“This is shit.” Ah, yes, the pain point of the creative process. The moment you want to lay your head down on the table, simultaneously acknowledging the feeble attempt at producing something worth reading and the garbage that actually came out. It’s the frustrating agony of willing quality words to move through your fingertips but struggling to find the actual words to do so. It’s the moment you’re reminded of all those romanticized ideas you had about the craft, all the scenes of Carrie beautifully writing while gazing out her window in Sex and the City, all the holiday movies about writers moving into country homes for the season to write exactly once in the entire movie, or the evenings you’ve spent sitting among the books at a bookstore attempting to absorb the brilliance of other writers through sheer osmosis. Or is that just me? I’m not a published author (not yet at least), but I’m confident in one truth I’ve learned in years of blogging and writing: writing is hard. Those words at the beginning of this piece were the exact words bouncing around my brain as I looked at my most recent work. It took all the strength…
Before 2021, I had one habit (one story in mind, really) that caused a good amount of shame. It might surprise you to learn exactly what it was…. Finishing a book. Outside of an academic setting, I rarely read a book in its entirety. For whatever reason, books would sit next to my bed, or atop a living room table, or in my backpack, or simply on a shelf for months. The bookmark was always about 50 pages in, the dust would accumulate and I’d forget what was even happening in the book when the interest would, finally, pique to read a book. Back to the beginning, I’d go, starting the cycle all over again. The story played on repeat for longer than I’d like to admit. At the beginning of 2021, I decided it would be the year I finished a book. At the beginning of 2022, I’m thrilled to say I did it! I made my way through books that I found intimidating in size, explored authors with lived experiences different from mine, and found the genre I love the most. Not surprisingly, I love psychological thrillers; particularly those involving murder. As we launch into a new year,…
It was the day you woke up asking God, “What’s wrong with me?” It was the moment the thoughts were overwhelming so you crawled into bed and cried yourself to sleep. It was the morning you spent trying to figure out why the panic was there at the same time you had to calm yourself. It was the day you googled “what is wrong with me?” It was the journal entry that made you realize even talking about the shame would leave you feeling shameful, so you decided to keep it to yourself. It was the thought “someone has it worse than me, I should be grateful” playing on repeat. Maybe it was the day that made you feel like even leaving bed was too much to ask. Those moments, those heavy days, they’re really hard. I know, I’ve been there. It feels like you’re lifting the weight of your entire life, feeling the decades stack upon each other as the future grows darker. You think to yourself, “I can’t keep going like this. If the rest is going to be this hard, I can’t keep going like this. I need help.” I wish I could make you see how…
“I would have dumped you if you ever said that to me.” Those were the exact words I said when asked, “what would you have done if I ever said to you the things you say to yourself?” My response echoed in my head as my Husband continued to prove his point. “I would have dumped him,” I thought. “If he said any of the things I say to myself, I would have dumped him”. It was the next question I asked myself that felt like a personal breakthrough. “If I would have ended the relationship with him for treating me like this, why do I allow myself to treat me like this? Why do I allow these thoughts to play on repeat, and believe them like an absolute? I would never say these things to a friend and I would not allow them to be said to me. So, why, why do I treat myself worse than any other relationship I hold dear? Ouch. That one hurt. It was a breakthrough as I’d never taken a look at it that way, but it never feels good to know that the most painful relationship I really have… is with myself….
