I come back to the old pages over and again. I start to read, and then feel so strange inside, and I wonder who it is that actually wrote the words. Surely it wasn’t me, because I don’t even know what is going to happen next. I don’t remember these names, these characters, these plot lines.
a 23 year old Melinda, writing
Having once been an avid writer can really mess with your head. It makes you wonder if you are still a fiction writer. Still a writer at all. It makes you wonder if those hundreds of thousands of words and more than six full length manuscripts you wrote were just a fever dream. I think back to those days, when I heard a song and immediately thought not of my own life, but the life of a character I was getting to know. How would they relate to these lyrics? How would this song fit into the background of the scene I’m in the middle of writing, if I imagined the scene like one in a movie? My pockets and purses were filled with scraps of paper – all shapes and sizes written with whatever was nearby. A pencil, a pen, a Sharpie, a crayon, maybe. The ideas flowed easily. I was in flow all the time, actually.
I absolutely loved this part of my life.
I was inspired by quotes like “Once your character says or does something that surprises you, that’s when you truly become a fiction writer.” That may be the quote, but it probably isn’t. I am having a hard time even finding the quote via google. And this one (some version of it, anyway!) used to be a favorite of mine. Because it actually happened to me once. I even remember muttering out loud, “No, I can’t believe you’re doing this,” as I typed out the scene at hand. My characters began making their own choices and I didn’t always like what they were up to.
Being a writer made me feel alive in a way that I haven’t experienced since I stopped.
It’s been a long time. It’s been about a decade, to be honest. There were three or four years when I wrote prolifically. Life was perfectly set up for me to spend time writing, working, and even thinking about my characters while I worked. Whether I was doing customer service at a busy bakery (chatting with customers gave me so many character plot ideas) or quietly creating chocolate truffles in a kitchen where I was the only employee (my mind would wander… far), I was actively engaged in the writing process. I had other commitments in life and even had busy weeks and days…
So here I am, trying to figure out the difference. What is so different between then and now?
It isn’t just parenting. Yes, I was “kidless” back then. I was married and we had tons of friends. My twin sister and ex husband were in a band together and I went to every single show and gathering surrounding their music ambitions. I was their biggest fan. Some of their songs even sparked ideas for my characters and plotlines.
I stopped “being able to write” when two big things happened:
I went through my divorce. At first, the pain of divorce led to a lot of grim writing. My writing had never been chipper and upbeat, but it definitely got darker and more macabre as my life fell apart. I moved from lengthy novels to poems and short stories. My characters were extremely broken and I didn’t see much hope for their lives, either. This writing was cathartic and matched my energy. I suppose during this time period I turned into sort of a cliche. I was no longer a happy, but deep, writer who explored writing topics like “sci-fi” and “existential-break-up-crisis” and “what our dreams truly mean” and “who ushers us into the next life?”… No. Now, I smoked cigarettes, drank whiskey neat, had a shaved head and wrote the most depressing short stories I could muster up after standing outside in the bitter cold on purpose just to feel something. I remember that time well. I remember what that felt like. And the dark writing eventually faded, too.
After sending in what felt like hundreds of query letters to literary agents, I finally had a request to read my entire manuscript. Weeks later, I got a rejection letter back. All of the previous rejection letters had fueled me. Every rejection meant I had sent something in. Every rejection before then felt like something I could frame. It gave me momentum. It was the closeness of having a positive response that then turned into a rejection that halted me altogether. I still haven’t completely figured out why. And I really wish it hadn’t done that. So now, I can only move forward.
These two events: The Rejection and The Divorce happened within months of each other. I can hardly remember which happened first, but I really think it was the rejection letter from the agent. It was then that I started shifting my focus a bit toward the short stories and poetry, but my writing inspiration and style truly changed (for better or worse, who’s to say?) once I realized I would be a divorcee before the age of 24.
Now, I am 35. Through the last ten years, I have still written thousands of words, but mostly in blog form. I have shared perhaps “too much” about my life, but I don’t regret a single thing I put out there. I have heard from people that my experiences have helped them get through theirs, and that has made each vulnerable moment worth something more than I can express with words. It’s a feeling I get, knowing that I was born to write.
I’ve had some distractions, it’s true. At the age of 26 I became a stepmom to three young children. I know this is a huge part of why writing was hard to come by, but I can’t blame anyone but myself and the boundaries I hadn’t yet learned. And I had to learn them the way I did, so really, I’m okay with it. I wouldn’t have grown much if I’d stayed a happy-go-lucky 22 year old with oodles of time to write when I wasn’t off doing things that I only considered fun. I experienced some adversity and someone really hating me without knowing me – that sucked up more energy, too. And again, I can only blame myself and all that I didn’t know about… you guessed it… my boundaries, and I’ll add to that, self-worth.
