About Me

Why I Write

Writing has saved my life. I know that might sound dramatic, but the truth generally is. As a child, I would take uncomfortable, terrifying, or sad experiences and rewrite the story. My family moved in first grade, and I missed my teacher and my friends terribly. Soon, I had a notebook filled with stories about a poor mother searching for her lost daughter until they found each other in a dramatic, tearful reunion. As a teenager I faced the inevitable “mean girls” group. Pretty soon, I had a story where they were all in danger and guess who benevolently saved their lives and received their undying thanks and acceptance? When there were dark days in my home, my stories took me somewhere else. They helped me shape feelings I couldn’t understand into something that made sense.

I started writing Love & Lace soon after my first child was born. I’ve always wanted to be a mom. Growing up, I was that girl that loved to babysit. I am the oldest of five, and I mothered my poor siblings to death. Before I had my children, I taught first grade and loved my students. I assumed motherhood would be a natural, comfortable role for me. It was a role for which I’d spent years preparing after all.

I was twenty-seven when my baby was born. I had traveled and earned my master’s degree. I had met the love of my life and together we bought a house. In every way I could imagine, I was ready to be a mom. What I didn’t count on was PPD. I’d heard a little about Post Partum Depression, but I just assumed I would be fine. I never struggled with my mental health. (Though some may argue that rewriting reality into fiction so I could deal with it might prove otherwise.) I loved my son with all my heart. My husband was amazing and supportive. I had my sister, my mom, my bonus mom, my cousins, and wonderful friends. And yet, I felt alone, sad, angry, and terrified. I let guilt turn those feelings into belief statements. “You are a failure. You are so ungrateful. What’s wrong with you? Push through this.” I felt like I was in charge of steering a ship in a storm, but the helm was broken. The waves were climbing higher and higher and I couldn’t do what I knew needed to be done no matter how hard I tried. Sometimes I felt like I was outside myself watching. I was drowning.

It was during this time that my husband suggested a weekly writing night. He took our son to visit his parents and gave me hours of quiet time to write. I decided I wanted to write a novel. I knew it would be a massive undertaking, but it felt like the goal I needed to climb up from where I was. To my husband’s delight, I made a pros and cons list. Clear evidence that he has way too much influence on me. I’ve always been a jump first and look second type of girl, but for some reason, I felt this endeavor warranted careful consideration. The main con was time. Time away from my family. However, I have since learned (I’d like to say on my own, but therapy gets credit on this one) that the time I take to write makes me a better mom. The pros were much more important.

The Goal That Pulled Me Up

I wanted to accomplish four things:

Do something I loved so I could feel more like myself again.
Be an example to my children by pursuing my dreams.
Create something beautiful in a world that is so often chaotic.
Use my book to help others.

I know there were many factors that helped me navigate through my PPD. I also know it’s a scale and what works for one person won’t be another person’s solution. However, writing saved me again. Little by little, I started to feel like I was steering the ship once more.

My greatest hope is that my work will do for others what it did for me—offer a little light in whatever darkness they may be facing.

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