My First Attempt at Writing… So Here Goes
Can I take you on a journey of discovery with me?
I’ve been told that I spend too much time reflecting, questioning, trying to make sense of things. And honestly… sometimes I exhaust myself with that need—to go deeper, to understand more, to find meaning in people and in life.
But I’ve always been this way.
I’m deeply curious about people. Their stories. Their scars. Their bruises. And all the beautiful, messy, meaningful parts in between.
Truthfully, my favorite part of being a therapist is sitting with someone’s story—helping them make sense of where they’ve been and where they might be going.
I grew up believing that we are all unique, created in God’s image. And I still believe that.
But over 50+ years of life—and through meeting so many different people—I’ve also come to realize something else:
We are not as different as we think.
No matter where we come from, what we believe, what we’ve experienced… at our core, we share the same human emotions.
We all know sadness.
We all know fear.
We all know longing.
The stories may be different, but the feelings are the same.
And maybe that’s where our deepest connection lives.
So I guess it would be helpful to tell you a little bit about myself—and why I’m wanting to write.
Overall, I had a mostly ideal childhood. I grew up in a small town, went to a private Christian school, had a lot of friends, and a strong sense of family. There were three of us—my sister, my brother, and me. My parents divorced when I was very young, but my mom remarried quickly, and that brought a sense of stability and security to our home. We added 2 more siblings to our family, a step-brother and sister. Our step-brother became a part of our family permanently about a year into their marriage and our step-sister would visit for extended times throughout our childhood and then eventually moving in with us during our teenage years. The dynamics added an additional stress to our family.
Our stepfather was a good man in many ways, but he lacked emotional presence. Over time, I came to understand he was a high-functioning alcoholic. It created an undercurrent in our home—an energy you had to learn to read. Some days felt steady, and other days required tiptoeing around moods and tension.
But the center of our family… was my mom.
She was our anchor. Our safety. Our love. She stayed home with us, raised us, and created a life that felt warm, connected, and full. She was everything to me.
At the same time, I was a very sensitive child. I struggled with severe asthma and allergies and had a near-fatal incident when I was young. That experience left something in me—a quiet but constant awareness that something bad could happen at any time.
I also carried a lot of fear around death.
Growing up in a Christian school gave me structure, values, and a sense of belonging—but it also instilled a fear of dying, of getting it wrong, of not making it to heaven. I was a “good girl.” I followed the rules. I believed deeply.
And underneath all of that… was fear.
Fear of death – mine or losing my mom.
Fear of something happening to the people I loved.
Fear of what came after this life.
Looking back, it makes sense. When your sense of safety is tied so closely to one person, the idea of losing them becomes unbearable.
And that fear stayed with me into adulthood.
This blog—and what I hope will eventually become a book—is really about that thread.
It’s about death and dying.
It’s about what we’ve been taught… and what we come to question.
It’s about expanding belief systems beyond what we were given.
Because everything I thought I knew began to shift with the unexpected death of my mother in my 40s.
Losing her was the hardest thing I have ever gone through.
And yet… her death didn’t just break me open.
It opened my eyes.
It pushed me to question everything I believed about life, death, and what happens after we leave this world. It led me to explore spirituality in a way I never had before—not as a rejection of religion, but as an expansion of it.
I want to be clear—this is not about bashing Christianity or any religion. My faith was a source of comfort and grounding for much of my life, and parts of it still are.
But this journey has become something bigger.
More open.
More inclusive.
More rooted in experience than doctrine.
Through my grief, I began making meaning of death in a different way. My heart, my mind, and my understanding of the world expanded.
I started to see death not just as an ending… but as something else.
Something we don’t fully understand.
Something that, in its own way, can even be honored—held with both pain and a sense of something deeper.
So this space will be for all of that.
For self-discovery.
For meaning-making.
For exploring the questions that don’t always have clear answers.
Some of the themes I’ll be diving into:
religion vs. spirituality
death and what may come after
“is the woo true?”
moving from fear to freedom
tools that have helped me along the way
and how we might stay connected to those we’ve loved and lost
This is not meant to be perfect or polished.
It’s just me… putting something honest into the world.
And if any part of it resonates with you, then maybe we’re walking this journey together.
I’ll begin with my own story—how I found myself moving from fear to freedom.
But first… we have to start with the fear.
Next post: Mauled
