Hey you! yes you!
The girl in the dark with trembling hands.
Who never believed she’d one day stand.
Who looked at her reflection and turned away,
Thinking, “No one could love this mess anyway.”

You wore your silence like second skin,
Screaming inside, too afraid to begin.
You broke in secret, stitched with fear,
Hoping no one would see you here.

You begged for crumbs and called it a feast,
Let pain lay beside you and never released.
You gave away pieces to feel some worth,
But lost more of you with every hurt.

I see you now…
Sitting on bathroom floors, knees to your chest,
Whispering, “I ruin everything I touch at best.”
You hated your past, you hated your name,
But girl, you were never the one to blame.

They lied.
You were never too much.
You were never not enough.
You were fired at while under pressure, a diamond in the rough.
You were the scream that never got loud,
The warrior wrapped in a funeral shroud.

But listen to me—
You didn’t die there. You rose.
With scraped-up knees and tear-stained clothes.
You birthed a life from broken bone,
You turned a motel room into a loving home.

You let go of poison, picked up a crown,
Watched dead-end roads start turning around.
You love a man who’s been through war,
And you mother a child you’d die for.

So to the girl who thought she’d never heal,
Who wondered if anything she felt was real…
Look around.
You built this life. You clawed from the pit.
And God? He never gave up on you not one bit.

You are worthy. You are made of so much more.
You are what you fought for.
So I write to you with shaking hands,
To say, “You made it… just as God had always planned.”

And I promise you now with breath and grace,
Your story will never be a thing to erase.
You’re not just enough—
You’re the reason I’m still here.
I love you forever,
Through every scar, every tear.

Love,
Me — The Woman You Fought to Become

Dear Big White House,

With your creepy hideouts and shadowed stairwells, I never thought I’d speak to you again. Your memory has been a silent echo, a place I locked away because the truth felt too dark to touch.

I always hated being the last one upstairs. Turning the light off at the bottom terrified me. A part of me felt constantly watched. I felt afraid while living there, especially at night. It sucked to be alone and afraid many nights, which is why I’ve always had trouble sleeping. I’m living proof I’ve never had a secure attachment. I learned to disassociate early. So many bad things happened, but that was just my normal. Disassociating allowed me to speak freely with the thoughts in my head, even in the craziest moments. It was a lifeline.

It was easy to fake a smile, pretending everything was okay, but I questioned it. I’d tell others what they wanted to hear to avoid the worst. Yet, it was never enough to keep me safe. I’ve felt on the run my entire life, not realizing I was running from myself. The past haunts me, but I don’t mind. Some things I shut away for a reason; things got pretty dark.

I’ve learned I can speak openly about anything. Yet some emotions I’ve not yet felt, and I struggle to cope. I’m still learning how to feel things authentically. There’s no right or wrong way to feel, so I go hard for my inner child. She was just a kid, carrying the brunt of so much hurt. This is me letting you know it’s okay for you to tell your story; I’ve got your back. Just use your words, and I’ll use my emotions to guide you through. I can’t go back, but I can show up and be a better example. I couldn’t protect you then, but no one could stop me now!

It’s okay to question your caregivers. It’s okay to use your voice and speak up. Even when scared, you can still be brave. Your story is yours. I’ve got your back, no matter what! I know how it feels to be alone, so we’ll get through this together.

So anyway, back to the story. People came over, and all the teens went upstairs. Teenagers can be very curious. The truth or dare game took a questionable turn. I wasn’t the oldest, but I was the most observant. It started with simple things like prank calls, texts, and crushes. Nothing was exactly happening, but I felt like I invited myself into something unexpected. How did we go from harmless fun to discarding clothes and asking obscene questions? I was curious, yet uncomfortable, specifically about how it would affect us mentally.

No one’s ever spoken about it again. Am I finally facing a core moment of my adolescence? No, I didn’t engage, but I was afraid of what would happen if I left. Other teens I cared about were in that room, so I stuck around despite my discomfort. Is it okay to experience uncomfortable moments with people, yet still feel oddly safe?

This memory has come and gone throughout the years, so I felt it was time to put my experience into words. Yes, I avoided harm; I felt I lost my right to choose. An apology or simple acknowledgment would have been enough, but everyone just went about their lives. I’m closer than ever with a few; others are always excited to see me. I’m not sure how to process that. It’s cool we’re older, but what does this ultimately mean?

