I have dreamed forever about moving forward with my writing career.
There were many different times in my life that writing got me through the pot holes and broken hearts, but somewhere in between different life lessons started to dim my voice and little by little, I gave up and decided to take a different path. My college major was assigned and I became engulfed in Psychology. After all, the world would always need my expertise and empathy. I had life skills to add to the process and my own obstacles that I was trying to navigate but I knew that I was going to get that degree. I was SO wrong.
As classes came and went I started to feel like each day was the same thing, same lectures, same people and the homework? Don’t even get me started on the 20 plus page essays that my brain started to struggle to complete. I had always wanted to help others, but my heart was just not in the classes. I started to slowly daze off in class and at the ticking of the large white and black clock on the wall became the most annoying sound. The other students were almost always arguing and debating creating a not so zen environment for my PTSD. I had do to something. I was paying a fortune for these classes, but I didn’t see or feel a future for myself. I ended my college career that semester. I immediately felt like a failure and started to slowly give up on everything. I lost my zest for life and spent most days sleeping while my kids were in school. A visit to my Dr would later show a diagnosis of permanent and untreatable depression from a closed head injury that I had a few years back from domestic violence.
Tests down the road would also bring about a major life change. I was diagnosed with a TBI.
I had a permanent bruise on my brain. All I could do was move forward with the physical therapy and counseling. I was shattered when they told me I likely would need to be put into learning disabled assistance if I decided to return to college. After the realization that I was going to need a bit of extra assistance in my classes, I ended my dreams officially of finishing my degree.
Fast forward to trying to hold down two jobs and deal with an emergency with my three children I had to leave employment. My head was spinning. Thoughts racing and I was always on the go. I carried a notebook in my car and would jot down little clusters of thoughts as they would come to me in moments of quiet reflection. ( That notebook was later lost in a move) Strike 3… You’re out!
There was an ache in my heart but never a good time to start writing again. The negative thoughts were always there. You can’t write, you couldn’t even make it through college. He was right, you’re stupid and going nowhere with life- You’re writing is not as good as the professional writers out there… We all know that voice. The one that laughs at us and tells us we are not good enough. The echo of anger and of self doubt was ALWAYS there.
Then, one night, scrolling through my phone I found the ad. I hit the follow button and went on with my every day things. Each night, I would go to that page on Instagram .You guessed it! This one. I clicked through the profile and decided to reach out VIA direct message.
The first conversation went something like this.
“Hello, are you a legit person?” I hit the send and anxiously waited a response. It was only a few seconds and Lauren messaged me back. I asked so many questions. My heart wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready. 5.00 was the minimum monthly payment and I made up excuses each time and talked myself out of hitting that join us button.
Until one evening I was on and received a message. “Have you joined us yet?” It was Lauren I told her no and that we didn’t have the 5.00 but that I was still thinking about it.
There was absolutely no pressure. I felt so comfortable with the vibes of The Unsealed and a few days later, in the middle of the night suffering through a bout of flashbacks and anxiety I hit that button. I joined for the minimum and I looked around. It was beautiful. Everything was so pure, so raw and so honest.
At 1:30 am MST I stepped out of my comfort zone and I wrote my first entry. It was like a huge weight had been lifted off of my chest. I was home. I was safe to write out things that I had held in for years and there were others just like myself. We were a group of people that all survived different life obstacles and traumas and we were all in a way connected. I have never looked back and try to write now whenever I get the chance. Lauren and the Unsealed family have helped me heal and find my voice again. I couldn’t have done it if I had not taken that first tiny step out of my comfort zone and for that, I am so grateful.
Thank you to all of you, for helping me through this last few months.
My lips have finally become unsealed.