I have spent my time in the last decade learning about myself and others. I often joke that I’ve learned more about myself (mostly my physical body through countless doctor’s appointments I never dreamed I’d be going to, in many different capacities) than I ever wanted to know. And it’s true. Before, I wanted to ride the wave of enjoyment forever. I wanted to stay in my hometown and marry the person I met at age 17. I wanted to “have five kids and be a stay at home mom and make home made bread and have chickens and just be a writer when I felt like it and and and and and.”
But did I really? That, really, is the question. Is that what I really wanted? Maybe. But that isn’t how I moved forward in life. And later, when given a solid and clear choice between:
Easy (move again and date someone my own age with no kids)
and
Hard (stay in the small town I never dreamed of staying in and marry a man with three children)
I chose hard.
I, like a character I may have written, or may have had no idea how to write at the time, chose the hard path. And I am so thankful I did.
I am so glad that I married this man, with all that he brought along with him. I am so glad I gave so much of myself to his kids and had to learn the hard way how to love myself and ultimately, love others better. I am so glad I endured the proverbial beating a new stepmom will often get, so cliche and so hurtful. I am so glad I never left. I am so glad I stayed here, with this family, in this life… even with the snow and the tears and the sleepless nights.
I am so glad that this body I live in was diagnosed with an eye disease that is supposed to leave me blind. This has given me a chance to appreciate sight. Not appreciate it MORE, but to appreciate it in the first place. If I am honest with myself, I took most mundane parts of life for granted, including eyesight. And this diagnosis is no longer something that scares me, because along the way, I met wise women who assured me I didn’t have to embrace the word blind or believe that blindness is my future.
I am still in the midst of chunks of skin being removed at a rapid pace of about every two months or so. Big, quarter sized chunks, we’re talking. But this experience gives me something to be grateful for: dermatologists. I had my forehead chopped up at the age of 30 and while that was traumatizing at the time, I got to live up to my own proclaimed love of scars. Can’t talk the talk unless you are willing to walk the walk. And life gives plenty of opportunities to walk it, doesn’t it?
Looking back to the time when I could write for hours and hours, would I have ever been able to write fully about a character, a woman, who spent eight years longing for a child, only to have failed attempts at pregnancy over and over and over again? And those are just the eight years spent with one particular person. This was a lifetime of dreaming and longing. But mostly? A lifetime filled with fear that it would never happen.
Would I have been able to write about a woman who realized this idea, this soul, this energy I longed for was something that wouldn’t actually be sated by a baby in my arms?
I had written about characters who probably drank too much, but had I ever dreamed that I’d become the person in my own life who had to make the choice to never drink again? Certainly, this would come as a huge shock to bright eyed and bushy tailed Melinda-the-writer. She wouldn’t have believed it.
No, this past decade of life hasn’t been filled up with just distractions from writing. It has been filled up with living. Living in every sense of the word. I have been consumed with pain, love, panic, peace, fear, acceptance, risks, safety, hurt, calm, lust, intrigue, rage, affection, wonder and so many other beautiful aspects of life. I haven’t been distracted and taken away from writing. I have, perhaps, been ushered into the very life I needed in order to write something good and fruitful. And the best is yet to come.
I have learned that time isn’t real and that capitalism and patriarchy are constructs I’m not much a fan of. I’ve learned that human design, enneagram, astrology and energy healing are topics I find to be fascinating and have added beauty to my life in ways that will surely break the hearts of others I know and love. I’ve learned that I’m not in charge of how I make others feel, and that going to sleep each night with a clear conscience doesn’t mean appeasing every single person on this earth. I’ve learned that my husband is an extremely wise, humble, and patient voice in my ear, gently asking me not to go too far as to get lost. Yet, he encourages the best kind of exploration and excitement.
I chose the hard path and boy, it’s been hard. In all the best ways. The ways that teach you something and the ways that make you look back and smile (hindsight being what it is, and all). Not one second of it was boring. I can say that, too.
So I’ll end with this thought:
Being a writer made me feel alive in a way that I haven’t experienced since I stopped, however …
Living my life, rather than simply writing fiction, has made me experience something better than I knew existed.
I don’t have time in my day to write and ruminate over my characters right now, because the characters in my own real life take up the space, and I much prefer it that way. The words I’d hear my fictional friends saying in my head (and quickly jotted down on a scrap) are actual words resounding all around me by the kids, by Israel, by friends, by coworkers, by the family I spend time with on the phone. I am consumed with a full life.
And I fully believe that the written word has been with me all along, ushering my own story as it unfolded and continues to unfold, and will continue as I live each day. I will embrace writing as I am learning to embrace aging: with a respect and gratitude that it is happening all the time without my having to try too hard.
