How do I know?
My dad committed suicide when I was 9.
I married a man I thought might kill me.
I had a miscarriage at 21.
I left my marriage after 6.5 years.
I moved states and homes, and wrote things like: “Fuck my life. I’m unemployed, divorced, and have no furniture to my name.”
And I’m still alive.
That’s how I know. I’ve lived through all of the above (plus regular life stuff). I know pain, grief, loss, heartbreak, and shame. But I also know that we can survive the big stuff—and it’s so much better when we don’t do it alone.
I’m more messy bun than up-do, so this is a space where you and I get to be real. Authenticity is sexy. Vulnerability is the bomb. And not having your shit together is totally in style.
I’d like to stop pretending, and I’d love for you to join. My goal is to help you own your story by sharing a bit of mine. But this type of tell-it-like-it-is takes practice. So I promise to dig deep, and give what I’ve got, and then try, try again. The ugly mess? The real stuff? That’s why I write. That’s why I yell and swear and get it all down, because you and me, well, we’re gonna make
great things in this mess called life.
I publish here about once a month. And if you don’t want to miss a post, make sure to subscribe.