Learning fast
Thought I would apply
Not knowing what would happen
Or if I would get in
Or if the world would come crashing down
Thinking too good to be true
Then got that email
That email that would change everything
The ability to do something bigger than yourself
To the bigger name actors
To the lights surrounding you
To the chance to build connections
To the nicest people
Not the never ending drama
To the people you’ve gotten to meet
What you’ve gotten to create
Knowing you were apart of something
Seeing your name rolling away
Knowing the people that made it possible
To the great times
To the hard times
To the things that make it worth it
To see it on screen
To the birthday boy celebrating
To the cupcakes and singing
To the fun times and laughs
To the premieres and dinners
Trying to enjoy it before its all done
The excitement of finishing
From start to finish
Oh how proud you’ll be
What you accomplished
Can’t believe its over
Till next time

Dear Unsealers,

My dreams so it seems
Always happen in steams,
Moments overflowing with love.
But believing in dreams
Can lead to extremes,
So, remember the stars up above.

Care for yourself,
And realize you’re worth it.
Then help to tell others,
They also deserve it.

A dream’s what we make it,
And I know for me,
My dream is to live,
Completely
Free.

When you’re young, people often ask, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” It’s an exciting puzzle, and the bigger the dream, the more enthusiasm that meets it. As you grow, however, the pressure behind the question increases, and the vigorous responses are fewer and farther between. It was in this stage of life, when the world seemed to demand I pick a career and stick to it, that my notion of dreams took an unexpected turn. After all, at that point, my dream was to simply float around- a dirty, long-haired, guitar-strummin’ hippie. Boy, was that boy in for a surprise.
Although I still chafed at the idea of picking a permanent job and becoming part of what I saw to be a messed-up machine, my mentors got through to me. My scholarship shouldn’t go to waste. What harm was there in further learning?

Enrollment in the university meant declaring a major (there’s that pressure again), and in a fateful moment, I realized that teaching wouldn’t be the worst thing. After all, my English teacher had lit up my life dispelling the darkness that threatened to edge me out. She equipped me with beyond brilliant books, the power of the pen, and sent me to do some digging- into my hurt, into my power, into my truth, into my purpose.

If I could repay the lifesaving gift of a teacher who cares, well, that would be something. And, hey, summers off? Hippy time! Thus, a dream became more practical, but also so much more complex.

I got that dream job (even if it took a while to realize it), working at a Junior High, in the sweaty hormone-filled halls of the school so mid they call it middle. Despite the shenanigans, I sincerely loved it- the fruits of working with young people are incalculable. I had a great team of support around me, but it was still so heavy. And so hard. I felt like a complete failure many times those early years. Visualizing handing in my keys became a pastime.

And yet, it was my dream. Was that the secret? That embracing the reality of a dream makes your dream a reality? Seemingly at the same moment that these thoughts began to bubble in my brain, I received word that I would have to transfer to a different school due to student numbers and budgetary concerns.

Leaving the dream that I’d just begun to build? Fortune allowed me to keep a job, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d been dealt a losing hand. The change, as always seems to be the case, was brutal. I struggled and longed to return to my home school. A colleague would retire in the spring, so there was hope.

If I could only hold on for a year.

That mentality had me living a half-dream. I didn’t realize this until spring rolled around, and I did not get my dream job back. This ironic twist had the potential to crush me, but instead I stayed strong. I was the key factor in my dreams, not my circumstances. I decided then and there to reclaim and build upon the dream: to be fully me and more importantly to start rapping for my students. That single choice changed my classroom and my life in ways that could (and hopefully will) fill books.

3 years later, the principal of dream school 2.0 informed me that the graduating class selected me to speak at commencement. This was the class. The group of kids who caught my first rap. Who saw me, believed in me, and helped me recreate a dream. Those were the students who witnessed my decision to lean into vulnerability, to own my expertise, and to unapologetically love myself. I couldn’t wait to have one more moment together on our serendipitous journey.

I mostly kept to tradition and filled the speech with cliches, cheesy jokes, and of course, life advice from Shakespeare, but I couldn’t resist signing off with a rap. Standing on that stage, spittin’ bars in front of those kids- who’d grown so much, who’d made me so proud, who’d driven me so crazy, who’d helped me build a new home- now that was a moment that makes you pinch yourself.