If you’ve driven up Campbell anytime in the past few months, you may be wondering what’s being built just on the other side of “the trees next to the softball fields.” The answer has felt like a precious gem many of us have been holding onto.
The unique and modern design being built as I write this is none other than Bodhi Studios, Prescott’s first and very own yoga studio.
Bodhi Studios is owned and operated by Cortney Franklin. Cortney is a strong, wonderful, creative, and brightly spirited woman who grew up right here in Prescott. She is simply a delight. She has taken the seed of an idea and planted it right in our midst. This seed was planted at Freedom Park during perhaps the hardest time many of us have faced – right when the pandemic hit. She used the beautiful outdoor space and invited people “in.” She eventually moved her yoga practice indoors (hello, midwest winters!) and is currently using the open workout space in Snap Fitness. However, when you enter this space for a Bodhi class, you are transported somewhere else. The quality instructors, the lighting, and the overall essence of the room is felt by all who enter. And it works — for now.
I moved to Prescott 8 years ago and my first thought was, “This town could use a yoga studio.” (My second thought was, “This town could use a brewery.” And we got pretty close… when Spiral Brewery opened in Hastings. Double bonus, they now serve nonalcoholic beer.)
But I craved yoga. More specifically, I craved hot yoga. Moving to a small town in Wisconsin, after growing up in Albuquerque with a large hot yoga presence downtown, felt somewhat bleak. This town could for sure use some yoga. I felt very alone with this thought, but I now know I wasn’t alone at all. It appears there are many who were waiting for an opportunity such as this, and a large number of us are already ecstatic that Bodhi Studios is here.
The word Bodhi itself means “awakening,” “enlightenment,” or “spiritual release.” I can’t imagine a better time for some Bodhi to enter the scene in this small town. Bodhi Studios itself is positioned between the Midwest’s beloved Kwik Trip, as well as this town’s often frequented softball fields. The placement of this yoga studio is profound to me: it is right in the center of some of the most every-day, simple, and fundamental small town life aspects that we all must navigate day in and day out. Getting gas, taking the kids to sporting events, grabbing a few bananas (and a few donuts, you know it’s true.) These things aren’t bad things, but sometimes we need more.We crave more. We want a place to enter that will transport us far away or deep within. Bodhi Studios is exactly that.
Bodhi Studios will change lives in Prescott and in fact, it already has. The loving community of people who already attend class will tell you: Cortney’s dream has given way for our own dreams to come true. Physical fitness combined with the calming of the mind does have an impact on individuals, and the more individuals who are impacted, the larger impact on the community as a whole.
Healed people heal people. I would prefer Prescott to grow in this way. I’d love if every neighbor I had was mindful of others and able to look inward for peace.
Wouldn’t you? The gift of Bodhi Studios is one giant step in that direction, and I cannot wait for the building to be completed.
Bodhi Studio already has a variety of classes — truly something for everyone. You can try with no risk – the first class is free!
I used to love yoga, be confident in my body, and show up without reservation. A decade passed and some negative life experience, the pandemic as a whole, and other factors made me hesitant to join. I will admit – I was nervous to join the group I often saw practicing yoga at Freedom Park. I wish I could go back in time and partake during those difficult days, but I’m thankful I made it there eventually. I have shared this before in another post, but yoga is part of what has saved my life. My outer life as well as my inner life. Intentions can be powerful, and that is what yoga offers. Sure, a great physical workout, but more importantly, a mind-space of intentionality that can transform our internal thoughts into those that serve us and our neighbors. During my very first class at Bodhi, the only intention I could even muster up was “life” – as in, let me want to be alive. And sadly, I know I am not alone in having had this very thought. I was at war with my body, and something as simple as “placing your hand on your belly and the other on your heart” was hard to do at first. Now, I lovingly place my hands there and thank my body for all it does for me, instead of hating it for what it hasn’t. Intentions change and grow, just like us. Then there’s the workout – and I will tell you, I have YET to be able to do 100% of what Cortney does in her Bodhi Burn class. It is SO HARD and SO FUN and SO CHALLENGING and SO REWARDING and SO HEALING. All at once. I promise.
It is nothing short of a miracle that a town like Prescott now has a beautiful yoga studio of its own, and I personally consider it an answered prayer.
Don’t be intimidated. This space is for everyone. And it is true. As Cortney always says: Come as you are.
I’m very surprised to say that TWICE in my life, a man who appears to be in his early sixties has asked me a random question that has radically changed my life. I don’t know who either of these men are, what their names are, or anything about them whatsoever.
