Dear Bestie,

I get it. I do.

You’ve been my ride or die since I chickened out from going to the school of Journalism school at the University of Missouri back in the day. Circa 1998.

You held my hand as I decided on that High School English Teacher thing instead when I ended up pregnant at age 21.

You never left and bought a front row ticket to watch as I became a single mom of 4 little girls by the time I hit age 26.

You were there when we walked across that stage to get that degree, 8 months pregnant while my 4-year-old, 3-year-old, and 18-month-old daughters watched as I waddled across that stage.

You never left.

You told me it was ok when I got that D in Shakespeare.

You stayed with me all the way through. My loyalty to you mirrored the loyalty you showed me first. Please know I’m forever grateful.

While teaching teenagers to write, you encouraged me to focus on the Mommin’. It was easy to stay a small-town writer—just a few FB posts here and there and a Substack or two.

Chapter after chapter turned into more than a single book over the course of all those years busy with Mommin’ on the solo.

It’s now 2025, and you’re still here. And I accidentally somehow turned 45. The halfway point.

The 3 oldest daughters, now 23,22, and almost 19 in college and 1 with her own degree, while the youngest, now 18, has only 4 months left before high school graduation as the class valedictorian. The last to leave the nest as she heads to Mizzou at summer’s end.

We always told ourselves, you and I, that I was too busy to write for real. And here we are now, with just a few months left before that excuse no longer pays rent.

Somewhere along the way, I uncovered your real name.

My bestie.

First name: Fear.

Middle name: Writing.

Last name: Books—with a handful of words in between

Fear of Writing the Books. All of them.

But the thing is, I’ve lived with you so long that somewhere along the way I’m no longer scared of you.

I realized that my best friend, Fear, had molded me into the writer I’ve become—a writer whose name I never believed would appear on a book.

Somewhere along the way, fear becomes the thing that refines a girl and makes her better.

Fear becomes the key to unlocking what’s inside you.

The one who is the Creator put that thing into your heart.

The One who placed a girl like me on this earth at this specific time in history to create, produce, and contribute to her people in her places. To use words to help others in their becoming.

I want you to know I am so thankful for you. But the time is here. It’s time to let you go.

I don’t need you anymore. Truth is, I’m a small-town girl, and it wasn’t easy raising 4 little girls on the solo on a teacher’s income, but I did it. And now, it’s time to write.

I needed you for the first 45. I needed a bestie like you. A someone to do life with. To grow me. To help me become.

I made it out of that small-town mentality—the one that holds a girl with a pen hostage. The one that silences dreams too soon.

It’s time to step into who I’ve spent years accidentally becoming—and fully own all that I now am.

I’m done pretending the words I’ve been writing all these years were simply words without an audience.

Words written but never read.

Truth is—the next 45 years is enough time to write all the words for all the people who need to read them.

Those held hostage by their own fears in need of unlocking.

Turns out I’m the owner of the keys. It’s up to me to have the guts to share the words given to me with others in desperate need of the keys given to me in the currency of words.

Fear isn’t the enemy.

Sometimes, she just needs space to help a girl to become.  

With Love Always,

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