Annette Camp's Blog

Answering Fear, Not FleeingBy Annette Camp September 6, 2025
Fear rises,a familiar pull at the edges of my heart.It whispers to retreat, to protect, to run before I feel the weight of loss again.
But this time, I pause.I notice the tremor, the instinct to escape,and instead of yielding,I let the fear speak.
I listen.I see what it carries—memories, pain, patterns,and I respond with awareness, not avoidance.
You lay out your truths like letters in a box,folded carefully, honoredbut not ruling the present.I honor mine,acknowledge the past,and choose presence.
Together we step slowly,with patience as our guide,with words bridging uncertainty, with care that builds rather than divides.
This lesson is not about perfection, but about choosing to stay,to answer fear with attention, to turn toward connection,and let trust growquietly in its place.

Whispers and WelcomeBy Annette Camp September 1, 2025
Coming home to Alabama,there's no need to explain my accent.I don’t have to bike the whole neighborhood,paddle a river, or climb a mountainto feel that I belong.
In Colorado, the mountains and rivers welcome me,their vastness and light carrying a quiet joy,neighborhoods stretching wide and still,inviting me to wander, to breathe, to discover.
Here, Alabama greets me differently.Pink blossoms nod in the afternoon breeze,light showers scatter across the yard,and birds chirp to awaken the day.Family surrounds me, my best friend nearby,and the air itself lets me simply be.
The door creaks open for me,bringing to mind all that I love -the people, laughter, hugs, warmth -and I settle into the rhythm of my dad's home.
Returning, old streets whisper memories,and the possibility of staying longer than a momentstirs quietly inside me.I look toward the future with curiosity,wondering which places, which people,which rhythms and spaces,will hold me, shape me,and finally make me feel at home.

A Sacred PrayerBy Annette Camp September 4, 2025
Prayer does not rush;it unfolds in deliberatemeditative, affirmative pausesand deep, conscious breathing.
Each breath draws me inwardand grounds me in the present.I become aware of the quietcurrents beneath my restless mind.
Affirmations provide clarityand bring intention to this moment.They guide me gentlyand soften tension within.
The pauses unfold—deliberate, reflective, tender.Prayer invites me to lingerand rest in quiet understanding.
I honor the stillness around me,listening deeply to my heart's messages.Each moment offers gentle guidance,shaping understanding without hurry.
True guidance is not found in speed,but in breath, in attentive presence.In these quiet pauses, I discoverwhat my soul has been seeking.
With each inhale, I gather clarity,with each exhale, I let go of tension.These deep, conscious breaths guide me,revealing patience, presence, and calm.
The map of my inner lifeemerges very slowly.With every inhale and exhale,a prayer unfolds within me.

This is GratitudeBy Annette Camp July 20, 2025
The best part of my daywas sitting at a round table,sandwiches half-eaten,stories fully shared.
Amid the swirl of caffeine,two friends talk of hockey,tennis, volleyball, pickleballand my favorite - the Packers.
We spoke of Graceland dreamsand the ache of motherhood,threading happiness and sorrow,letting both belong.
Each story shared with meis a window and a mirror:a chance to see,a chance to reflect.
Her body is close,yet her heart is closer.I felt heard. I felt connected.
And as the moments stretched gently between us,I felt something deeper than contentment.
A fullness rising like breath in my chest, not just for coffee,food or conversation,but for a simple, sacred truth.
The quiet joy of realizing:this is gratitude.

A Kaleidoscope of HealingBy Annette Camp June 30, 2025
My spiritual and religious journeyhas been a path of light and shadow.I've come to see that my soul was shapedby those who mirrored the sacred in me.
The ones who were supportive,valued wisdom, fostered a senseof community, and modeled theimportance of service and justice work.
My journey of spirit was also oncemarked by immeasurable pain, whereothers' judgments cut deep, and theirrejection left me silently aching.
Feeling powerless, grieving, and resentful—carrying wounds where love was longed for.The hurt ran far beneath the surface,a quiet void where welcome should've been.
I’ve taken these piercing fragmentsand pieced them into a mosaic,spinning in patterns of beauty.Now, I have a kaleidoscope of healing.