My creative mindset changed in one hour this week. I’ve been following the work and career of author, Hannah Brencher, for years. Throughout the last decade, I’ve read her Monday emails, purchased her books, stalked her social media, and talked about how amazing she is on my social media. I’ve been a super-fan if you will. Her words and courage to share her journey has inspired me throughout my evolution as a writer and, yesterday, I got to sit down with her for more than an hour to simply, talk. As the minutes ticked down and my time with her approached, I couldn’t decide if I was more nervous or excited. I mean, I was about to talk one on one with the, Hannah Brencher! The nervous sweats started as I poured my first cup of coffee. I could hardly sit still as the zoom room opened and, suddenly, there she was.I’ve been fortunate in that I’ve had multiple opportunities in my life to meet some of the people I’ve adored from a distance. America Ferrera, Nobel Peace Laureates, Will Smith, Jada Pinkett Smith, Debra Messing, Meg Ryan, Erin Gruwell, Annette Bening, and more. After meeting them all and feeling…
Whenever I talk about my passion for working with young women on releasing perfectionism, there’s one response I hear that has a way of crawling under my skin. “Oh that is so needed,” people say. The tone they use to deliver the sentence makes it sound like I’m a hero stepping up to rescue young women. “Oh that is so needed…” the subtext being young women are constantly at risk of some type of peril. Over and over I hear it, and over and over I say “yes, it is” because I have nothing better with which to respond. How do you respond to someone implying there’s a fire constantly burning and you’re the one coming along with a bucket to try to calm it? You’d think I would have come up with a better response after a decade in this work, but, alas, I have not. Something about it is always irksome to me. What they’re saying, is they’re aware young women are suffering and they’re happy to hear someone is doing something about it. They know being a woman in a society determined to make them second-class citizens is really freaking hard. They know the early decades of life, spanning anywhere…
She’s staring back at me. A pretty face, short brown hair, white skin with pink splotches painted across her face. Her eyes are a soft blue set above bold cheek bones and a sharp jawline. When I look at her, I see the scar from the surgery on her lip in middle school and the contacts laying atop her cornea. I see the weight of…. something, I’m not sure what, but I see it laying on her shoulders. She looks tired. She looks sad and tired and disappointed. She’s waiting for me to give her clear direction, to tell her what to do. She’s staring back at me, waiting for the words, but I’m not sure what to say. So, if that girl staring at me was my best friend, what would I say to her? I use a question similar to that frequently in calls with my clients. What would I say to dry the tears welling in her eyes? What wisdom can I give her to help release the weight on her shoulders?. I look at her, offer a soft but welcoming smile, and ask her the question. She responds, “I’d tell her to take a breath and…
I just sat down to write and set my timer for 15 minutes. I’m not entirely sure what message will unfold, but I know there’s something to be written in this time. I want writing to be a bigger part of my life, so I’m being intentional about creating time to simply put fingers on keys. I’m sitting at my new dining room table, writing. Just for the hell of it. Just for the word count. Just so I can look myself in the mirror and be proud of myself. Fact: I’ve fallen into a cycle of hoping things will happen without a plan to make them happen. Tyler reminds me of this pretty consistently when he has to be my shoulder to cry on when I’m feeling disappointed. I am not good and not doing. I am always thinking of a goal, always thinking of that vision of the life I want to live… and I always find myself feeling guilty or disappointed when another week has flown by and I haven’t taken even a little time to bring me closer to my own vision. At some point recently, I got tired of feeling guilty. I got tired of…
If you follow me on Instagram and have been watching my stories recently, you’ll know I’ve gotten into a habit of something called “morning pages”. This morning ritual was recommended to me years ago when I was reading a book called “The Artist’s Way.” At the time, I started incorporating the habit and, when it got hard and I didn’t “feel” like it, I fell off track. Sound familiar? Years have passed since I initially read about the practice. Since then, one of my favorite authors, Hannah Brencher, reiterated a simple fact: Writers write. Period. If I want to produce more work, share more with my readers, and practice writing, all I have to do is write. So, I decided to incorporate morning pages back into my day. Yay, how fun! I romanticized the thing, dreaming of the profound thoughts I would have each morning and the powerful content I would be able to produce. The idea was exciting and I was committed to really making it last. Being a perfectionist, “really making it last” went from 0 to 100 in one romanticized decision. That’s the thing about being a perfectionist – expectations are always at the extreme. Isn’t that…