Why am I worthy of the utmost respect?
This can only be answered with a short summary that is very emotional.
I was an unwanted, and unexpected baby, born to a young mother that didn’t really want to be a mother. I’m told that my mother left me in wet diapers, that burned my sensitive baby skin with urine. I’m told that she left me crying and did not meet my emotional needs. This was proven to be the case.
I was bounced around and handed over to anyone that would take care of me and to many that didn’t.
Due to this, I was unable to form bonds, or form healthy connections to others because I didn’t feel safe. That’s the easy and less painful way to put it into words. I never believed that I had a purpose. Until my grandparents decided that enough was enough. I’m told that my grandfather saw something special in me, and that he believed that I could break the family cycle if he were to take custody of me. That my friends was the beginning of the rest of my young life. It wasn’t easy growing up in a very broken environment. I have been in therapy since I was 4. Unfortunately, I had to do some of it with a very detached mother. At that point, one starts to realize that they have to protect themselves. That they have to be strong. Also, that they are worthy of love. It’s not easy at all, in fact, it’s one of the loneliest battles to fight. My best friends became my stuffed animals in my bedroom and each day I would line them up in my room and ask them how we could solve the problems of the day. A bad visit with my mother? Check! I was a bad girl today. Check. I didn’t know which end was up many days because my decisions were made for me in court by a judge. I had to have the visits that would lead me deeper into the spiral of self confusion and insecurities.
I spent most of my young life trying to gain the approval of my mother. Instead, I became her biggest disappointment which she would almost always let me know. Michelle, why can’t you be more like your sister. You’re such a wimp. Such a cry baby, overly sensitive etc. Her words burned into my heart and I couldn’t quite figure out how I was so different from others. Generational Trauma is real. Also known as generational curses. Breaking that cycle is very hard. I fought for years. I fawned, and I tried to be the image of what my mother wanted me to be. I am now 45 years old, and both my grandfather, and my mother have passed away. I lost my mother in 2019 and we were estranged at the time of her passing. When all of the painful memories start to rest their ugly heads it is my Grandma who encourages me now. She supports me and when I cry to her, I tell her I feel as if I am just floating here on earth, it is her words that keep me going. I no longer float along this life because I know that I was born to fly. We all deserve respect. We are all worthy of love. We are all beautiful hearts and our purpose is to try uplift the broken. To love the unloved. To encourage the hopeless and to help others accept who they are with no judgement.
That my friends makes me worthy of the utmost respect. The journey that I have fought through the last 45 years.
*Hopefully this writing makes sense and touches souls.
Trauma has taught this woman that she deserves nothing more than 100% respect. We all deserve the utmost respect.

Shelle Belle

Dear Unsealers,

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, two weeks ago. At the tail end of a hot, busy last weekend of July.

As the ferry from lower Manhattan arrived at Governor’s Island, I wasn’t sure if I was going to do it or not. Walking past the banner of the New York City Poetry Festival, I stopped for a moment to soak in the scenery. The sun shined bright, blue skies above my head, green grass and the sounds of poets speaking their truth surrounded me. It was as if I had arrived in the colorful world of Oz after surviving the black and white tornado. I was not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

But I was looking for one stage, in particular, the Ring of Daisies. Walking along Colonel’s Row the amount of stages began to shrink. Once the last rowhouse appeared, that’s when I knew I was in the right place.

None of the names at this stage were on the schedule banner in the middle of the site. Just a sign-up sheet, the stage, and a microphone.

It might have been the cup of cava that I had at the Beer Garden as I walked or heard all the poetry in the air, but I was emboldened at the moment. I put my name on the signup list.

To this point, I’d never performed my poetry in front of a live audience. Most of the time, my audience is on separate screens or the camera that’s attached to my iPod Touch. Today would be unchartered territory for me.

Yet, I had a poem in hand to read. Two of them.

The first one was a moment of frustration having to make a grown-up decision to replace my bed after twenty-two years. The second is a moment to recognize the friendships that made my life such a joy. The waiting began.

As I sat on the grass for about two hours, my name was finally called. It was showtime at last.

After warning the crowd that this was my first turn at the mic, I spoke my truths. And took a deep sigh of relief the moment I stepped down to the audience’s applause.

I didn’t know it at that moment, but I accomplished something special. I escaped my comfort zone.