This is ME:
This page is meant to show you the parts of myself you might find interesting. I’m most interested in how I got here. Not to Substack, though there is a story to that, but here as a writer. The concept feels as big as trying to understand outer space, or the appeal of bread and butter pickles, or how the love interest’s teeth are never talked about in historical romances because they were probably rotten. Or missing.
And so instead of a rant on dental inclusion, I’m going to tell you about the time we were on a family vacation in Mexico and a karaoke machine. Though growing up I liked to observe versus being the center of attention, from the outside, performing always appeared to be magic and at an outdoor restaurant of a fancy resort, I had found my moment.
Deranged or possessed (same, same), twelve-year-old me thought it would be a good idea to sing “I Saw Her Standing There” by The Beatles. But singing oldies in the car back home with the actual Beatles drowning out my voice, was not the same as a microphone pressed too close to my mouth. The background track began—the tempo so much fast than I remembered—but I did not. I’d missed my cue and then attempted to jump in mid-verse as the song barreled on without me. I mumbled something incoherent, mortified by the sound of my voice.
My mother stood off to the side with a large encouraging smile, bobbing her head while she sang along. If my feet would’ve moved, I thought perhaps I should run. But before I could unfreeze myself, my mother stepped up and into my space—as she always did—and pulled the mic towards her so we could share, duet style. My voice shrank even more, embarrassed by her exuberance, the push/pull that happened with a tween and their mother, her interjection only intensified my shame. Her voice always so much louder, boulder, more than my own.
I never set out to write a book about my mother and our dynamic, though now it seems like the only choice there ever was. She was my first love and her death, my biggest teacher. Many spiritual teachers have said that our greatest wounding is often the path to our highest destiny. For most of my life, I was scared of my voice, and now, I share my spoken word.
What you can expect:
Short weekly episodes of my written and oral telling of Saved: A Memoir on Purpose. Within its pages, I gain space to breathe, stretch as far as I like, and unpack the process that led me here. And, In Conversation: Interviews about life with people I admire. (**On infinite hold**) Bi-weekly videos where I engage with my first loves—asking questions and listening.
If you want to find out more about my newest offering, Motherment, an embodiment container teaching mothers how to mother themselves and come back to self, click here.