You were a place of shadows, Big White House, a crucible of fear and uncomfortable truths. But you also taught me to be observant, to listen more than talk, and to reserve my energy. My voice, once silenced by your shadows, has broken down barriers. It’s more powerful than I ever thought, and I feel freer now.

My resilience stems from my determination to give my inner child everything she lacked, but love and kindness weren’t among them. She has the biggest heart and still loves unconditionally despite all the hurt. Spoken like a survivor who thrives no matter what comes my way. I can handle it; I am wired for this! Life can be confusing, but it’s up to you to keep pushing forward. No one else will do the work. You got this! My story is indeed mine to tell, and it’s a story of choosing bravery, speaking up, and never abandoning the child I once was. And for that, I thank you for the lessons you inadvertently taught me.

Dear Barringer,

You gave me so much. Barringer, you gave me love. Barringer, you gave me peace! I know God was there and you would care for me. Barringer, you showed me how to be a woman. Barringer; I learned to survive. Barringer, you showed me one of the most important things. Oh Barringer, you took me in, you kept me warm. Barringer, you showed me so many things and how I needed to perform. You gave me so many tasks. I wasn’t sure what I was able to do. Barringer, you showed me a life and then where I could come home to. I’m here and you told me all the mistakes I made as a mother, as a wife. Even when I struggled, you showed me a place where I knew I belonged. Through the right or the wrong, you were there. I put up a fight and I knew it was worth to fight for. You help me through. I’m so glad I got to be here. I’m so glad I got to love you so, no matter what I am going through and no matter what I see I’m glad you were there. Through parenting, through wifing and through journeys of love. Knowing that joy. I love that I experienced peace. I find it because that’s what God allows me to have. In a place where I find so much. I AM thankful because it is a place where I learned, and found finally that I love me!!!

Forever Grateful,
ME

Dear Teal Lake,

I couldn’t tell just how much you had changed. All I have are some brief memories of standing in your waters and boating with my father over your glassy surface during annual vacations from sixty years ago. That was before anyone knew just how sick he was. Lung cancer claimed my dad shortly after I turned eight-years-old. I had no clue what the ramifications of losing my father would be. Looking back, I see them all too clearly now.

He would have been the magnetic north I needed for my life’s compass to work properly. Without my father, I was all over the map. No guidance. Questionable choices. Poor decisions. General unhappiness. Culminating in hitting rock bottom. With the support of friends, I started over. My wife took a chance on me as a reclamation project. I’ve done my best to validate her decision.

My mother never took me back for a Teal Lake vacation. She was even more lost than I was without my father. My mom was either unwilling to make the six-hour drive back to you or afraid of the memories awaiting her. Perhaps both.

But I never forgot about you and longed to return to your shores, maybe to glimpse ghosts from my past. Over the decades apart, your popularity waxed and then waned. Today, your resort business is just a shell of what it once was. They filled in the pool with dirt rather than water. Nature has reclaimed the golf course. The barn with the mounted skull of the 24-inch Northern Pike that I caught as a boy collapsed long ago. But you were still there, awaiting my return. My wife and youngest child indulged my flight of fancy and agreed to a vacation in one of the few rental cabins left on Teal Lake.

No ghosts and few memories greeted me as we explored the property along your shore. The best option seemed to be to make some fresh memories, and so we did. The property exuded tranquility. Sunsets were glorious. Your water inviting to slide into or glide across by boat.

There was one special moment after an hour swim out to Raspberry and Bird Islands and back that I’ll never forget. Exhaustion and exhilaration consumed me as I laid back in your waters and floated. I stared at the clouds overhead as they seemed to come closer. Were they were coming down to envelop me, or was I was rising toward them? I sensed definite movement, and a rendezvous with the clouds seemed very real and imminent.

It’s funny how your senses can deceive you. I decided against being swallowed by the clouds and perhaps being magically transported to a parallel universe, an alternate timeline, heaven, or a rural pig farm — my idea of hell. After I blinked and looked away, I found myself still on my back in your water with those mischievous clouds far up in the sky. I felt content to be right where I was with chapters, or at least pages, still to write in my book of life. With new memories of Teal Lake to complement the old, faded ones.

