Here I sit

Here I sit on the floor in my living room, trying to process the past 20 years, trying to grasp order and structure to the events in my life. I’m surrounded by my computer, personal journals, index cards, sticky notes, and my favorite felt tip pens in probably 15 different colors. The scenes are scattered about with themes and threads weaving over and through the 50,000 words I’ve written.

I stop to wonder why I’m always drawn to working at the kitchen table or in this, the adjoining living room. Right now I’m distracted by my daughter’s Barbie Dream House staring back at me from across the room. I have a spare bedroom upstairs; my own space with my very own writing desk. Why don’t I use that more?

Then I remember. I bought the writing desk to start writing this memoir just weeks before the world shut down because of COVID-19. My full-time corporate career transitioned to a work-from-home model. My writing room turned into my at-home office; and my four-year-old daughter’s daycare room.

The unknowns that came with the first months of COVID-19 were an all too familiar feeling for me. It was at a time when I was just beginning to find my pace again. 10 years prior I had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Then, five years after that the cancer returned. This time stage four metastatic breast cancer, all while I was adjusting to the title of Mommy.

Purchasing my writing desk and setting it up in the spare bedroom, across from my daughter’s room, was another step in accepting that she would be an only child. Because of the metastatic cancer diagnosis, the room would never be filled with a second baby, a sibling for my daughter. It would always be a spare bedroom.

So today, finally just today, sitting on the floor in my living room I realize why that bedroom is hard for me to fill with my creative work of this book. Maybe it’s time for that room to receive an energy cleanse or a makeover of sorts.

The past 20 years I’ve learned to lean into writing to process the parts of life that I didn’t know how else to express. Many times my pen or fingers would move faster than my mind could process. Many times I found tears rolling down my face as I realized what had just been exposed from my subconscious when I let myself sit with it.

This year my husband and I will celebrate our 20th Wedding Anniversary. We’ve endured so much together since we vowed: “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health”.

This year I am committing to getting my story into the world so my little family of three always has it to look back on. My husband is my rock and my biggest supporter. My daughter strengthened my Faith in God and is my definition of Hope.

This book won’t be just for them though. Over the years, I’ve come to learn that writing is part of me. It’s a way for me to clear the chaos of my life. It’s a way for me to connect with others. I trust that writing is part of my journey, my calling.

Slowly I’ve stripped my past identities away. What’s left is my authentic self. What’s left is a deep trust that by sharing my story, I can serve and inspire others to heal and grow in their ways; through their hardships.

Suddenly that Barbie Dream House that I noticed staring me down earlier looks different now. It’s a symbol of how far our little family has come in the past 20 years.

If you’d like to follow along with me on my progress, it would be an honor to have you. You can sign up here to receive future newsletters.