Long long ago, I lay in bed
I felt like I’d be better off dead
I sat right down wondering why
The world would not just let me die
I spent my days thinking up reasons
To not be living through any seasons
Every time I opened my eyes
I felt like my faith was low not high

But one day I went though the change of my life
When I finally had lived through quite enough strife
I realized me living was the key to it all
I’d finally made an important call
A call to God to restore my sanity
Was all I needed to withstand humanity
A call to God gave me faith and hope
I no longer felt like hanging from a rope

Every day now I wish to live
I cannot know what each day will give
But any day that I am alive
Is better than being cut with so many knives
I never want myself to be dead
I’d rather be home eating some bread
The Lord is with me wherever I go
And I love living like you’ll never know

To anyone who hears me,

The past can be beautiful, and inspiring, a trove of memories that you come back to visit on a rainy day. For some like me, the past can be dark, scary, and have such a strong pull that you remain in a cyclical pattern, becoming the worst version of yourself more with every tug.
The 13-year-old me first placed the blade on my skin, 21-year-old me made the deepest cuts that would last my lifetime. 14-year-old me took her first sip of alcohol, and 23-year-old me depended on that alcohol because she couldn’t see the opportunity for brighter days. 14-year-old me smoked her first cigarette and 24-year-old me couldn’t go an hour without one.
You see, I have a pattern of addiction tendencies. I would crave whatever would take the internal pain away, though that pain was only intensifying. I was self-destructive and lacked a love of life. I was empty, hopeless, and lost.
Until the fall of 2018. I had recently turned 24 and took a pregnancy test, though I wasn’t expecting much since they were always negative. To my surprise, this one was positive! I didn’t know that this would ever be possible for me and I was a mixed bag of emotions, hope being the brightest. I had lost a baby before through miscarriage and I carried that fear with me until at least 20 weeks pregnant. Every day though, I felt hopeful.
I would place my hand on my tummy and talk to her (I just had a feeling she was a girl), telling her of my day, promising her that no matter what, she and I would get through anything put in our path.
This feeling of hope and promise of new life brought on a version of Christine that I had never met. She was scared, of course, but was so much more fierce than ever before. She had a reason to push on, to brave face any situation because another depended on her. Once I met her and held her in my arms, all of the dark and empty past melted away.
I vowed to her and myself that I would never hurt myself again. Even in the darkest of times, I would hold on to hope and believe that everything happens for a reason and this beautiful girl was brought into my life for the biggest and best reasons of all. She is my little teammate and my best friend. She loves me endlessly, fills me with unfathomable joy, and gives my life purpose.
Now, as a mom of two, I cannot help but look back at the fall of 2018 knowing that my life was going to drastically change and that was the turning point. I no longer drink alcohol, I don’t smoke. I no longer wish to self-harm or self-destruct. I am focused on bettering myself each and every day not only for my benefit but because I am raising two profoundly unique and wonderful children.
They have a mom with a dark past but one that works each day to make a brighter future. The mom that they will know is one that will fill their cups, teach them, and guide them through the highs and lows that life will inevitably bring. They will see a mom with a love for life, herself, and her family.
I thank God every day for giving me children, and for changing my life. Without them, I don’t know who or IF I would be any longer. I’m so eternally thankful and have no doubt that those two positive tests changed my world forever. A mother is who I was born to be.

Sincerely,
An infinitely blessed mommy.

BE SOMEONE

When we sang, my friend’s mom would twist the fork of her body around in the computer chair to lid her sobbing. She knew it would make us laugh and fall out of our harmony, break our flow. The three of us were tied by the strings of our guitars and the dialect of language, a love language, from braising music together. We spoke in a unique tune, a way that transported us to a private recording studio, with a record deal, where we were about to go on tour. That’s a song we hummed in secret, where you dream that you can “be someone” like Tracy Chapman promised. I think we just wanted to be happy. Together, we were happy. Away from the lockers, the bells, painting our faces, and trying to navigate the buried, shunned and often self-loathing hours of being a kid. Because the math textbooks didn’t have a formula for how to not hate yourself.

So we sang. It was an elixir that couldn’t be administered by spoon. It was as elusive and intangible as trying to pack kisses into a jar. We were goosebumps and we were infinite within the growing pains of high school, the urge to hide under a hoodie of “not good enough,” the pressure to be something you know not yet, the terror that you’re different, and no one else carries this backpack full of grief in your peculiar way. We all felt it but not when we sang in the basement of my friend’s house. Not when we sang together.