The first time a man said something to me that would normally sort of piss me off (because who the heck is he to ask me questions?), I was working as a cashier at Whole Foods and the man I was ringing up said to me, after staring at me: “What are you doing here?“
I looked at him, my heart softened, and I said point blank: “I have no idea.”
His asking of that question changed the course of my life and at the time, I knew it was a sign from God and I knew I needed to move. I started telling my friends, “Well, this is probably our last beer together. I am moving.” “Where to!??!” They’d asked me in surprise. “I have no idea,” I said with a shrug and a secret thrill of excitement. I had no idea, but I knew I was moving.
Now I’m living that life, the one that stranger sparked deep inside of me.
Fast forward to today, and I was at the beach (yes, we have BEACHES in small towns in Wisconsin!! I was surprised, too), reading a book that God gave my best friend via Free Little Library. That book is Pastrix by Nadia Bolz-Weber, and it has transformed my life. I’ll probably write about that later, but just know that I was in the ending pages of that book, it was close to 100 degrees outside, and I decided I better take a dip in the water.
If you know me at all, you know I absolutely hate to be cold. I hate it hate it hate it. It’s really difficult for me to get into rivers and lakes and really any water that isn’t a blazing hot shower or bathtub. So even on a day like today, I inch my way in.
If you know me at all, you might also know that sometimes it’s hard for me to let go of certain wrongs or people who have hurt me. Even if they hurt me by doing something before they even knew I existed but it makes my present life difficult. Yup, that’s me!
Enter second random *older* man to change my life (in what I would normally consider to be a slightly annoying situation.) I stood there, waist deep in the water. I closed my eyes. Sunscreen was stinging them, it was bright, but I was also praying. Yes, praying. I was praying about some of the hardest parts of my life. Bits of my heart I desperately want to change. Thanking Jesus for my friends and my family, my health and my dog. I went back to changes I know I desperately need. I asked over and over again: change my heart in these particular areas. Please.
Then that guy started talking to me. He was floating about ten feet away. Thick white sunscreen slathered all over his entire body.
“What are you doing?” He asked me.
“Enjoying the peace,” I told him, truthfully.
“It’s nice to do that. Are you going to get in?” Like it’s any of your business.
“Yeah, eventually,” I said.
“It’s nice to get in the water inch by inch,” he told me, sounding like an expert.
Feeling like I wanted to not take advice from a man, I semi-defiantly said, “Yeah, but I plan to dive in.”
He looked at me like I was the one interfering upon his peace, and said, “What are you waiting for???”
Suddenly I wasn’t annoyed at this man whatsoever – but instead knew the Holy Spirit of God had entered my life again, and that this was more than just water that felt cold to my wimpy skin.
I looked at him and said, “You’re right,” and dove in. I swam underneath the water, my heart pounding, body slightly shaking. When I rose up out of the surface, I looked at that man and gave him a thumbs up.
That was the end of our communication. But it was far from the end of the experience for me. I am still shaking as I write this, actually. God showed up in other ways, too, before I left that beach. In ways that are too precious and personal to even write about right now. But He was there. He was there through the words of the book I was reading. He was there through the words of a stranger, answering my desperate plea for change by answering with “What are you waiting for?”
So what are you waiting for?
Maybe now’s the time to dive in.
All the love,
Melinda (who isn’t proud of the fact that I was so judgy about advice from men [but what can I say, sometimes it IS annoying] )
Here’s the deal: seven is a great number. It’s lucky, it’s nice and odd (I love an odd number!), it’s biblical for crying out loud. It’s also a great way to mark time.
We’ve all heard of the Seven Year Itch, right? I even saw the movie way back when. And oddly enough, for all sorts of reasons, my last long relationship ended right around seven years. It’s like a boogyman waiting to getcha.
But here I am, exactly seven years into my friendships with my greatest friends, my relationship with Israel and the new chapter of life I started when I moved to Wisconsin. Though the years have been filled with beauty and wonder and fun and life, they’ve also been marked by the darkest days. In the last seven years I moved to a brand new place, felt isolated, jumped in way over my head in my late twenties by becoming a stepmom to three, I found out I’d someday go blind, I went through an unsuccessful multi-year episode of infertility, my puppy died of a horrible pancreatic disease, I buried my soulmate dog, had a cancerous chunk of my forehead removed, experienced death in my family, I totaled the car we had just paid off (!!!) and my favorite tree in the world cracked into three pieces. I was pretty darn angry and sad, worked at least ten different jobs, and felt multiple times like I had made some horrible, terrible mistake with my life choices. To name a few things.