So, yes, I’m living my dream. Still, I wish more people asked me, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

To My Beautiful Youngest Self,
We did something we never thought possible. All those nights counting the years, days, hours, and minutes until we turned 18. Our journey was not easy; we faced not just physical attacks, but spiritual ones as well. We spent many nights crying and praying that someone would come and remove us from this nightmare. We left The Cult.
I am proud of you because you hung on. You knew early on that this was not our “Truth,” but when you are a victim of manipulation, abuse, and bullying, you did what you thought was best. You learned to “play the game” to survive—smiling when told, never speaking about the physical and emotional abuse. You did this to avoid further abuse. There was a time that you considered doing the unthinkable, but you were determined to move beyond that.
You rebelled in ways people wouldn’t have understood, but I do. School was your form of rebellion. You prepared us by creating lifelong friendships, even though you were warned not to. It was as if you already knew these friends would be important later. Did you know? I smile to think you had a plan.
When high school ended, you were ready to leave at 1. Unfortunately, you were guilted into staying longer because our grandmother, now living with the family, was ill. You were told how helpful it would be, and that family was the most important thing. You loved Grandma so much and didn’t want to leave her. So, you stayed—miserable, but you stayed. After a year and a half of turmoil, you made the ultimate decision: you left. I remember the day like it was yesterday. Your plan was impeccable.
Everyone was sitting in the kitchen when you announced you were moving. They looked at you as if it were some hilarious joke. What they didn’t know was that for the past year, you had been plotting the Great Escape. In your bedroom, you didn’t have a bed; you bought a used sleep sofa a year prior. When asked about it, you said you wanted your room to look like a living room so that when friends were permitted to come over, they could sit and pretend they were in your little apartment. You had started buying items for a small apartment, which you hid in the Hope Chest Grandma gave you (We STILL have that Hope Chest). One month before your announcement and departure, you had put down a deposit for a small studio on the other side of town.
No one believed you. They tried their best to guilt you by using our grandmother, our baby brother, and, of course, The Cult. They continued to disbelieve you until moving day, when you had a U-Haul, had those lifelong school friends help you pack all your things, and left.
For a while, we were at peace. We lived life, went to movies, met people, hung out, and just learned what it was like to be a normal person. Unfortunately, things happened in our lives, and we felt this was a spiritual punishment, so we returned. We honestly thought things would be different. They were not. It was more miserable as the judgment for leaving the first time was harsh.
Then one day, it happened. We had an epiphany. It came in such a way that we believed it was in our heads. But it was true. That day, we got up, left, and never returned. Finally, we had our FREEDOM!
Each time I think about those moments, I smile. I want to thank you for your resilience, wisdom, and ingenuity. My heart fills with a pride I cannot describe. It was all you and only you who brought us to where we are now. Anytime I think I cannot deal with something; I think of the moments YOU made it all happen.
I thank you and love you so very much.
Signed,
Your Older Self

I wrote a poem. I turned it in.
My teacher read it with a grin.

He seemed so pleased, I thought he’d cry.
A tear was welling in his eye.

He smiled so wide, I have to say,
I knew I’d nail an easy ‘A’.

He chuckled, and I felt so proud
To hear my teacher laugh out loud.

He held his sides and read some more
He wound up rolling on the floor.

He giggled like a girl, and then
Stood up and read my poem AGAIN!

He snickered, snorted, shouted, “D’oh!”
“Excuse me kids, I gotta go.”

His face turned red as off he ran,
Still snickering, to use the can.

He didn’t make it there to pee.
My poem came back. I got a D!

Twenty years later…

As I look back, I realize
His laughter really was a prize.

I kept on writing through the years.
And made a name amongst my peers.

I dreamt of being known worldwide.
“And now I am,” I say with pride.

My dream was not a quirky whim.
I’m published now because of him!

p.s. I wrote a funny poem while in detention during my senior year of high school.
It made its way to my English teacher’s desk, who gave me extra credit. Unfortunately, she missed the submission deadline for a national high school poetry anthology.
I hope to share that poem in another challenge through The Unsealed.

Has it really been thirty years
since that first trip to the Bahamas?
Since I had to white-knuckle
turbulent skies and roiling seas?
Wasn’t I afraid to make such
a journey alone?