Twenty years and counting since we’ve performed on stages, at clubs, in a basement, or a garage and I finally understand why her mom cried. She adored the music, but she was witnessing love swaying, leaping through airwaves, tickling her skin and earlobes. Love that leaked an aroma from our voices and poured into a giant vat of Sunday sauce and noodles, slow-cooked, upstairs on the stove, made by my friend’s mom with the drippings of our voices. We were comfort food.

The terror and demons rotted in the weighted bags on our backs. The stench of queer love fermenting in the hidden pockets, eating disorders eating away at the cloth, family trauma burning holes through the bottom. A symphony of agony. But we could go home, set the grief on the carpet for a few hours, and believe we were good. And we were so good. Not just the three-course meal of our voices, although our friends and classmates treated us like rock stars when we performed. I mean the way we harmonized to fill the wounds of ourselves, even if just for a two-minute song. We knew how to heal one another’s pain through the synchronization of an “us,” a belonging.

Decades of dust have piled on my diaphragm, the guitar’s body warped from humid cries. If you don’t use it, you lose it. And we lost it. We are now notes in different songs and different states, the way some music leaves your life for a while.

I wonder about her, and why she deleted me from her song. I wonder if the three of us knew it would be the last time we sang together whenever that was, and what we sang, and if my friend’s mom was there turning around in the computer chair to hide her crying. Like she knew. I sing the songs now, alone, through discordant chords on my guitar and a voice register that lives lower, that can’t reach those high notes. Can’t reach them. I crack through the ballads, the melodies missing the two other strings of harmony.

But, still I do it because it beckons me, the way falling in love during childhood lingers flavor that you crave for the rest of your life, that you can taste without it touching your tongue, without it being there. And they crawl into my ear when I least suspect it, especially on a Sunday, when I just want to sit with a bowl of pasta. For two minutes, they are with me and I’ll never stop singing with them, because it will always remind me I can “be someone.”

Hello friends,
I’m Andrea and I’m an addict. So cliche trust me I know. It’s true though seriously I am. Drugs, food, shopping any and all things impulsive I’m in. Drugs is the front runner in my list of truths though. My favorite. I was able to look in the eyes of the people I was talking to, I was social, I felt “normal”. I thought I fit in and I thought I was so relevant. I was a mom, an employee, a friend. A functioning addict …a true member of society. I spent many a days looking out the window asking why and how did I get here? I spent many a nights working and hustling to support a now raging habit. I new death was imminent. One more contaminated move and it was over. I didn’t want to die. I just didn’t want to feel. Anything. I looked in the mirror one day and what I saw shocked me. My face with fresh sores picked through paralyzing bound of anxiety. My eyes looked a 100 years old while me skin aged a lifetime. I knew I needed to change. So I did. About ten years now. I’ll say though nothing prepares you for sobriety. All those buried feelings come right back to the surface. Raw, rare and exposed. It’s wierd to feel again, to feel human. I know now what I say matters, I hear my voice and I like the sound of it. There’s so much I don’t know. 20 years of hiding and wishing i was normal, which is just a setting on the dryer by the way…I’m now at a place of acceptance. I’m in recovery but am I truly recovered? I have urges sometimes….fleeting thoughts of getting high. The process. The chaos. The feelings or lack there of. I miss it sometimes, but not enough to ever go back. I’m lucky….I got out. I have a second chance, and I’m eternally grateful. I don’t know a lot but I know I just need to keep hanging on because my journey is so far from over. Thank you. We do recover.

Dear Fellow Beautiful Beings,

Everyone knows someone, if not personally then most likely in the tabloids, or countless movies and tv shows, who have suffered from some kind of substance abuse. But what about when that narcotic is another human being?
Welcome to my world!
It’s a tricky one cause there is no bottle of booze or jar of pills to put down. It’s all stored in that hidden place of shame and dread. My brain! Which apparently thrives on giving great power to the opposite sex, allowing them to completely occupy my cranium like a cancer. It’s an obsession in my psyche that at times, feels so incurable and hopeless, I end up questioning a reason to exist.