But thank God, we call them chapters for a reason. I just went through one seven-year-chapter of my life. That chapter has officially closed. Never have I had so many moments where I didn’t think I’d make it. Didn’t even think I’d survive. I want to tread carefully here because words are important, but it’s important to share these things. I never planned on doing anything about it, but I really didn’t want to live anymore. The only prayer I could even think of was: just take me now, let me die, let me just disappear please please please.
That’s what depression does: it blinds us. As someone who has a diagnosis of blindness on the horizon, this is no joke to say. Depression blinded me more than Retinitis Pigmentosa ever will. I couldn’t see goodness, couldn’t see light, and couldn’t see what I needed to change.
Here’s another important thing to share: I was on Lexapro for two of the last seven years. And I highly doubt I’d have made it without that help. I am thankful for that little pill. I am also thankful for my husband who supported me through it all.
Now let’s get to the good part. I’m on DAY ONE of my new SEVEN YEAR CHAPTER!!!! YES, IT IS TODAY!!!!!
Yesterday, May 21st, 2015, was the first day I spent time with the guy I married: Israel. And all of our friends were on board, behind the scenes, trying to make sure we wound up together. I was smitten from day 1, but things took a little while to become serious due to our past traumas, three kids he didn’t want to further traumatize, and the reality of life after divorce. Things went slow, but suddenly we were married, and the toughest first years of almost any marriage I’ve heard of commenced. (Though I can look back fondly on some things, I wouldn’t go back in time, not for a billion dollars.)
On May 22nd, 2015, I woke up to a life that included all of the people I hold most dear. Suddenly, I had friends in this little small town. I had a budding relationship that started as a deep friendship, and a whole lot of growing to do. And grow I did. It wasn’t fun and it wasn’t easy.
But like I said, this is the good part! I’d like to simply list out the category of mindset changes I’ve made that have taken me out of my depression/slump, and into what I feel will be the brightest seven years yet. I am determined and ready, strong and capable, and looking at the circumstances in my life through new metaphorical eyes.
ISRAEL: I look at my husband, and I know I made the right choice in marrying him. He’s funny, smart, dedicated, patient, strong, and so many other great things. Oh, and he smells good! (Yes, I’ve mentioned that before, lol). I trust him, and I’ve had to be totally vulnerable with him. We’ve called each other out on our bullshit, and we’ve loved each other through real life nightmares. We’ve cheered each other on, and cried for each other’s pain. We’ve screamed at each other, and we’ve held each other close. We’ve just about broken right in half, yet held it together just enough to get to where we are. We both recognize the absolute miracle it is today that we’ve made it. Instead of feeling anything resembling a seven year itch, I am finally settling into what happy and content feels like. No day is perfect, but we’ve been smiling more, spending time together more often, listening – truly listening – to each other, and I really like who we’ve become. One of my favorite things to hear is: I like you. Israel says this to me all the time, and it means the world. He likes me! That’s great! We can love who we love despite many things. We can really dislike those we love, too. So having a marriage in which the words “I really like you,” appear from time to time is just the bees knees. I like it. I am happy to be on the beginning of year 8 together(, or year 1 of our next 7 years.) I know I made the right choice. I am thankful.
DRINKING: Another mark of a great life partner – they have tough conversations with you. Such as: I think you are doing ______________ too much. Fill in the blank with anything, really. Drinking, smoking, talking badly about yourself, forming unhealthy habits, slouching! If we start with trust and love, then a *critical* statement that comes from our loved one can be accepted. It’s not easy to accept this kind of feedback, but it’s up to us to listen. Oh sure, I got defensive. I got defensive the first five or six times my husband talked to me about the vodka and kombucha I was pouring for myself just about every night. And during the dark days of the pandemic? Forget it. I am so thankful I had someone who loved me enough to say something. And I am glad that I finally listened. Here is the main change I made: I just don’t drink at home anymore. I have gone out multiple times and not had anything, either. It is not part of my daily life. AND I AM SO MUCH HAPPIER. I literally see the world differently. My lifestyle wasn’t doing me any favors. I am thankful.
