Hello.
It only seems right to greet new readers (and old—hello there you familiar folk) before I start. For those of you who are new, know that I used to write a blog over a decade ago. I wrote relentlessly. I think it was because I was so lonely. So sad. So afraid. Please don’t worry. It was kind of a good thing. A necessary thing. It was nothing beyond the emotions of a 17-year-old girl who listened to Dashboard Confessional and Yellowcard.
At that age, emotions really took over my body in a way that forced me to be present with them from start to finish. From crying under the covers, listening to sad music (while being slightly disappointed that there was no rain to match my mood) to falling asleep and dreaming the hurt away, I really, deeply felt my feelings… Those emotions would run their course to the finish line through my body, mind, and soul. And then I would wake up with the sunshine for a fresh new day.
I haven’t really felt strong feelings like that in a long time. I manage my emotions like a tax-paying adult these days. But now I see these emotions just blossoming in my 11-month-old son. When he clearly indicated to me that he wanted my dirty sock, and I casually took it away. I saw it. His emotions pushing out and rolling through his miniature abdomen, making his tummy bloat. His fists clenched and his hands went stiff, as if they had been strapped to his core. And there was nothing I could do, but watch as these new things he was experiencing called feelings, flowed through his body. And then he found an empty water bottle to crackle around on the ground and carried on.
Well. I guess the first sentence of that last paragraph isn’t actually true. Because I have felt a lot of things, and quite recently too.
There was the time when I realized I was pregnant and went shopping for the smallest of socks to give to my husband to tell him about the news.
There was the time shortly after when we packed the socks, unworn, in a little box. And then we wrote a letter, and we buried the letter under the sunflowers in our backyard.
There was another time later when I didn’t buy socks, but had the same announcement to share with my husband. It didn’t land as well as the first time. But there was a strong feeling there nonetheless.
There was the time when my belly was large, tight, and stretched. And I sat on the couch wailing. The only way I can describe the nonsense feeling that I couldn’t explain to my husband then, was that it felt like I was having my period for the first time, and all of the chemicals in my body were splashing inside of me. Like when I had had my first period, there was nothing wrong with me, but I cried all the same.
There was the time I saw my husband carry our son in his arms with blue rays shining on our child’s skin. Our baby was quiet. And what we had initially assumed to be a calm demeanor was actually frailty. So we took turns holding him delicately under the light while his eyes were covered with a mask, speaking quietly to him so he would know we were there and that we would make it all okay.
Then there was the phone call when my husband’s uneven breaths told me something was wrong. And when he asked me to tell him what my favorite memory of us was, I was sure that he was dying.
There was an hour and a half of driving to the hospital when there was no answer from any phone that I called, and I did not know if my husband’s heart was beating or not. I imagined him somewhere along the highway wondering about more of the favorite memories we had created together. He’s a romantic like that.
Then there was when he didn’t die. And our little family stayed in the hospital, holding hands. Before his 4 months of life, my son would know what his father sounds like when he is in unimaginable pain for not seconds, not minutes, but hours.
There was the time when I bit my tongue when my husband tried to, both, hold our child and use the walker to migrate from the bedroom to the living room. Every second I feared he would collapse and our baby would tumble from his arms, but I could not say anything. You cannot tell a loving father that he cannot carry his baby even if he cannot carry his baby.
Ah, then there was the time I hung up on my mother because she asked why my house was so messy when we Facetimed. Why don’t you care about being clean and organized? She had asked. And after I hung up, I returned to help my husband get into the shower and get situated on the plastic rented bench while our baby cried in the crib just outside the door. I sang to our little one from the bathroom, knowing he couldn’t understand that sometimes “dada” needed me more.
I have felt a lot of emotions start inside of me in recent months. But unlike when I was 17, they haven’t finished yet. They haven’t completed their journey through my body, my heart, my soul. And they’re not stuck either. They’re just… lost. Roaming around my insides. And they’re tired. So tired. They move through me slowly in an unending labyrinth.
When I first had my baby, I had no sleep and no time. When my husband had his accident, I had no sleep and no time and no energy. And yet, I started writing. Writing more than I had written in years. And I know why. The reasons are the same as back then when I was a teenager: it’s because I’ve felt so alone. So sad. So afraid.
Slowly, I’ve started to untangle. And I realize that writing makes me happy. And life is short. (Yes, that whole cliché. But truly who knows how long we are all here for?) I want to do more of what makes me happy. And part of this act is sharing this all with you.
I promise that not all of what I publish here will be this heavy or dark. Sometimes I can even be funny. I have triumphs, big and small, that I am excited to share too—starting this Substack being one of them. But consider this a warning. There are going to be some hard things to talk about, and I’m not here writing in the few hours my baby sleeps just to hold back. That’s not how these feelings within are going to be freed. That kind of freedom is going to come through being honest. Through sharing. Through processing in the best way I know how. I feel quite certain about that.
Okay, now it’s time to give you at least some expectation of what’s to come in this new blog:
Look out for some really raw emotions coming your way from some of the writing I did while my husband was early in recovery.
I’ll be posting some more how-to/wish-I-would-haves on becoming a mom for new mothers. As well as simply sharing my experiences in motherhood.
I’ll be sharing chapters from my books! Milk & Blood, a book about a first-time mom, is complete and in the hands of BETA readers right now. (I’m looking for an agent to help me sell it if you know anyone!) Nylos in the Cache, a YA fantasy, is still a work in progress in its 7th completed draft but still in need of some rather heavy editing.
I’m going to be sharing thoughts about working in tech. It’s a strange time to be in this industry. Definitely reminds me of when I was working at WeWork before everything came crumbling down from that wild mountaintop.
I’m going to write more on what it’s like to be in love, and what marriage has been like for me—especially as we’re working through trauma together.
This is the obligatory “And more” part. The part where I say I'll be writing about everything in between what has been mentioned above. And I think that will truly be the case. There’s a lot coming in my future that I can’t really fit into the categories above, and though the marketer in me says that I’m casting my net of writing topics far too broadly to have a successful blog, I’m going to say it anyway: I want to share the leftovers with you too.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for subscribing. I was nervous to get this first one out there, out into the world, onto whatever screen you’re reading this from. But I’m glad you’re here, that I’m here…that we’re all here. Thank you so much for being here.
P.S. It’s important to have a favorite memory of your significant other chosen and locked away in your head so if they call you and tell you that they are dying and ask what your favorite memory is, you don’t blubber like a fish and then wonder on the car ride north to the hospital if the last thing they heard was you unable to really choose a favorite memory of you together. Hypothetically speaking. Of course.
Honored to get to be here while you write through all you have and are experiencing. ❤️