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I’m Back! How Writing Saved My Life

Updated: Mar 19

This blog is alive again!

It has a long time since I wrote anything on this blog. There are many reasons for that, but the primary reasons have been a series of significant life events that drew my attention away. The last event, the ending of a twelve year relationship, rocked my world and required me to do a complete reboot of my life. I spent a year doing a huge amount of inner work and realigning myself with the things I want to do in this life. Writing was a large part of my healing process, and it provided clarity on what I want my life to look like moving forward.

My website has undergone a lot of changes recently, so please bear with me as I work out the kinks, improve images and the like. 🙂

In many ways, I feel like the real journey is about to begin. So, stick around because I plan to document as much as possible on this blog. There are cool things on the horizon.

It’s time for dreams to ignite!

Below is an article I wrote for Thrive Global (Arianna Huffington’s web site.) It tells the story of how writing saved me. I thought it would be a great way to get this site going again. I hope you enjoy it.

How Writing Brought Me Back from the Brink

Published on on February 13th, 2019

January 2018 began on a high note. I had completed my fourth book a few months earlier, and my newly formed consulting company had just received its first out-of-state gig. My business partner and I were ecstatic. Within two weeks of receiving that news, and while in the middle of planning for the job, my twelve-year relationship came to a sudden end.

I was devastated. This was the second long-term relationship I had been in and there I was, alone again. I found it hard to accept that I was in my early fifties, yet a financial and emotional wreck.

My consulting business and writing fell by the wayside as I searched for a new place to live. On February 12, I packed a few belongings into a U-Haul and set out, two days before Valentine’s Day, four days before my birthday. I would not celebrate either.

I descended into depression. It was dark, and it was deep. There didn’t seem to be any way out. I was free-falling and knew that I had to save myself before it was too late.

In the midst of this turmoil, something called to me, pleading with me to see the opportunity I had been given. There was an important choice to make: fill the void in my life or walk the path of healing alone.

I chose to walk alone.

So, for twelve months I lived a life of isolation.

I ate alone.

Laughed alone.

Wept alone.

Slept alone.

Peeling back the layers of who I had become was necessary to be reunited with the core of who I truly was. Yes, I was still there, buried beneath years of distractions and detours.

I was compelled to write. To write for me, and me alone.

It was as though I had been locked in a dark room, and when I began writing the door was flung open and light poured in. Finally, there was an outlet for everything that was swirling through my mind and heart. If there was no one to listen, I would write. If it seemed that no one cared, I would write. When emotions were too intense, I would write. It was glorious, painful, and beautiful. More importantly, writing was a catalyst for healing.

Words came in bursts, short notes to me that became my healing balm. Where I had been free-falling, I began to soar. Writing, which had long been my passion, became my way back to life.

I began to share these notes with the world, unedited, raw, pure.

Soon, messages of gratitude, shared pain, and hope were received from dozens of people. My pain became my story, and my story became the power that allowed others to feel safe sharing their story.

The more I write, the more grateful I become.

With each word written, another piece of my soul is set free.

Writing brought me back from the brink.

There are ten thousand roads home.

Mine has been paved with words.

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