MOVEMENT: I will admit it right now – I was blessed with a great metabolism. I can be prettttttty –still – (for a lack of a better word)… and get by okay. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, and so I can just live my life, take the dog on a short walk, and be just fine. Until I’m not just fine. Until staring at my computer during those pandemic days of WFH, paralyzed by the thought that after work, I still wouldn’t be doing anything, and then tomorrow, I’d do it all over again, and so on and so on…… anyway! You get the idea. But it started to hurt my body. I had never experienced back pain before those days, and suddenly, the pain in my back was debilitating. I could hardly bend over to wash my face at night. Everything started to hurt. I was told that I should exercise, but it felt impossible. I lacked motivation and needed a reality check. Honestly, that reality check came in the form of totaling my car and being in even more pain, and then having to go to a chiropractor extensively to heal. THIS lead to going back to yoga, which I am so thankful exists. I made an investment for myself. Best damn decision I ever made. The best part of yoga isn’t even the amazing workout you get, but the intention you set for yourself. The first month I spent going to yoga, my intention was simply: LIFE. Just not wanting to die. Just please, let me want to live. And suddenly, living became a little easier. And then, suddenly, I felt a little stronger. And then, suddenly, my intention became an openness with accepting things as they are. I could write an entire book on this (and maybe I will!), but let me just say, yoga here in town at Bodhi Studios has changed my life. Maybe my body hasn’t grown a life, but it sustains my own life. I am so freaking thankful. Bye, bye, back pain. Bye, bye hating my body. Hello love for myself. Hello acceptance for what it can do- my WHOLE body. Hello hope for the future by living more and more in the moment. Also, hello muscles. Sorry, not sorry. I am freaking proud of this photo, because I am in better shape than I’ve been in since I was about 16 years old. I FEEL it. I am thankful.
VULNERABILITY: In my closest relationships, but also with my writing. My last few blog posts were very vulnerable. I talked about wanted to rip out my own womb. I talked about my body. I even received some negative feedback about this kind of vulnerability, but I knew I had to go there. I knew I had to share. Surely, I’m not the only childless person on a full out rage war against her own body? Surely, I’m not the first person with intimacy issues after such an experience? Surely, I’m not the only woman who has cried over a hundred times when the blood comes? And I am okay saying it, because it’s just about one of the most human parts of existence… and being “left out” of that part is really painful. Vulnerability is huge and has always led to release for me. Writing is like a salve on my soul. Typing away on this keyboard heals wounds, sometimes better than time does.
THERAPY: I went to traditional therapy, in which I heard life changing words and mantras to take with me. I love therapy because I am a talker. However, my body held on to trauma. Our bodies hold trauma and we need help to get loose. I am forever thankful for doing QNRT with Mallery Hammers. Doing this work with her releases past trauma from the body. It heals, and it awakens spirit. Please look this up, read Mal’s website, and book your first session. The world would be a better place if everyone did QNRT. It was an investment, and one I am so glad I made. If you have questions about it, please do not hesitate to reach out. It’s hard to explain exactly what happens, but just know that I endorse QNRT 1,000,000%.
CHURCH: When the church I loved closed its doors, my core group of loved ones dispersed. We became church orphans, wondering where we’d go and where we’d end up. And then the pandemic happened. And the places we’d chosen to go became virtual, and sitting in front of the TV became less of a “thing” and more of a “chore.” Then Big Important Things were brought to light, and many of realized we needed something different in order to live out our most precious core values. I knew I’d find something, but I was in no rush. Low and behold, I wound up finding where is now my home church. You can watch my story here. This church has been so welcoming, and aligning my soul back with my creator has brought calm and goodness back into my life. The pastor and other members of this church understand brokenness and I haven’t heard a single cheesy word or anything resembling toxic positivity. We sit in brokenness together, we love our neighbors together, and I am just getting started. This, I am truly excited about! Oh, and they recognized a spiritual gift of mine, which is writing, and I was absolutely honored and thankful to contribute a meditation throughout the season of lent. And THEN they gifted me with a printed book of the meditations. Of course, I cried. This is what it feels like to be seen. To have my spirit awakened. I am thankful.
MISCELLANEOUS: I read The Midnight Library. Yup, it’s that important and I loved it THAT much. I am thankful.
So there you have it. Seven years in, seven more to go. And then hopefully, another and then yet another. I love my life partner, I don’t rely on alcohol, I move a lot, embrace vulnerability and truth, have gone to therapy, found a home church and read a really good book that my twin sister handed to me and told me to read.
I want to recognize the total and utter privilege present here. Not everyone has access to these things. Not everyone has a spouse they can trust, or anyone at all. Not everyone has a stable home, or knowledge of where their next meal will come from. There is so much brokenness in this world, and I was blind to that, too. All I could see was my own sadness, not the goodness I’ve been given and the good I can do to help the world become a better place. My healing took time, and being able to take that time, too, was a privilege. Like my favorite yoga instructor says: we have to take care of our selves so we can truly take care of those we love. This is what that looks like for me… and I AM THANKFUL.
Thanks for reading, and please, reach out if you need to. You are not alone. There is hope. And it might be a long road to get there, but you have to start somewhere. I’d love to be in on the conversation that gets things started.
So much love,
Melinda (who is ready to enjoy the next seven years, come what may!)