Between Streetlights and ScreensBy Annette Camp June 25, 2025
I was born in the 1970s.I’m Generation X.And I’m proud to be one.
We are the original latchkey kids.The ones who walked home from schoolwith a house key around our necksand a note on the counter that said,“Dinner’s in the fridge.”
We learned independence early—because we had to.Our parents were working, divorcing,or just doing their own thing.So we figured things out on our own—quietly, creatively, and with grit.
We were raised on three TV channels,Saturday morning cartoons,and streetlights as curfews.We played outside untilthe dusk buzzed us home.
We are the mixtape makers.The Walkman warriors.The ones who rewound VHS tapes,recorded songs off the radio,and waited weeks for filmto be developed.
We grew up withMr. Rogers, Sesame Street,Schoolhouse Rock,The Brady Bunch, The Muppets,and Soul Train.
We also watchedthe Berlin Wall fall,the Challenger explode,and MTV actually play music.
We watched the world change, fast.We saw the end of the Vietnam War.Lived through the Cold War,the crack epidemic,“Just Say No” campaigns,and the AIDS crisis.
We’ve seen technology evolvefrom Atari to AI.We danced to vinyl,then cassettes,then CDs—memorizing lyricslong before Google could help.
We survived rotary phones,busy signals,floppy disks,and dial-up modems.We printed pixelated bannerson dot matrix printersthat took all afternoon.We learned to code, just tochange our MySpace page.
We were the last generationto grow up without the internetand the first to raise kidsin a world that never shuts off.
We lived before likes, hashtags,and constant comparison.Privacy was real.Mistakes were our own,not viral content.
We straddle two worlds:Analog and digital.Pay phones and smartphones.Common sense and constant scroll.
We entered adulthoodthrough recessions,layoffs,downsizing,and broken promises—but we kept going.
We never expected life to be easy—just real.We were told to keep our heads downand get to work.No hand-holding.No “safe spaces.”Just figure it out.And we did.
We’ve seen empires fall,systems fail,ideals shift—but we’re still here.
We’ve been raising families,caring for aging parents,and learning how to feelin a world that told usto toughen up.
We are the quiet rebels.The underdogs.The skeptics who still hope.
We’ve seen enough to question everythingbut we still believe in doing better.In showing up.In authenticityover image.
We’re breaking cycles.Drinking water.Going to therapy.Healing.Still raising hellwhen it matters.
We are Generation X.The quiet force.The resilient bridgebetween Boomers and Millennials,old school and what’s next.
We’re not trying to go back.We’re building forward—with wisdom,wit, andweathered hearts.
We are Generation X.And we’ve got this.

Everything Hangs in This MomentBy Annette Camp June 18, 2025
He sat on the edge of the benchwood hard beneath him.Men shuffled in and out,sentences trailing behind them:time, fines - one word enough to change everything.
He waited.Back straight.Hands clenched in his lap,gripping the outline of hope.Don’t unravel.
Then, his name echoed through the chamber.As his mother silently pleaded:Don’t lock him away from the very soilthat’s just beginning to ground him.Let him keep building the life that now calls to himof second chances.
She wanted the judge to seethe man he was trying to become,not just the moment of his worst mistake.She had watched him fallhard and often, but she had also seen him rise in rehab.
Don’t take this from him,she begged with her bones.Not now.Not when he’s growing likethe agriculture around him.
Let him keep his place at Harvest Farmsnot because he’s earned it yet,but because he’s trying.Because he’s showing up every daywhen it would be easier to run.
She wanted the judge to seethe quiet miracle of him showing up each day to do his work from the inside out.
He stood when his name was called.Not confident,but not crumbling either.Each step forwardwas its own small vow:I’m not who I was.Not anymore.
He didn’t glance back,but if he had,he would’ve seen her—his mother,anchored in stillness.
He would have seen in her eyesnot fear,not pity,but belief.The kind that doesn’t waverwhen the world does.She carried it for him.
After the public defenderstated that he had startedthe New Life rehab program,she said, “That’s a great program.”Those words felt like more than mercy. It was a lifeline.

Healing in His Eyes By Annette Camp June 10, 2025
Tears swell in his eyesnot from pain, but from something gentler, something newly born.
He sits beside me,words trembling outlike leaves shaken looseby a sudden gust of truth.
“I feel happy,” he says,as if tasting it for the first time,as if happiness were a languagehe never knew he could speak.
And I listen —so deeply it stirs something raw —because this is not a phrasehe would have said before.
My own eyes fill,not with sorrow,but with the unbearable beautyof watching someone return to themselves.
This is no longer the imageetched by years of restless nights,the scream of anger, andechoes of trembling with fear.
With this new truth,healing begins —a happiness rebornwithin both our hearts.
This is a man carrying his soul with intention,moving toward something greaterthan simply making it through.
This is a rebirth,a rising of purposecarved from the hardest stones of struggle.

Hope for His Recovery By Annette Camp June 3, 2025
Tonight, I whispered to the moon:Let him come back whole.Let him come back happy.Let him remember how it feelsto sleep without worry,to wake without pain.
This silence aches, but it’ssofter than the anxiety that used to gnaw me awake at 2am,wondering if he was cold,curled up in the backseat of a truck,or scared in the back of his van.
I imagined him in the corner of thecrowded shelter, shoulders hunched,eyes darting, trying to sleep.And zipped inside a damp tent,pitched beneath trees thatoffered no comfort, only cover.
And holed up in a cheap hotel,where the TV hums in the backgroundbut can’t drown out the storm ofthoughts that rumble like thunder,crashing one over the next,memories and regrets colliding.
And crouched behind bushes,praying not to be seen or woken.And curled up behind surfboards,just to steal a moment of rest,while the world moved on, unawareof his hidden suffering.
Nine months feels like a lifetimewhen my arms are empty, butI would rather miss him herethan lose him out there to thequiet drowning in the fastundertow of addiction.

Radical Faith By Annette Camp February 6, 2025
My faith is not justabout inner peace, but also about actively working to dismantle oppression and uplift marginalized voices. 
I have a responsibility to challenge injustice, advocate for the vulnerable and annihilate systems that harm people. 
My faith is lived out in action, not just emotion. I will provide comfort to the weary while confronting the systems that create suffering.
My faith is one that not only creates systems of caring, belonging and equity, but opposes injustice. 
My faith balances love and justice.It heals and disrupts.Builds and resists. Nurtures and challenges.
My faith is both constructive and disruptive.My faith is both gentle and fierce.