I apologize if that was too brazen of a start, but I’m almost fifty- And honestly, I’m just really sick of the pain.

This is probably foreign to most of you, but if you’ve never completely ruined your whole day just waiting for one person to text you back, consider yourself extremely lucky.

I’m not writing this because I know any answers or solutions, only that I know the addiction, and have, at various times throughout my life, suffered greatly from it. If you are reading this and can relate just know you can reach out to me after your peers refuse to hear that “assholes” name once more!
If you don’t have a close friend afflicted with the same mental illness, forget them having any understanding of your pain, they instead just deem you as weak.
Which makes you stop relaying any obsession related feelings or actions to them, leaving you even more alone in your pain. This is not at all a criticism of the frustrated friends I have had over the years….
Just a statement I felt I had to address for anyone that has been in the same shame filled predicament and felt they had no one to reach out to.

I wish I could have more open conversations with female friends, but just like a guy assuming all women are insane, the first female response I receive is too often “that guy’s an asshole, or narcissist.” Or both. I don’t buy it to be that black and white. But maybe that’s because I have been called crazy ever since I can remember.
My friends may be right, and these guys may be complete douchebags, but I am the one who should be more harshly judged. Majority of these guys showed their cards from the beginning, and I kept going back. Recklessly betting with my emotions, knowing the house always wins.
I am the one that needs shock therapy for spending a large chunk of my life vying for the love of several emotionally unavailable human beings! And the last one was a Raiders Fan. As if my shame wasn’t embarrassing enough!

I’ve spent a huge majority of my adult life grasping for the undying affection of the opposite sex. Desperately wanting random, various men to love me, all while picking the absolute worst candidates for the job.
What’s that famous quote “I don’t want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member”?
If someone likes me too much and too quickly, I automatically assume there is something very wrong with them. Cause why would they choose me?
Or maybe I just love a good challenge…

I spent the years of 2009-2012 being completely obsessed with a guy I never even kissed. To the point I knew his daily schedule and would try to time my walks to the gym to correlate when he was leaving his local AA meeting across the street.
In case you didn’t believe me when I said this wasn’t based solely on sexual contact…

I’ve had a few healthy relationships in my life, and about four completely unhealthy, obsession filled, several years long casualties. I’m writing this in desperate hopes that this “last one” is exactly that.

I fell in love in early 2020 with who I now hope is my last bad habit.

And yes, I did sleep with this one and the sex was amazing. But he was insistent that we were just friends. I would wait around till he wanted to see me again, which was usually about every three weeks, just the type of annoying cycle every woman is used to.
Eventually I was literally breaking my own heart for an hour of what I thought was the deepest love I had ever felt for another person of the opposite sex.

Complete ecstasy followed by a month of tears, and sad desperate angry texts, usually in the vein of “why don’t you love me?”

Is there any more of a turnoff?

At least once a month I would plan out what I was going to say to him when he contacted me. Usually, a very dramatic monologue about why I did not want to see him anymore. Desperately hoping every day that he would text me so I could tell him why I don’t want him to text me anymore.
Literally, the definition of insanity…
Please contact me so I can tell you why I no longer want you to contact me!

But of course, he never did. He didn’t need to. I wouldn’t make it two weeks without convincing myself that if you love someone you should check in and see how they are doing. Which in turn would result in him offering to come over and who am I to say no? I could die tomorrow.
Carpe Diem!!
Still trying to figure out if my brain is a blessing or a curse…

I tried being with other people but it just felt mediocre, and why settle for a buffet when I can still get the Filet Mignon?
These are the justifications my brain makes.

The more months that passed, the more seriously I began to ponder that this self-destructive, depression inducing behavior, could actually turn to real serious self-harm. It’s already a challenge going thru this menopausal mid-life change.

After three years of desperate yearning and too many thoughts of disappearing, I suddenly became insistent that he be my last depression-filled, self-destructive, obsession.
If I didn’t finally change, I was going to die. Not necessarily because of him, but because he was just the next protagonist in the story of my life of men I have chosen to destroy me.
In a desperate quest to find the silver lining in what felt like a no-win situation, I forcefully embraced the mindset that the universe keeps giving me the same challenge until I conquer it. I made it my personal emotional boot camp to stick it out with him until I no longer felt like I needed him in order to survive.
I kept going back to him while doing intense personal therapy to make sure I would never choose another one of these killers again.
This sounds like insane behavior, but until I learned why I gave him and countless others a key to all my happiness, I knew I would have just repeated the same behavior with someone new.
I have run thirteen full twenty-six mile marathons, and watched An Officer and A Gentleman at least a dozen times.
Just like Richard, I don’t back away from a challenge.