My womb is an empty harvest Promising plenty and starving me Both at once
I saw it as life Blood and energy and pain Until I saw it as a wasteland Lifeless But there was still blood And still pain Always pain
When I place my hands on my belly My nails claw, gently, hinting At the violence I’d like to invoke I’d like to rip it away Tear it out Bleed to death And cry out for her while I die
Until, I remember The hands that touch me My own His Are gentle and the nails only scrape for pleasure The tingling inside comes from something within me From no other life than the one I live I’m inside of me No one else is
I am a human sacrifice for all that could have been I am a hollow tree with limbs trying to reach for her family Cracking in half or maybe three I am a rock, the kind with magic inside That only shows when it’s broken
I am made of ancient sand and dirt and stars And I hope I become a maple or A weeping willow Swaying over a river that tears through the earth Witnessing the power Part of the strength that holds the foundation together
I won’t crack when the ice comes If someone ties me together Someone will say, “That should be enough” And still, I’ll threaten to crash Only with the one I love
I haven’t had a lot to say, hence the overall silence this past year on Hey Lou. This blog started more than a decade ago as something I loved — I loved sharing the new insight I had on the world. I loved sharing what I was learning about organic food, eating local, and trying to make the world a better place. I loved the support I had when I went through divorce and started a new chapter here in the midwest. I loved sharing about my life, about the struggles, about my faults, about just about everything. Second marriages, stepmotherhood, running, getting a dog. I even enjoyed (because I believed the ending would be in my favor) sharing about infertility.
But it didn’t end how I wanted. And so I had no words. Nothing.
Only a visceral anger that oozed out in secret, in only my safest places, lest I ruin everything in my life by saying and doing things I didn’t truly mean.
It’s been a shitty, shitty past two years. That’s maybe the most honest thing I’ve ever shared on this blog. I’ve hated my life, I’ve been angry at the life I chose, and I’ve lashed out. I’ve broken things, I’ve had too much to drink too many nights in a row, I’ve smoked a few cigarettes, and I’ve cursed at God. That is the truth, and that is what I’ve been up to during this silence.
I haven’t been able to sit with my thoughts and type anything. I didn’t even attempt it. I stayed a safe distance away from all of that.
Yet, here I am. Now.
I’ve never made a New Year’s Resolution before, and perhaps that’s because I never really “needed” to. However, when 2021 came to an end, I knew I’d have to make some big changes in order to keep my marriage in tact, and more importantly, to save myself.
So here I am, and this time I’m claiming the silence. In fact, I’m calling this my Year of Silence.
Why?
Because I spent the last few years (and ALL of Covid) hiding behind noise. Just ask my husband. Any idle time was spent with headphones stuffed into my ears while I listened to a variety of things: music, podcasts… okay, mostly podcasts. I didn’t take the dog for a walk without something to listen to. Driving? That was the time to turn it WAY up and shut out everything else. I hid in my room a lot. I didn’t like anything I was thinking about and I didn’t like the thought of changing, either. But that’s only sustainable for so long. Errr… actually, it’s never sustainable. And it’s only SURVIVABLE for so long.
I had some wake up calls. Some important conversations. Some truths come to light. Hell, I even had a car crash thrown into the mix that really shook me. (And even though I do not believe in a God who “makes bad things happen”… I sort of think He used that crash to shake me awake, out of my distraction.)
I spent a long time hiding from anything that resembled silence, and in the noise, I couldn’t speak.
Now, I’m claiming silence as mine, and words are finally coming to me.
And I’m sad, sad for all that will never be.
I’m sad that I’ll never watch my stomach grow. I’m sad that I’ll never have fun discussing future names with Israel. I’m so very sad that I’ll never hold a baby in my arms. I’ll never have those gorgeous photos from childbirth – the ones I pictured so vividly – in a tub with Israel in the water with me. I’ll never rock anyone to sleep, or read them my favorite children’s book of all time: The Quiet Book. I’ll never cry on the first day of Kindergarten. I’ll never have grandchildren of my own. I’ll never look into a child’s eyes and see my own staring back at me. And this, this is what I dreamt of. This was it.
And it’ll never be.
So I’m a little bit angry, a little bit sad, and I’m grieving a whole lot.
I don’t have much else to add, except that I’m actively working on being okay. I am working on it daily, and I won’t stop. I have too much to lose. I had to have my eyes reopened to some things.
I see that I have a husband who loves me deeply. I also see that I have three family members who came along with him – three people I cherish and will love forever. I may not be their mother, but we are family. I see that I have a good life, filled with wonderful people who care about me and have made that so so so apparent, especially when things got rough for me. Friends who stopped everything they were doing to pray for me when I found out I had RP. Friends who planned a getaway to somewhere sunny when they knew I was about to implode and disappear like a black hole. Friends who will buy me a beer during my “no spend January” month just so we can chat. Friends who make me laugh, who hug me when they see me, and who treat me like a whole person, not just someone who failed to create another human life.