There was a time, a stretch of time in fact, when I thought no person or circumstance could ever separate us. We were two peas in a pod. We could read each other’s facial expressions, moods, and emojis without the need for all the extra words. We talked about our dreams together and made travel plans over coffee dates. We held each other through heartbreak and spent countless nights falling asleep in the same bed. Our inside jokes were infinite and we referred to each other as “my person”. You were the Christina to my Meredith. Until…. you weren’t. It didn’t happen all at once. It was a growing number of texts that went something like “We should get together soon”, but it never happened. Sending the invite without receiving a response was tiring and disappointing. My family would ask how you were doing and what you were up to, but I honestly didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know anymore. The friendship felt forced in ways it never did before. The resentment was growing, and it didn’t feel good. “What am I even fighting for?” I asked myself that question frequently. “It’s supposed to be a two way…
Get Your Booty in the Chair
“This is shit.” Ah, yes, the pain point of the creative process. The moment you want to lay your head down on the table, simultaneously acknowledging the feeble attempt at producing something worth reading and the garbage that actually came out. It’s the frustrating agony of willing quality words to move through your fingertips but struggling to find the actual words to do so. It’s the moment you’re reminded of all those romanticized ideas you had about the craft, all the scenes of Carrie beautifully writing while gazing out her window in Sex and the City, all the holiday movies about writers moving into country homes for the season to write exactly once in the entire movie, or the evenings you’ve spent sitting among the books at a bookstore attempting to absorb the brilliance of other writers through sheer osmosis. Or is that just me? I’m not a published author (not yet at least), but I’m confident in one truth I’ve learned in years of blogging and writing: writing is hard. Those words at the beginning of this piece were the exact words bouncing around my brain as I looked at my most recent work. It took all the strength…
Top 5 Reads of 2021
Before 2021, I had one habit (one story in mind, really) that caused a good amount of shame. It might surprise you to learn exactly what it was…. Finishing a book. Outside of an academic setting, I rarely read a book in its entirety. For whatever reason, books would sit next to my bed, or atop a living room table, or in my backpack, or simply on a shelf for months. The bookmark was always about 50 pages in, the dust would accumulate and I’d forget what was even happening in the book when the interest would, finally, pique to read a book. Back to the beginning, I’d go, starting the cycle all over again. The story played on repeat for longer than I’d like to admit. At the beginning of 2021, I decided it would be the year I finished a book. At the beginning of 2022, I’m thrilled to say I did it! I made my way through books that I found intimidating in size, explored authors with lived experiences different from mine, and found the genre I love the most. Not surprisingly, I love psychological thrillers; particularly those involving murder. As we launch into a new year,…
For the Hard Days
It was the day you woke up asking God, “What’s wrong with me?” It was the moment the thoughts were overwhelming so you crawled into bed and cried yourself to sleep. It was the morning you spent trying to figure out why the panic was there at the same time you had to calm yourself. It was the day you googled “what is wrong with me?” It was the journal entry that made you realize even talking about the shame would leave you feeling shameful, so you decided to keep it to yourself. It was the thought “someone has it worse than me, I should be grateful” playing on repeat. Maybe it was the day that made you feel like even leaving bed was too much to ask. Those moments, those heavy days, they’re really hard. I know, I’ve been there. It feels like you’re lifting the weight of your entire life, feeling the decades stack upon each other as the future grows darker. You think to yourself, “I can’t keep going like this. If the rest is going to be this hard, I can’t keep going like this. I need help.” I wish I could make you see how…
Breaking Up is the Hardest Part
“I would have dumped you if you ever said that to me.” Those were the exact words I said when asked, “what would you have done if I ever said to you the things you say to yourself?” My response echoed in my head as my Husband continued to prove his point. “I would have dumped him,” I thought. “If he said any of the things I say to myself, I would have dumped him”. It was the next question I asked myself that felt like a personal breakthrough. “If I would have ended the relationship with him for treating me like this, why do I allow myself to treat me like this? Why do I allow these thoughts to play on repeat, and believe them like an absolute? I would never say these things to a friend and I would not allow them to be said to me. So, why, why do I treat myself worse than any other relationship I hold dear? Ouch. That one hurt. It was a breakthrough as I’d never taken a look at it that way, but it never feels good to know that the most painful relationship I really have… is with myself….