After many long walks accompanied by motivational podcasts, and hours of the best spiritual hot yoga (shout out to CorePower Yoga) I no longer cry from the ridiculous thoughts that I desperately need him in my life. I also no longer have anger toward him.

I do my best to look at every situation as one that comes from a place of love. Whomever I am tortured by is quite possibly in turn tortured by somebody else. I don’t know these guys personal stories. I just know I don’t want to blame them anymore. “Hurt people- hurt people.”
I’ve been looking so hard for validation from others instead of just getting it from myself.

I have no answers or any hint of a cure. I’m not sure there even is one, except that similar to being an alcoholic, I just take it One Day At A Time.
The one thing I have learned is that it’s not always real. Not every thought I have in my head is fact. It took me till the age of about forty-two to learn this, but better late then never I guess. So now when the negative thoughts and hours of dialogue I pretend to have with a guy rejecting me plagues me to the point of tears, I don’t fight it. I grab some Kleenex and cry and just imagine those bad thoughts are like a horrible radio station I am forced to listen to till it runs out of battery.

This article hits on a chunk of my life that resulted in depression, but I’d like to end it by reassuring all of you wonderful people who were caring enough to read this till the end, that I am very good. I practice amazing self-care every day, and I am constantly grateful that this is quite literally my only problem in life. What’s a little mental illness?!
At least I’m not a Raiders Fan…

Sincerely,

Jen Murphy

God struck my heart like lightning
Giving my life a brightening
Since then, my hope is in the Lord.
Connected like a power cord.
A heavenly guide by my side
Together we shall abide.

It was a Thursday morning, just like any other. I got up, grabbed a cup of coffee, took it back to my bedroom, turned on the news and scrolled through my phone like any other morning. At 6:00 am I hopped in the shower, hoping I’d get out the door a bit earlier so I could get to the our teacher’s union meeting which was scheduled at school before class started. I walked down the hall, grabbed my lunch, toasted a bagel and off I went. Little did I know, that morning, November 8th, 2018 would be the last time I’d be surrounded by your loving walls.

You welcomed us about 18 years ago, after moving from a smaller home in town. I remember thinking you were so much more luxurious home—you had central heat and air instead of a wall heater. You had a large, open kitchen instead of a small galley kitchen. You even had two separate rooms—one for family to gather—the other for the adults to mingle. Well, the adult mingling didn’t happen as often, but the family gatherings were abundant. Our little family had about 6480 dinners often while the television was showing some funny sitcom–a handful of other celebrations happened in the dining room and outside on the patio. Birthdays were shared—by my estimates you hosted about 72 of them. You even hosted a Thanksgiving celebration where my entire family came—long before things got complicated. You even hosted two high school graduation parties. Special events which make me smile.

I loved your beautiful gas fireplace insert where I spent many nights healing from my broken ankle last December. I’ll miss the days of sitting on the sofa, feeling the warmth of your beautiful fire.

My favorite memories come from our beautiful Christmas celebrations. The fireplace mantle which our stockings hung, the tree which stood tall on display in the front window—it all looked so spectacularly gorgeous. I always loved how your bright lights which hung from the roof’s edge, would shine during the Christmas holiday. You knew just how to bring Christmas cheer to our family. For that I thank you.

I’m also thankful for all the baths in the tub…a nightly ritual. Many books were read, while I soaked my often weary bones. Many tears were shed while soaking. Many worries were released. Those nights will be missed.

Our family will forever be thankful for keeping us safe each night. Many happy nights, some sad nights, but most importantly many restful nights were spent in your bedrooms. Those nights will no longer happen. Sadness. Tears. Restlessness. Anxiousness. All used to be comforted by you. No longer.

I will forever be grateful to you sweet home for housing our family BBQs on your patio. And I’m especially thankful how your fences took such care of our beloved Akitas—Kuma, Bella, Hopey and Odin. They played, they healed, they ate and they thrived in your yard. Thank you.

