Decades ago, I remember commiserating with a small band of friends at McDonald’s, our young kids playing in the ball pits, now considered unsanitaryvirus contraptions—and long gone by the wayside. Oblivious to any lurking health hazards, though, and in-between feeding our kids chicken nuggets, my friends and I sat talking about our futures.
Now my husband and I had four kids, ages two to seven at the time. Our__hands full, yes—of so much fun. And thankfully, we tried not to take it for granted. But in the thick of it, who knows?
After earning a degree in Journalism at the University of Missouri, I had worked eight years as a senior copywriter and account manager at Concordia Publishing House in St. Louis, all before having kids. I love to writeand edit—and there I did so on a maximum scale for important clients every day. Work felt like family.
Yet still, here I was, takingmany years off. Actually, to homeschool our kids up till high school. _Eeek!_Yes, I was thinking the same thing at first. Yet, it was one of the highlights of my life.Even a McDonald’s ball pit could become significant if I could teach my three-year-old to not fear jumping into a pile of balls. I know—a crazy time to raise kids.But back to our futures.
I think Iwas pretty naïve. Aren’t we all when we first start raising our families? Well, some of us are hit with the hard realities of life early. And I had some of that, too. Divorced parents. Family and sibling conflicts. But nothing that really rocked my world or deepened my compassion for others to a major extent.
So, after both my parents passed away, we moved from St. Louis to Dallas (something I couldn’t foresee that day), and I started teaching writing to all ages as a homeschool mom. Writing classes for middle and high school students. TeachingSAT essay writing. Until . . .
Our oldest son passed away his high school senior year due to a brain aneurysm. My family and I were thrown into the waters of deep grief, sometimes pulling each other under, barely catching our breaths. The days proved drastically ugly. The current proved treacherous. For years. But somehow, I learned to swim in those murky waters. And then . . . years later, our second son lost his life as well, the victim of a hit and run driver while he was riding his bike.
The pain has hollowed out my heart, deepened my empathy, changed me in all kinds of ways I can’t even explain. I’ve even developed a chronic health condition that has left me in pain but hasn’t taken away my ability and passion to think and write nimbly, coherently—sometimes vibrantly.
And now, as an editor and writer full-time again for the past ten years—as my two kids still on earth have learned to swim and fly on their own—I find myself connecting with authors as I never have before. I understand, I say—and mean it. Oh, my, I’ve been there, and still am, I relate. My journey looks different, but similar, too. And clients find themselves trusting me with their stories, with their hearts. With their futures.
I’d love to connect with you, too. Whether you need editing or ghostwriting, I want to hear your story, perhaps like I’ve shared mine. Things can get ugly, I know. Sad, profound, or poignant, your message can inspire. I’d love to come alongside and help you make it the best, most engaging story possible. Please reach out today.