conform to one). The stories are short and long and hilarious and unnerving and all of the things in between. They need to be heard, and they need to be heard not just by those of us who have catalogues of the same; they need to be heard by those who don’t normally listen. We think we found the way.

Try this: Think of your deepest, darkest secret. The one you can’t imagine telling anyone. We all have at least one. Imagine that if you tell this secret, something terrible is going to happen. People you love deeply, upon hearing your secret, will leave you. That is why we survivors fear telling our stories.

There’s a long list of other reasons. They’re all steeped in fear, too. My fear can fill a barn. I’ve been here before so I know what it is: my tongue prefers to push its tip up into my palate like it’s the first line of defense against my voice, and my tear ducts are working overtime constricting every few minutes to hold back the flood; my cheek muscles are swimming in salt water, and my lower lip is pushing back a tremor with all its might; my breath won’t go an inch deeper than the top of my lungs.