Our kitty River also loved stalking the critters outside your yard at night. A time or two she’d climb up your old oak trees, getting stuck then needing rescue. All of our furbabies were thankful for the space to roam and explore.

I’m heartbroken that I won’t be able to sit and drink coffee, or wine from our patio with my friend any longer. The flowers, birdhouses and hummingbird feeders will forever be missed.

Your occasional snowy winters, beautiful spring mornings, chilly fall evenings will just be distant memories. Your gorgeous camellias are no longer—the days of cutting one of your red or pink flowers which had always reminded me of my mom will no longer be. For that I’m sad.

What I’m especially thankful for is how comforting you were to me during my grieving days and subsequent years following the deaths of both my parents. You helped me heal—your four walls brought extreme comfort to me. You listened to my tears—my fears—my aching heart.

I bid you farewell my sweet home. The beautiful sunsets and sunrises viewed from your windows, will no longer be. My heart is broken, but I’ll remember our time together forever. Love to you always, me💕

Dreaming of my Romeo
as he appeared out of the blue.
Allowing a change in tempo
giving an experience that’s all so new.
In the midst of the fog
you swept my feet from under.
Often forgetting the monologue
due to our hearts starting the thunder.
Snapping away from the bygone
with my love alongside.
Creating a foundation we can build on:
both living for the ride.
Connecting through the depths of our eyes—
having the spirits harmonize.

The most mind alerting experience that changed my perception on life was my first time sitting with AYAHUASCA. It was a day ill never forget, alot of changes took place at the start of 2020 for me. First, was a blessed trip i manifested to go to sedona Arizona for a few days , 2 days after new years day in January. The year before on new years eve in 2018 , i prayed to God and my spirit family for a sense of relief and a way to become closer to The Great Spirit and self, after attempting suicide the morning of December 9th of 2018. I was then being monitored by relatives at the time for about a month or so after that notion.
The night of New Years while spending the night over my families house, i sat in the basement after midnight, still feeling shattered on the inside.
It was like as if it was still the day that i decided in those moments when i was so fed up and ready to leave this world, that the angel of darkness had wisped away the light of my soul to keep, due to the empty void in my heart as i cried out for grievance from the constant unfortunate events that had rapidly transpired the past few years from the various forms of abuse I endured. Unknowingly my life was going in a downward spiral of a noiseless pit full speed and I had no clue. “ I was too busy drinking and dancing my sorrows away once upon a time”.

While in Sedona i found a sense of peace for the moment, learning simple healing modalities to reset my vagus nerve, eft tapping etc. I cried through the Angel healing session, as well as on the guided hike with the practitioner that followed into the creek before the mountain peak view.
There in Sedona I felt home being in the red earth desert land. Viewing the Grand Canyon was a surreal moment by it self. Staring into the massive gapping drop of mountains that formed a bowl like ridge as if it was a wondrous abyss to freedom. Though silence flooded the cool air , In my mind I felt as if there were many faces of passed on loved ones shaping the jagged edges in the mountains. “These were my ancestors”, the spirits of the Southwest spoke to me but without words, the same whispers i heard that night sitting in my families basement that told me, this was the place I needed to come for refuge.
As of now i realized me and those distant mountains have had many pastlives together, as far back to a time where they actually had the ability to speak back ( somehow Merlin comes to mind as i am typing this). They called out to me the night i cried for a wish of deliverance, “Not knowing it was a motion for me to come home”. After my short lived experience though the most memorable at that time in my life, I of course wanted to peer deeper into the supernatural world and learn more of who i was , though its deemed taboo to this world, I was lead to a man in a serendipitous moment. Again i asked the universe to meet a Shaman somehow , then met one at a crystal shop weeks after, giving short sessions for cleansing at a limited time.
After we spoke and i shared some of the tumultous happenings, he felt inclined to discuss sacred medicine with me , thats when i was lead to an Ayahuasca retreat in the month of september in 2020 ( what a year for a spiritual awakening) .After hours passed, once the medicine settled in, underneath the open stared sky that night , laying before a huge bonfire i felt the drift taking hold. An intense 5 hour purge of consistent tears and sobbing weakened my body to finally surrender all of the hidden hurt and pain Ive held dormant since a child came bursting through in the trapped door, hidden in the folds of the cortex of my mind.
There was this one moment when something told me to lay my head down upon the grass as i was rubbing the ground shaking from the hurt; when i seen my mother appear in the grass as if a glass floor was beneath me , literally. She told me to touch her hand ,reaching upward toward me and said “I m right here with you, im here, im here”.
Seeing my mother made me so happy i grieved harder, for she had passed away the day before Mothers Day unexpectedly in 2019. That shocking moment too was another stabbing ache of pain that left a scar within my heart. Another out of this world moment from that experience with momma Aya was when i was walking up the deck stairs and everything was rippling, even the touching of door knobs with grid lines forming behind everything. It shed light that the world that we live in is indeed holographic and not real, though to our naked eyes it would seem as if what we see on a day to day basis was in fact truth, but i KNOW it to be different. Ever since, my life was never the same, but for great reason.
As of now Ive had other experiences that have made an important impact on my life , it most definitely gave a reason why The Great Spirit would not let me leave this earth so soon when i attempted too. Though a late bloomer – I found purpose, with reasons why were all here is much deeper.
“Its bigger than you and me”.
So now everyday i am doing my best to be the best version of myself as I continue to walk hold hands with God and the many creeds of celestial family that guide me.
“Thank you for listening”