The HB Brew Sesh
My creative mindset changed in one hour this week. I’ve been following the work and career of author, Hannah Brencher, for years. Throughout the last decade, I’ve read her Monday emails, purchased her books, stalked her social media, and talked about how amazing she is on my social media. I’ve been a super-fan if you will. Her words and courage to share her journey has inspired me throughout my evolution as a writer and, yesterday, I got to sit down with her for more than an hour to simply, talk. As the minutes ticked down and my time with her approached, I couldn’t decide if I was more nervous or excited. I mean, I was about to talk one on one with the, Hannah Brencher! The nervous sweats started as I poured my first cup of coffee. I could hardly sit still as the zoom room opened and, suddenly, there she was.I’ve been fortunate in that I’ve had multiple opportunities in my life to meet some of the people I’ve adored from a distance. America Ferrera, Nobel Peace Laureates, Will Smith, Jada Pinkett Smith, Debra Messing, Meg Ryan, Erin Gruwell, Annette Bening, and more. After meeting them all and feeling…
She doesn’t need a savior
Whenever I talk about my passion for working with young women on releasing perfectionism, there’s one response I hear that has a way of crawling under my skin. “Oh that is so needed,” people say. The tone they use to deliver the sentence makes it sound like I’m a hero stepping up to rescue young women. “Oh that is so needed…” the subtext being young women are constantly at risk of some type of peril. Over and over I hear it, and over and over I say “yes, it is” because I have nothing better with which to respond. How do you respond to someone implying there’s a fire constantly burning and you’re the one coming along with a bucket to try to calm it? You’d think I would have come up with a better response after a decade in this work, but, alas, I have not. Something about it is always irksome to me. What they’re saying, is they’re aware young women are suffering and they’re happy to hear someone is doing something about it. They know being a woman in a society determined to make them second-class citizens is really freaking hard. They know the early decades of life, spanning anywhere…
Heart Sinking, Hurt Growing
She’s staring back at me. A pretty face, short brown hair, white skin with pink splotches painted across her face. Her eyes are a soft blue set above bold cheek bones and a sharp jawline. When I look at her, I see the scar from the surgery on her lip in middle school and the contacts laying atop her cornea. I see the weight of…. something, I’m not sure what, but I see it laying on her shoulders. She looks tired. She looks sad and tired and disappointed. She’s waiting for me to give her clear direction, to tell her what to do. She’s staring back at me, waiting for the words, but I’m not sure what to say. So, if that girl staring at me was my best friend, what would I say to her? I use a question similar to that frequently in calls with my clients. What would I say to dry the tears welling in her eyes? What wisdom can I give her to help release the weight on her shoulders?. I look at her, offer a soft but welcoming smile, and ask her the question. She responds, “I’d tell her to take a breath and…
A little less of “her” for a whole lot more ME!
I just sat down to write and set my timer for 15 minutes. I’m not entirely sure what message will unfold, but I know there’s something to be written in this time. I want writing to be a bigger part of my life, so I’m being intentional about creating time to simply put fingers on keys. I’m sitting at my new dining room table, writing. Just for the hell of it. Just for the word count. Just so I can look myself in the mirror and be proud of myself. Fact: I’ve fallen into a cycle of hoping things will happen without a plan to make them happen. Tyler reminds me of this pretty consistently when he has to be my shoulder to cry on when I’m feeling disappointed. I am not good and not doing. I am always thinking of a goal, always thinking of that vision of the life I want to live… and I always find myself feeling guilty or disappointed when another week has flown by and I haven’t taken even a little time to bring me closer to my own vision. At some point recently, I got tired of feeling guilty. I got tired of…
Consistency: A Daily Practice
If you follow me on Instagram and have been watching my stories recently, you’ll know I’ve gotten into a habit of something called “morning pages”. This morning ritual was recommended to me years ago when I was reading a book called “The Artist’s Way.” At the time, I started incorporating the habit and, when it got hard and I didn’t “feel” like it, I fell off track. Sound familiar? Years have passed since I initially read about the practice. Since then, one of my favorite authors, Hannah Brencher, reiterated a simple fact: Writers write. Period. If I want to produce more work, share more with my readers, and practice writing, all I have to do is write. So, I decided to incorporate morning pages back into my day. Yay, how fun! I romanticized the thing, dreaming of the profound thoughts I would have each morning and the powerful content I would be able to produce. The idea was exciting and I was committed to really making it last. Being a perfectionist, “really making it last” went from 0 to 100 in one romanticized decision. That’s the thing about being a perfectionist – expectations are always at the extreme. Isn’t that…
Goodbye, my old friend.
There was a time, a stretch of time in fact, when I thought no person or circumstance could ever separate us. We were two peas in a pod. We could read each other’s facial expressions, moods, and emojis without the need for all the extra words. We talked about our dreams together and made travel plans over coffee dates. We held each other through heartbreak and spent countless nights falling asleep in the same bed. Our inside jokes were infinite and we referred to each other as “my person”. You were the Christina to my Meredith. Until…. you weren’t. It didn’t happen all at once. It was a growing number of texts that went something like “We should get together soon”, but it never happened. Sending the invite without receiving a response was tiring and disappointing. My family would ask how you were doing and what you were up to, but I honestly didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know anymore. The friendship felt forced in ways it never did before. The resentment was growing, and it didn’t feel good. “What am I even fighting for?” I asked myself that question frequently. “It’s supposed to be a two way…