Did I expect my singlehood to be
satisfied by the billions of
stars in the night sky?
Or by that diamond tennis bracelet
I purchased, no longer in style?

Did I think my loneliness would
be relieved by my friend, Tom Clancy?
Or maybe by the stateroom upgrade I
was offered as a first-time cruiser?

Was it desperation that led to
sex with a stranger I picked up
among the pulsing and gyrating
of the disco?

It was courage.

If you had told me when I was seventeen that I’d be thirty-seven years old, seven years divorced, single and on a trip to Bali, Indonesia in the spring of my thirty-seventh year, I wouldn’t have believed you. I wouldn’t have even heard beyond the word divorce and got to the fun word, Bali. Instead, in a full-fledged teenage frenzy, I would have shot into fight mode, words flying out of my mouth like a gamer’s quick-twitch thumb on their controller’s trigger. I would have thrusted my virgin heart forward and valiantly proclaimed my ability to fall in love and stay in love is much greater than those with broken love pacts. I would have told you that I’d be one of the foreverers, that I’d “get it right” because I’m different. I’m special.
What a thing for that on the cusp of adulthood girl to wholeheartedly believe. And I don’t say that shaking my head in disbelief at wide-eyed, sweet, yet senseless little me. Rather, I say it because the “special” part and the “I’m different” part of that seventeen-year-old’s sermon were spot on, just not for the reasons she assumed.
She had no idea then how brave she’d become to keep looking Fear in its blood-red eyes and try for what she wants whether that be romantic love, a career, a destination, or a dream, again and again in a world that has become less and less forgiving. She had no idea that the first boy she’d love at seventeen would still be her big love touchstone at thirty-seven, and for good reason. (Her picker was spot on at seventeen.) She had no idea the why of her special or her brand of difference, but she knew it was there inside of her, and to this day that insight at such an early age is impressive to me.

She wouldn’t have believed me if I told her she’d go through two starless years not believing in love or at least not believing love would happen to her (again). She wouldn’t believe me if I told her the way the last man treated her. Everyday a fire drill. Stop, drop, and roll up what’s left of your self-esteem into a microscopic ball so he can’t see it.

She’d say, “No, not me. I know all the big dreams I dream up when I climb onto my parents’ rooftop after everyone falls asleep are meant to be. And they don’t include a fucked up he.” She wouldn’t say it like that though, she’d simply say, “Nope. That’s not me!” but the above sentence would be what she means.
She wouldn’t have known where Bali was on the map. But she wouldn’t have known her way around any map that didn’t lead to her already mapped out dreams.

From the time of counting her stubby fingers to tell someone her age, she was a professional at three things:

1. Watching what grown-ups closest to her did wrong in relationships
2. Promising herself she’d do love right
3. Playing a sport

She told herself she understood love because she understood sacrifice, dedication, loyalty, teamwork, and the innate value of clear communication from the lessons of her favorite game. She knew in order to win the work must be done together. She also knew to love was to know something more massive than yourself then sweat, bleed, and cry for it when you must. She wouldn’t need to know Bali because it wasn’t yet a pin in the canvas of her dreams. All she knew was that she’d be a professional soccer player one day and she’d fall in love (for real as she’d say) and there would be no need for a D-I-V-O-R-C-E.

She didn’t realize there should or even could be a life beyond the promise of these dreams.

And so, keeping in mind what she didn’t know and her aptitude to dream, I think seventeen-year-old-me wouldn’t be so bummed out when learning about thirty-seven-year-old Bali tanned me. At least, not after I explained how much wider her dreams could be.

I’d tell her, you didn’t become a professional soccer player. Although, my girl, you got remarkably close. Some might say as close as one could come without getting the full dream.

I’d tell her, you didn’t fall in love and stay in love. At least, not yet. Although, my girl, you’ve been in love a handful of times. And it was every bit as delicious as you had hoped.