You looked so fragile.
In my imagination
you lied broken on a hospital bed
filled with charcoal
to keep your pulse from fading

how ironic you said
when you could speak again.
how your nickname was “charcoal”
and that was what they used to save you
from all those pills you took

the pills you took when you decided
that a death by your own trembling hand
was better than the prison that your parents
kept you inside, waiting for you to become
who they wanted

you’d swallowed your sadness for so long
letting your liver be poisoned
in little pills as they told you you weren’t enough
and carved lines into your soul
as they showed their love was conditional

I wonder how many pills it took
to overwhelm your tiny body
and leave you lying on the floor
calling for help as you felt yourself fade, even
desperate enough to go to your parents

I wonder if your parents still thought
in that horrible moment, that you were still
a freak like they always treated you.
I wonder if they, for even a moment
realized that it was their fault

“I’m sorry”; a text you’d sent at 3am.
We didn’t know what had happened
didn’t even know if you were alive
for a whole horrible day,
black on my calendar; burnt in my memory

we had called to see if you were okay
and were met with your parents crying,
screaming that it was our fault
for changing you and poisoning your mind
like you’d poisoned your liver

but we thought we were what kept you going
every time your parents called you
evil, and wrong, for being who you are.
Trying to kill the you they didn’t like
until you tried to kill you

I imagined so many things the days it all happened:
a fight that proceeded you running to your room,
a feeling of aloneness and like tomorrow wouldn’t come.
So you texted…
when none of us, your charcoal, were awake

There was no room for peace.
In the chaos that she called life.
Then she set back and took a deep breath.
In the deep breath of life she realized.
The windows overlooked the golden hour.
The laugh of the kids in her life eased all struggles.
She photographs every chance she gets.
The music sets the tone of her story.
The writing tells the story, if you focus.
To the one who broke the shell five years ago.
To the one who came into my world three years ago.
To the few that finally showed her unconditional love.
When the breath was over all of this came to mind.
She may not be healed.
She may not have everything she wants.
Most importantly when she thought there was no peace.
She finally found part of hers.

I was getting ready for work. It was a cold December morning in 2017. It must have been a usual Monday morning for my neighbors. I could not say that with certainty, as I did not know who they were. It was not the usual Monday for me. With my mom in the kitchen and dad in the living room, the morning sun reminded me that today is different.

My parents and I had arrived the day before. Delta decided to have a ‘day date’ with our luggage, so we had to wait for another day to get those. It was my long-time dream to have my parents over and show them around this country. I was supposed to be beaming with joy. Except, I was not.

As I got ready to leave, my mom asked me to stay for breakfast. She made hot and fresh ‘idli’, a south Indian delicacy. My relationship with food had changed in the past few weeks. There was a sense of guilt. No, I am not talking about the type of guilt, that I usually carry, for not trying to keep that fat away. This was different. This felt heavier. Every meal since September 25th, reminded me that I am somehow selfish, to eat. To survive.

I got the car out of garage with the windows open to get some fresh air, my morning routine. Despite the chill wind and the grey clouds, I love going to work in December. Less people, i.e., less number of people asking ‘Hey, how are you’ 4 times a day, less “how was your weekend”s because I could never get used to answering that question every Monday morning. Sometimes even on Tuesdays. Yet, this mid-December Monday was not something I was prepared for.