Turns out, that isn’t what makes someone whole. But I truly thought it was, until very recently.
It’s hard to admit these things, but it feels good to write them down. That’s what I love to do, after all. And that’s something I forgot, too. That I am a writer, and I will always create sentences, paragraphs, words strung together for others to hopefully read. The words come from a deep place, perhaps deeper than my own womb. They create life, at least I hope, for others who might need to hear that they aren’t alone in whatever they are going through.
I’ve been lucky enough to meet several women lately who understand. Who get it. Who have walked their own steps through infertility and came out without their miracle.
My heart aches for me, for them, and for what will never be. It always will. And that’s a part of me now. With every word I ever write again, that ache will be there, with words and life growing around it. The pain will live on forever, though not for future generations, because that ends with me. The new forever I will speak of is my own forever, the one that I have to focus on in order to survive it. Whatever beauty or hope comes next, there is a deep darkness that it had to battle with and ultimately win against… the hopeless parts of me will grow and bloom into a colorful garden with bees buzzing, roots forming, and hope showing up when the sun shines.
I’m so thankful for each and every person who has reached out and shown me love – you know exactly who you are. I wouldn’t have made it without you.
Running, like the theme of some really cheesy country songs, is my strongest M.O.
I can run away from something, no problem, forget it happened, move on, pack up a few belongings, and GO.
But this isn’t what I’m talking about today, and that M.O. of my past is no longer available to me. I’m in my forever marriage, I have three kids, two dogs, a MORTGAGE (never did I plan to have one of those God forsaken things), and a career, among other things.
So now, the only way I can run is to actually run: tie on my outrageously expensive trail shoes, braid my hair out of my face, put on the workout “outfit” I used to dread, and put one foot in front of the other.
Running has been a huge theme in the last few years for me. Outrunning my problems, I thought, was preferable to going on a run. And when my husband became an ultra-fan of ultra running, we had some problems. I couldn’t understand any of it. Why torture yourself? Why make something longer than a marathon your goal? Why risk injury, burnout, hours away from home, getting a tick for crying out loud. Why???
I’ve shared before about watching Israel run his first ultra – a 50K at Afton. I had to see it to believe it, and seeing it once was all I needed. The trail running community is kind, supportive, encouraging and overall fantastic. I saw what Israel saw, finally.
I initially thought that running meant trying to leave. Like the metaphorical running that was always my “out,” I thought that running in actuality meant the same thing. Israel got super into running long distance right around the time of my RP diagnosis. So I wrongfully assumed he was running away from me. I was now a burden, and someday he’d have to take care of me. Who wouldn’t run? That’s all I could think each and every time he laced up his shoes and ran.
Fast forward a few years, and suddenly I am running a 25K. Can’t quite tell you how that happened, except that my husband is kind of an infectious enthusiast. I wanted to feel what he was apparently feeling. Last year, though the race was cancelled due to Covid, we went out and I ran a 25K. This year, I did the same thing and the race was ON. I had a number, a start time… the whole deal.
And you guys, I DID IT! I am not above saying that damn, I am proud of myself. A 25K is a big deal for me. Like huge. Like I never thought I could do it, and I never thought I’d kinda sorta enjoy it.
zar, giving me a high five at the second aid station
But I did. I more than enjoyed it. I liked being alone (something new for me), I liked sitting in my own thoughts (another new thing for me), I liked pushing my body (I’ve been referred to as a sea cucumber before so draw your own conclusions) … so this was something life changing.
And you know what? The biggest life changer of all?
I learned that running doesn’t always mean running away from something. Indeed, running can mean running toward something. And that makes all the difference.
I can run toward pain, and it can lead to something beautiful. I can run alone, and survive it. I can run toward a goal I have in mind and be okay if the “getting there” wasn’t pretty. I can run toward a lot of things – a brand new concept for little old me.
I’m not some fantastic runner, either. Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not competitive, which is a plus, because if I were, I doubt I’d stick with this sport. I was ONLY passed by other runners (meaning, I didn’t pass anyone, not a single person), I run like an elephant and haven’t quite figured out how to be light on my feet, I go slower down the hills than I do up them (which is, from what I understand, not how it usually goes), and my knees felt like giant painful grapefruits when I was done. Yet, I was still so so so so so joyful.
Bonus*** My stepdaughter ran it, too. Someday, I’ll let her share the story however she wants to. What I will say, is that she blazed on ahead of me, into the distance, and was hardly even tired afterwards. Amazing!
I guess I’ll keep running. Toward what……… I’m not actually sure. But I know it’s good.
Love,
Lou (who still prefers to take baths, but running is okay, too)
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