I’ve been a writer nearly all of my life (at least as long as I could hold a crayon/pencil/pen in my hand). But now I can call myself an author. I have written an essay that will appear in the upcoming anthology for The Power Within.
I’ve known and worked with Nicole for about a decade (HOW has it been that long???) and am grateful and honored to be included in this group of exceptional women.
When I was invited to contribute to the anthology, I had an idea of my subject, but wasn’t entirely sure how it would come together. There wasn’t a whole lot of time to fuss over the first draft, so I decided to let go and allow myself to be guided. I never thought a little spider on my patio would become my muse, but this year has been full of surprises.
In my essay, I finally got to witness not only the pain of an unstable home life, but also my resilience.
Writing all of this out was a chance to give voice to my childhood pain without the fear of being told I’m selfish or unappreciative or disloyal. I see now how much of that I carried into adulthood, choosing silence as safety and holding the trauma of suddenly having to move—having my little web torn apart—and needing to figure out how to start over again (and again and again).
It was a valuable opportunity to re-examine the dynamics of my relationship with my mother in a way that didn’t require sacrificing empathy or compassion for either one of us. I don’t know that we would have ever been able to do this, even if she were still alive because getting to this point (for me) required a hell of a lot of honesty, accountability, and healing. I truly don’t know if she ever would have realized/acknowledged this or make the attempt to do this incredibly hard (and painful) work.
Part of me had known since I was a teenager that I needed to heal myself. But not only did I not have the tools, I also didn’t have that vocabulary back then. I thought I had to “fix” myself, which is something completely different, not to mention untrue (despite what the therapist my mom sent me to when I was 16* tried to make me believe). Neither one of us was a “problem” that needed to be fixed. (But that’s a story for another essay.)
So, in “Stories About Web Weaving,” my hope is that you gain a soul knowing that just because someone finds your pain inconvenient that doesn’t invalidate your feelings. That you find a healthy way to hold space for your pain and to confidence to tell those around you that your your feelings are important, too. To know that it’s okay to fully take up space (and LIVE in it).
I’m incredibly proud of how many times I’ve stood back up—especially after those times that I was sure I was broken beyond repair. And I hope my tenacity to keep going gives you the strength you need to find—and celebrate!—your own power and resilience.
As soon as we get closer to the book launch, I’ll post a link to the anthology.
*Come to think of it, this was during yet another period where I had my web torn apart and was trying to create a space for myself in a home where my presence was not welcome. That too is a story for another essay…