My Story

Christmas, 1992. Kihei, Maui, HI - Me, happily holding up the pen to my very first journal gifted to me by my Auntie Ruby (in red).

Christmas, 1992. Kihei, Maui, HI - Me, happily holding up the pen to my very first journal gifted to me by my Auntie Ruby (in red).

 

It all started when I was gifted my first journal at the tender age of 10 as a Christmas present by my Mom's older sister, Rebecca, (whom we all affectionately call "Auntie Ruby"). During my childhood, my parents and their 7 children spent Christmases at Auntie Ruby's and Uncle Bob's house with their 7 children. It was a madhouse, but it was alive. Since receiving that journal from Auntie Ruby, it has been like a Pandora's box of words that originate in my head and travel in to my pen, and on to any piece of paper I'm writing on at the time. I tell my story on this platform because I find that it reminds me of God's faithfulness, but mostly because of something I didn't expect--- that my stories offered hope to so many of those who walked down the same concrete path I did. 

 

“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself. -Harry Potter & The Sorcerer's Stone, J.K. Rowling

Telling the story of my journey through divorce was my "Voldemort." I treated it as the "situation-that-must-not-be-spoken-of." I held the story in, afraid of being judged, and ashamed of what had happened. If you've read the story, it starts off with 4-year-old Sophie. At the conclusion, she was about to turn 8 in a few weeks. Four years. The journey through those 4 years paralyzed me from doing something I naturally did as in breathing: from writing every day to writing nothing, for 4. LONG. YEARS. If writing was my way of speaking, I felt mute. If writing was my right hand, I felt like an amputee. You can imagine the tears of relief that flowed from me as soon as I hit "publish"---the crying lasted for nearly 4 hours (I guess an hour for each year I lost), and was remedied by the wine and chocolates Ross (my soon-to-be-husband) brought over later that evening.

Living this new life with Sophia and Ross, and how I live out the reality of what God has restored and redeemed, is the catalyst of why I write again. 

C.S. Lewis once said, "We read to know we are not alone." When you read, I hope that on some level, it makes you feel like you are not alone. 

I've heard it said that vulnerability is a sign of courage and bravery. I seldom ever feel brave or courageous but when I do, it's when I write. This is sneak peek into the contents of my head and heart, vulnerably spilled out.

So, here it is. My personal act of bravery.