I took the same highway. Same sign boards. Same exits. Same cars around, ok, maybe different, but you get the idea. But I felt different after getting used to 2 months of Indian traffic. Yes, it has been 2 months since I turned up at work. Everyone in my floor, knew very well, that I was out. That I had gone back to India and had not come back for the next 2 months. They picked up from where I left, the very same day I left. They had to. Because I had to.

As I parked the car and started walking across the parking lot, I felt a rising sense of panic. A sense of discomfort. To be accurate, can you imagine how it felt – to get on that stage for the first time? To experience flying in an aircraft for the first time? To be in the same room with your parents and your in-laws for the first time, sorry, every single time? A sense of entering unknown. A mixed feeling of fear and anxiety.

The last time I swiped my badge there was 2 months ago. It was a Monday too. The next day, I was gone to India. Usually, our vacations are planned. This was our first unplanned one. And this was also the first time I took a vacation for 2 months. What was different, among many others, is that my manager asked me to take as much time as I needed. That does not happen very often, does it?

Lost in thoughts, I reached my desk. There was a ‘Welcome back’ note from my team. I was not ready to be back. But the questions I kept asking was that would I ever be ready to be back? Back to being my old self? Back to the time when my family was complete? My manager came running to see me. I wanted to hide myself. Like a turtle going into its shell. Slowly, without anyone noticing. Her desk was right next to me, darn, she came too fast. No time for the lazy turtle to react.

She gave me a big bear hug and said, “I cannot event imagine what you must be going through. I am here if you need anything ”. She handled 40% of my workload so I could get some time with my family, so I will not be stressed. I felt warm. After 2 months of being in the love and compassion of friends and family, it was hard for me to leave and come back to this new place. I had no friends. Friends who could relate to me. Friends who knew my language or my culture. Friends, with whom I could share.

As the day progressed, several people stopped by and welcomed me back. So many of them offered to help and made sure I felt at home. After what felt like the longest day at work, I started packing my bag. Just when I was about to leave, I noticed the picture on my desk. A small frame, the size of a match box, that carried a picture of my brother and I. He gifted this to me when I left India in January to come here. When I met him for the last time, in Mumbai airport. The next time, I saw him, on September 25th, he wasn’t breathing.
As the sun set that evening and I looked at that picture of my brother, healing from his loss felt impossible. I went back to my car and cried for I cannot even remember how long.

That was where my story began. And then many sunsets have gone by.
On a windy cold day that winter, I made my mom wear jeans for the first time in her life. Sun set that evening and I cried.
On another snowy day, I made my father dance in that pretty white snow for the first time in his life. Sun set that evening and I cried.
On a ‘supposed-to be’ impossible but ‘totally possible in Minnesota’ type of cold day in May, my American manager moved a critical meeting by a day so I can spend that extra night with my family on a cabin. Sunset that evening too and I cried less this time.
On a different sunny day, my friend’s mom from Mexico who I met for the first time, made dinner for me. She and I never spoke a word that we both mutually understood. Sun set a bit later that night and I cried, maybe a bit lesser.
On a bright June morning, my parents left back to India. As sun set that night, it was clear that life will never stop for anyone. Anyone. I cried lesser again.
On a chilly fall afternoon, I met my Minnesotan therapist. She listened endlessly and spoke to me like she grew up with me. I wanted to cry every single time I came out of her office. But it became harder to cry. I don’t know if it was healing or running out of tear supply.
On a random day, our not so close Indian acquaintances invited us for dinner and became family-like very soon. Sun set that night too, I again had tears on my eyes. But this time, it was out of laughing non-stop for a silly joke.

Time will help heal, many told me. I don’t know about that. But, HUMANS around me did. This place, these people, with whom I thought I had no connection, welcomed me with wide open arms and proved me that grief does not need language to be understood and love does not need color to be shared.

As I narrate this story today, I am still not sure if I have healed fully. But I am HOME and hence, there is HOPE!