Fondly,

Snow on the ground
Chill breeze in the air
Footprints in the mud
Birds flying gracefully in the sky
I sit on the bench overlooking the lake
The bench that sits alone
Surrounded by metal barriers
Near the clear waters
Looking into the distance
I calmly relax the body
The body that
Walked around the lake
The body that
Cautiously walked on icy paths
The body that
Inhaled the fresh crisp air
The body that
Needed the rest
Rest from feeling
Rest from carrying the weight
Of the world
Rest from thinking
I sit on the bench that
Wrapped its arms
Around my body
The bench that
Accepted every part of me
Every part of my story
Every part of my healing
The bench that
Let me know
I was safe
Safe from the world
Safe from the hurt
Safe from all
That was holding me down
Snow on the ground
Chill breeze in the air
Footprints in the mud
Birds flying gracefully in the sky
I sit on the bench
And cry
Cry for the little girl
Who needed love
Who needed assurance
Who needed guidance
Cry for the woman who
Is finally free
Free from the pain
Free from the enemy
I get up from the bench
And walk away lighter
Than when I sat
I walk away
With my head held higher
I walk away
With love
With dignity
With respect
With purpose
The bench that sits alone
Will forever feel like home.
– Lynx Lake. Prescott, Arizona.
The bench that changed my life. Put my healing journey in perspective.

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Dear Unsealed,
Dear Surgeons and my Primary Doctor,
April 2022 marked a turning point in my life. My battle with COVID in January 2021 wasn’t just a fleeting illness—it lingered, wreaking havoc on my body long after the virus itself had passed.
One night, in unbearable pain, my roommate dropped me off at the ER at Riverside Community Hospital. The pain in my abdomen and throughout my body was excruciating, yet they left me suffering in the lobby. Struggling to breathe, I finally convinced them to let me lie down.
When a nurse finally took me back, I underwent countless invasive X-rays, each one adding to my discomfort. The results were alarming. My stomach was dangerously close to my heart, and my gallbladder was so infected that it had become gangrenous, leaking green bile into my abdomen. The doctor told me, in no uncertain terms, that without surgery, I would not survive.
The weekend passed in a blur as I lay in a hospital bed, hooked up to IVs, receiving hydration and antibiotics. Early Monday morning, they wheeled into a surgery that was a procedure that lasted for hours. When I awoke in my shared hospital room, a kind (and very handsome) nurse gently turned me, and through my pain, I joked, “You can turn me anytime.” The dude was alright!
Recovery was brutal. The pain was beyond anything I had ever experienced, a 25 on a scale of 1 to 10. I spent over a week in the hospital, and when the surgeon recommended rehab, I initially resisted. But once I realized how difficult even the smallest movements had become, I knew I needed help.
Before this, I had never undergone major surgery, save for two cesareans in the ‘80s and a broken finger surgery back in 1964. This experience changed my life completely. COVID was not just an illness, it was a cruel bacterial infection that ravaged my body.
When I finally returned home, I had new challenges. My body was weak, and the pain was relentless. I relied on a walker to move around, and even minor tasks, like preparing my liquid diet, felt monumental.
Before COVID, I walked eight miles a week. Now, walking to the mailbox and back feels like an achievement. The transformation was something I never could have prepared for. My diet had to change entirely. Gluten and lactose were my new norm, and worst of all, I had to say goodbye to red meat. No more In-N-Out burgers. It took two years of trial and error to figure out what I could eat without getting sick. Every grocery trip was a painstaking process, reading labels to avoid hours of misery.
Everything about my life from 2021 to now is unrecognizable. We, as human beings, are not invincible. Life is not just lollipops and ice cream. We are not gods. My lifestyle flipped 180 degrees because of circumstances I never saw coming.
In 2023, at the urging of my therapist, I returned to writing. It was a way to reclaim my mind, even when my body felt foreign to me. Adjusting to my new limitations was hard and accepting financial instability was even harder, but I push forward, even when the odds seem stacked against me.
I miss my long walks, my metro rides across Southern California. Losing them hurts my pride, my dignity, my sense of self. But life does not promise us roses without thorns, nor roads without pebbles.
And despite it all, I carry on.

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