I write to heal.

In 2021, I went through a traumatic “life circumstance,” as I usually label it; I honestly don’t know if I am softening the blow for myself or for others. The “D” word always feels dirty coming out of my mouth: divorce.

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To respect my own privacy and the privacy of my former spouse, I will keep details minimum, but within a matter of months, I lost my best friend and husband, the future I had always envisioned, two pets (to death), two more pets (to the circumstance), my home, a large chunk of my social circle, a lot of weight (unhealthily) … and worst of all, any sense of identity.

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I didn’t offer myself much grace during that incredibly dark period of my life. But now, as I type it all out, I am not sure how anyone could be expected to remain strong in the face of all the adversity I was forced to overcome.

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They say time heals all wounds. I don’t know if I believe that, but time has softened the blow. As a child and adolescent, I used to write. Constantly. Poetry. Essays. The scribbling of song lyrics in the margins of my science notes.

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As an adult, I am now paid to write for my career. And I realized, I don’t, as often, write for the love it. So, this is me, trying to channel my inner child, where I wrote to express myself, to let the words flow out of me, to heal.