I’d tell her, don’t worry, you still find your way onto rooftops and dream colossal dreams and make up silly inventions and laugh until your belly is sore with glee. You write poetry and look people in the eyes when they speak and walk tall even on the days you feel so very small. You continue to care too much (exactly enough) about everything. You become more confident than you give yourself credit for and more filled with grace than ache although you often won’t admit that either. You grow into a human who is every bit as powerful as you once dreamed. It just looks different than you imagined. Nothing about that is less worthy of celebration.
And she would be heartbroken and transfixed by her future self at the same time. Then after a long pause, she’d say something like, “so I’m a foreverer after all.” Shocked and caught off guard, I’d say, “What do you mean?” And she’d say, “It sounds to me like I am forever falling in love with different somethings. Isn’t that, right?” I’d nod my head yes and agree.

Then she’d smile as bright as her white-blond hair and say, “That sounds like a foreverer to me.”

Do you realize you will live?
Through every form of destruction,
You’ve been granted a mind of wonder,
A flourish of light that exists within.
What have you accomplished in this life?
Well, baby darling,
many times you’ve attempted to quit,
But always returned to choose life,
A soul that refused to die.
With rage and resistance,
you’ve continue to try,
Becoming an earthly angel,
In disguise.

Go forth with unspoken power.
No matter what is thrown at you,
You have a deeper passion.

I love you for letting me see your growth,
For releasing comparisons.
In you, I see all hopes.

Look out, world. We no longer need to stay concealed.
When I was very young, my body and mind were severely traumatized.
The trauma was from all around me – literally everywhere! So many unfortunate events made me feel lost, alone, ashamed, afraid, and confused. I couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening to me. It was too much for my mind to process and organize.
You see, I was an extremely precocious child and the most intelligent child my town had ever known. I had a photographic memory and was highly creative, talented, and athletic. The trauma was overwhelming my brain’s ability to cope with all the trauma, however.
My brain just couldn’t organize all the horrific things going on in my world, so I had to learn to compartmentalize, dissociate, and make up ways to live in the hell called my life, and not give up entirely and decide to end it all. I guess that was my first goal: to survive all the trauma.
Guess what? I am now 53 and writing this story! I have reached one of my most essential goals in life!
The longer the trauma kept up, the more fragmented my sense of self became. You see, nearly every time I had to dissociate, I was creating a new sense of self in an attempt to try to forget all the feelings and emotions experienced during a particular trauma. As time passed, the various Ages of Me, as I called them, became more extensive and more prominent in number. By 18, I likely had more than 12 parts of me – brainmates – as I often call them. I didn’t name them, though. I identified with them by age when they came into being and, sometimes, by the emotions associated with their creation.
Few people understand dissociative identity disorder. Growing up, I was often subjected to judgments about the state of my mental well-being, and I was even admitted to more than one psychiatric hospital, where more trauma would occur. Why was this child, so tormented and abused, the one who was locked up? The people causing all the chaos in my young body and mind were left to run free. Inconceivable! This added to my insecurities! I had to learn to conceal all my brain mates, keep them my internal secret, and not be subjected to the crazy people in my life.
The traumas continued into my young adulthood, and by my middle twenties, I had more than 20 different self-states. No one could ever find out about them, lest I be locked up for the rest of my life! I could only dream that they could all be free to live out in the open one day.
I was married and started having children in my early 30s, which I had been told would never happen. The traumas I had sustained throughout my entire childhood left me with wounds and scars that would seem to make motherhood an impossibility. Not only did it seem I could not bear children physically, but it was believed I would never be able to be emotionally present for kids, nor be able to provide for their needs of safety, security, and love, nor be able to protect them from my mental instability. Three children later, I realize I have fulfilled a second dream: I was able to carry, birth, and raise 3 of the most caring, compassionate, intelligent, and God-fearing children anyone could ever hope to parent.
During the next 10 to 15 years, I would seek therapy to heal from all my hurts. I found several excellent practitioners who did incredible trauma work with me. Still, I remained too scared to tell any of them about all of my self-states, who numbered nearly 40 by that time. I knew during all my therapy sessions that all my brain mates were in the room with me because I understood we were all part of the same person. My brain had just fragmented and learned how to cope with all the chaos. The parts of me never felt any of my therapists quite capable of dealing with all of us, nor trustworthy enough to feel safe to make all of the Ages of Me known.
Well, after several more years of severe pain and suffering, my 10-year-old self could no longer stay hidden. The therapist made us feel safe, and she would have made such a wonderful mother to us. My 10-year-old self wanted to tell the therapist she wished she could be our mother. Out of the blue, my selves came forward, and my therapist started meeting them all. She was frightened at first but learned to understand us all. The third dream has come true: The Ages of Me are now free!