Greetings to you! Walk with me as I reflect on one of my greatest experiences…
In 2018 I auditioned for a nation-wide talent search. Hosted by “A premier modeling agency and talent expo that discovers, develops, and launches top talent.” There are multiple categories: modeling, acting, dancing and singing. I auditioned for singing and acting (tv commercial). I was chosen top 10 out of roughly 100 participants. The next 6-8 months were composed of raising money to attend the out of state event, building self-confidence, and facing any fears I had about being a star in my own right. Mind you, I did not do my research (ALWAYS DO YOUR RESEARCH) on the company prior to the audition. I was under the impression that this was primarily a model call. A talent search on a smaller scale. Once I really gained an understanding of what was in front of me, I shifted from a small and confined kind of mindset, into a mindset of immediate expansion in every facet of my life. This was instantaneous! Massive amounts of positive and prosperous possibilities began to make larger what I was already envisioning. The stage has called to me for as long as I can remember. Performance and entertainment have been a part of my journey since the age of 6. This experience, however, made it real! I was no longer merely doing what I love, I was officially stretching the muscle and making an impact on a consistent basis. This was confirmation of my PURPOSE! The overall investment cost was about $3,500. This is relevant because at that time I didn’t have it like that and for someone who struggled to ask for help, this was no small task. That following spring, I made it to the expo. There were all kinds of contestants at this large event. From different cultures, locations and upbringings. The thing that I enjoyed the most about this experience is that no one carried negative energy! We were all there with the same goal, to shine, learn and gain an understanding of what it truly takes to be great in this industry. Also learning that it’s important to be highly confident in our personal strides fore it’s the foundation for whatever we set out to accomplish that is bigger than us. For some, this was their opportunity to showcase the hard work they’ve put into every day of their lives! The blood, sweat, tears, and the don’t call us we’ll call you. For others, it was a wakeup call to go farther and do more. I transparently fell somewhere in the middle. Attending workshops with some of the best actors/actresses, agencies and modeling coaches in the business showed me how being in the right place, at the right time, having the right conversations, with the right attitude, can propel your life into the most aligned direction for the best outcome. You’ve got to have heart to put yourself out there! By the end of the weekend, we all had clarity on what we were made of, what level of potential we had and how to make seamless connections for ourselves. By the time I made it home, I had a whole new fire burning in my spirit for my goals and aspirations. Trusting my faith, trusting my journey, led me to an experience that truly changed my life for the better!

The other day I told someone about you
what you left for me
what you left of me
their wet stone tone replied: I’m so sorry
and like a sprout through concrete
so instinct and automatically
I told them: don’t be.
I’m not.
Because
there are no words
for gifts this big
what you taught me
what you brought me
in our innocence like daisies
how your sacrifice had saved me
better than Christ himself
anyone can say
my lover
anyone can say
my partner
anyone can say
heartache
and break
and suffer.
But for me—I know it’s real.
Far beyond what children feel.
We learned what
passion was,
what freedom was,
what making love was
as if we were human
and nothing else
as if being human
was enough
and when you stopped
being human
the world didn’t notice
night fell
dawn broke
and how I tantrumed in contortions
in rebellion of this earth
to be so brash
betraying me
to keep turning, turning, turn.
And I learned that living takes effort
even just to breathe
and eat
and move
and speak
I wished my ribs would splinter
wished the cars would halt their noise
and every morning
I would touch myself
and pray I’d hear your voice
and the sensation
of forgetting
the way you sound and smell
was a wicked type of torture
—it’s own dynasty of hell.
You’re just as incomparable
as the pain you left behind
and how living was unbearable
and yet, somehow, I survived.
I couldn’t follow you
for the honor of our love
for the wittiness to the horrors
and all the pain that I had felt—
I needed it.
It’s my evidence, my proof.
I was a runner—not a warrior.
A deserter—not a soldier.
Yet, I learned trust
and kindness
bravery beyond—
birthed in ashes of despair
I bloomed into something else.
And that something is so pure
even moreso than our love.
Patient. Understanding.
I am gentle and I’m strong.
I am wise and I am generous.
All the things I didn’t have to be
until you were gone and out.
Wish you could see me now.
And what your death had brought me—
is so much more profound
than anybody’s life
and I know it’s strange to say,
but I’m not angry at you anymore.
I’m glad you got away.
Because I always have you,
and I’m more beautiful like this.
Overcoming losing you—
the most amazing thing I did.
And I don’t need your voice, or scent,
to remember how to love
out of all we learned together;
being human is enough.