My parents told me ever since I was a little boy that I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up. They would say things like, ‘Gregory, you’re so smart. You can accomplish anything if you set your mind to it.’ ‘Greg, you’re good at everything you try. If you’d just apply yourself, you can have a great career.’ But those are just things parents are supposed to tell their kids, right? Isn’t that part of being a parent? Making a child believe they can do anything they set their hearts to? Encouraging your kids to aim for the stars?

At 10, you ask ‘Can I be a cheerleader like my big sister?’ You’re met with laughter which fades quickly because they realize you’re serious. No, the answer is no. That’s what girls do and you’re a boy. You can do anything that boys do.

At 12, your grades drop in school, and you’ve lost interest. You’re told ‘you’re smarter than this.’ You ask, ‘Can I do gymnastics like my little sister, or be a ballerina?’ Gregory, they would say, that’s for girls. Not boys. You’re not a girl. And you replied, why can’t I be? And the answer is simply because you cannot.

You’re sent to your room, told never to speak of this again. And you didn’t, until you were 14. You told them you didn’t know what you wanted to do with your life. You’re reminded that you can do anything you want. And they heard you mumble that’s a lie. You’re sent to a Dr. to fix you. To make sure you never have those thoughts again. For years it worked.

You’re 42, it’s another sleepless night scrolling the internet. For some reason you do a specific search that night. You send an email and think, I’ll put all these thoughts to rest finally. The next day you get a reply. She wants you to tell her about yourself. You pour your heart out. You tell her all your thoughts and feelings of wanting to be a cheerleader, a mother and how puberty was torture.

Two days later she calls you and says she has an opening! But fear sets in. Is she going to be like the one that tried to fix you when you were 14? You decide it’s worth the risk. And for the first time in 30 years, you have a therapist. She is kind, compassionate and understanding. She says you can be anything you want, it’s never too late. You recoil because your parents used to tell you that. You tell the therapist that’s a lie parents say. And she counters with, why? Why is it a lie?

Because you’ll lose everything. Your kids, job, family, and partner. You have responsibilities. She says, you have responsibilities to yourself as well and that while she can’t make promises on if you’ll lose anything or anyone or not, what she can promise you is, that shedding your mask and people’s perception of you may be scary, yet it can also be rewarding to be your authentic self. And she guides you along the way.

And each milestone along the way heals you a little bit. You find a little more joy in life whereas before, that was something you didn’t see a lot of. Then one day, you see her in the mirror. It was just a quick glimpse, but you seen her. It’s weeks before you see her again, but she lingers a little longer. And over the next few years she replaces him in the mirror until you hardly see him anymore. You wonder if he was ever real or not. You make new connections, and you lose some connections in your life. Yet, you gain new connections that are much stronger.

Your relationship with your kids becomes stronger when you thought they’d hate you. 4 years after meeting your therapist, you have your first surgery. And you’re riding high. 5 years after meeting your therapist you have the big surgery. That’s the moment your soul is healed. You say goodbye to your therapist because you don’t need her anymore. In parting you leave her this message that is the most profound thing you were ever told, even if you thought it was a lie.

You tell her that once upon a time, there was this kid who dared to dream. He was told he could be anything he wanted to be when he grew up. So, he became a woman and lived happily ever after. All it took was for one person to believe in her and to support her and she found that she could do anything she wanted to in the world because all she had to do was dream it and then manifest it.

Dearest little Shauna,
You will become everything you hope, just now how, or when you plan to. There will come a point where you will doubt everything you ever believed in and surrender to the life you never asked for. Your life will be tragically beautiful. However, you will find that spark you lost so long ago on the road of heartache and tragedy, and that spark will create a version of yourself that will be stronger and loved more than you ever thought possible. The little girl you are now will resurface at almost 40 years old and you will finally live your life dream and become a teacher. Along that road, sweet Shauna, when faced with each obstacle, know you are only being prepared for a life you have only dreamt about. You will find happiness, true love, and confidence to follow your dream after years of being told you would never be good, or smart enough. You will meet a man who will heal a heart he didn’t shatter, your love will create the family you had stopped praying for, and you will have the support and strength from a village you don’t know you have yet and will live the dream you have right now. Hold on. Hug your brother. You won’t want to know, but you will regret it. Trust me. Say yes. It won’t end how you think, but he will give you a reason to live when you need it most. Don’t be afraid to say yes again. He is your happily ever after. You are enough. You always have been, you will remember that down the road.

i’d gaze upon the nightsky
watching stars streak on by

i’d toss a few coins
into elegant fountains

i was doing all that
with one thing in mind

a wish that i would cherish
if it would ever come true

but the stars would fade
and day would come

the coins would blend in
along with the other ones

i thought it wasn’t true
maybe it wasn’t meant to be

and now, i no longer wish
i don’t need to wish
not anymore

for i have you
and i’m thankful
that my wish came true

Dear Reader,

While making his first day of school sign for 2nd grade, my son shared what he wants to be when he grows up. I didn’t hear him, and when I asked him to repeat what he had said, I could see embarrassment rise from his abdomen until it flushed his face red.

“Please, tell me,” I told him. Slightly above a whisper, he responded, “I want to be a basketball player.” He felt nervous about saying it out loud. It reminded me of my own stated aspiration close to his age. Growing up near the University of Notre Dame, I stated my desire to attend college there when I was nine. Receiving an acceptance letter from Notre Dame requires significant determination, but my parents taught me to trust my abilities. When you whole-heartedly believe in yourself, you hold power. Empowering yourself, practicing, and working hard become the bricks that lay the foundation of your future achieved goals.

I persevered, and despite people doubting me, I had confidence I could succeed. Self-doubt crept in, as it does for everyone, but I was kind to myself in these moments. “It’s okay, just keep giving your best. Keep trusting you have what it takes,” I told myself. I watched the commercials of young adults opening Notre Dame acceptance letters and imagined myself opening my letter. I cried while visualizing myself holding the mail I’d one day open that would say, “Welcome home.”

It may sound cliché to tell you to work hard and have faith in your potential, but how many times has the world doubted you? How often have you been embarrassed to say your goals out loud out of fear of funny looks or the worry that you’d say it and it wouldn’t happen? What would people think? Would they laugh?

After being accepted to Notre Dame, I wrote my story and shared how I accomplished my goal. My acceptance led to another fulfilled dream: for my writing to be recognized. My writing was featured in “The Secret to Teen Power,” a book that teaches teenagers how to use mindset to achieve the dreams and goals they have set for themselves. The author told me he thought my story could inspire others. I saw one person, years later, say my story inspired her to apply to her dream college. One person means the world. One person means everything to me. Inspiring one more person is my next goal, which I hope this letter will do.

So, I’ll lead by example and share my next dream: to be a published author. I’m saying it now with a mix of anxiety and deep knowing. The fear will arise, saying, “What if it doesn’t pan out?” It does scare me. I imagine your goals scare you, too. But I’ll say it proudly with a shaking voice. Will you state your goal with me? When your self-doubt creeps in, remember to say, “It’s okay, just keep giving your best. Keep trusting you have what it takes.”

I looked into my son’s worried face and said, “Then you’ll be a basketball player, baby. It’ll take effort, and you’ll need to practice daily, but I’ll train with you.”

“Can we practice now?” he asked.

Are you practicing and dedicating effort?

Do you have confidence you can achieve your goal?

I believe you can, and I can’t wait to see what you’ll do.

You’ve got this,
Rachael

Hollow

Dear younger Destiny……….. we did it
Thank you God
For this opportunity
The only time feeling empty
Is liberating
Is when you’ve got your own apartment

Hollow
Empty living room
Empty dining room
Empty bedroom
Empty bathroom
Hollow
Hello new space
Hollow
Hallelujah
Hollow
Never felt so good to be
Hollow

First time on my own
Might as well be a new home
I turn over leaves, As they turn over stone
New seeds are sown
No need to raise my tone
Hollow doesn’t have to feel alone

Hollow
Empty Walls
Empty Cabinets
Empty Closet
Empty Fridge
Hollow
Hello new space
Hollow
Hallelujah
Hollow
Never felt so good to be
Hollow