Hi, everyone. I wanted to come to you and let you know what's happening in my world right now. I launched a GoFundMe to help raise funds for me to buy my house. For those of you who don't know, I'm currently unable to work outside of the house and my editing business is really quiet. I also had to replace my car in the past year. All of this has led to me worrying that I won't have the needed funds to buy my house when the lease is up. Without those funds, I don't know where the cats and I will end up. 

I've been looking at my screen for probably ten minutes, trying to find the words to say what's in my heart this morning. This morning of my oldest son's high school graduation. I never imagined that I'd be one of those moms who had to fight tears just seeing her son in his cap and gown, but here I am. I am totally one of those moms and I'm not ashamed to admit that.

You see, just over 18 years ago, when my tiny 5 pound 6 ounce baby boy came into this world, I never thought the years would fly by as fast as they have. It feels as if I just closed my eyes for a moment and here we are. When I was a young mom, I'd chuckle to myself when people would tell me this would happen. How could 18 years go by in the blink of an eye? Yet somehow they have.

I've watched this tiny baby grow up into a young man who is taller than I am. I've watched him take on every challenge life has handed him head on. I've watched him make friends and then realize that not everyone will be nice to you. I've sat back and watched while he dealt with bullying because he needed to know how to advocate for himself, even though I wanted to go up to the kids and shake them. I've watched him make what I think will be lifelong connections. I've watched him go from one grade level to the next, watched him make that transition to high school, and now I get to watch him graduate with a diploma.

When he was younger, I was warned that him graduating with a diploma might not be possible. His disabilities may prevent it. Instead, I watched him work hard. I watched as he would go over things and then go over them even more to try to do his best. I watched as he took his love of sports that he couldn't play and turn it into 4 varsity letters for managing the very sports that he loves. Ben will never be one to be happy sitting on the sidelines. He's a fighter. He's a hard worker. He's one great guy and I'm so proud to be his mom.

I don't know how this...

Ben at an Early On party.

went to this...

Ben joined the Varsity Football team in 2016!

and now to this...

Ben at the 2018 Senior Breakfast.

But somehow it's happened and while 18 years is, in theory, a long time, I wouldn't go back and change one single moment of being his mom. Congratulations, Ben! I hope you know just how proud of you I am.

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So many of my friends are posting about how this is the last work day of 2017 for them. I love how some of them are posting how they're going to kick butt today and make it a great day at the office. For some, it isn't the last work day of the year but for all of us, it's the end of the year winding down in a hurry. As I look towards 2018, I wanted to take a few minutes and write down some goals for the coming year. I don't really do resolutions but 2017 was such a big year for us that I want to carry that momentum into the new year.

I have different goals for different areas of my world, so let's get started with a breakdown:

House:
1. Complete the downsizing and organizing of the downstairs.
2. Complete the downsizing and organizing of the landing.
3. Complete the downsizing, cleaning, and organizing of my bedroom.

Outside:
1. Clean and organize the barn.
2. Tidy up back deck.
3. Start preparing things for moving (packing up pots, etc)

Family:
1. Attend more things as a family.
2. Work towards both boys graduations.
3. Spend one on one time with both boys.

Writing:
1. Complete 2 full novels.
2. Set up a mailing list and have 1,000 subscribers.
3. Spend 1-2 hours each week learning things to help improve as an indie writer.

Personal:
1. Post on Welcoming Weight Loss at least 2x per month.
2. Work on plans for the "big move".
3. Be brave - this one isn't measurable but I know that there will be bad brain days and this goal is more about survival than about improvement.

So, there we go. I think all of these are attainable. I just need to find the focus that sometimes alludes me. I look at that writing goal list and I realize that I have a goal that I'm afraid to post. That tells me that it's a goal that's important to me and that's a good reason to get it added to the list. So...not so top secret writing goal #4: Make enough money from writing to replace the small amount of child support that I receive each month because it's going to be going away.

If you want to make your own goal list but don't know where to start, I want to recommend this great podcast/blog post done by Russell Nohelty. He doesn't know it, but he's kind of my hero when it comes to these things. Make sure you check out his site and his books.

Time for me to get to work!



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2017 is almost gone. Can you believe it? I know that I can't. It seems like just last week we were watching the ball drop and then the boys and I went back to playing games for a while before I chased them off to bed. But, here we are and since it's been a pretty big year around here, I thought that it was the perfect time for a year in review post. Positive things only because I don't think it's healthy for any of us to dwell on the negatives...just take what you can from them and move on. It's all any of us can do and remain (mostly) sane.

So, how did we do? Read on to find out!

Roger -
This kid had a pretty huge year. Back in the Spring, he was chosen not only for the Thornapple Jazz Festival All Star band, but also for the District 10 MSBOA All Star Jazz band. As if that wasn't enough, as soon as school was out, he attended the Aquinas Jazz camp and followed it up by leaving for Dominica less than 36 hours later. We both want to say thank you to those who helped get him there. It was an expensive trip and he couldn't have done it without his sponsors. While there, he helped remove fishing line from the coral reefs, went scuba diving, and studied invasive species which included catching and measuring tiny lizards and all sorts of things. It was an amazing experience for him and he still talks about it!

Since he's been back, he hasn't exactly rested on his laurels. He now has a job working at the local movie theatre, is an officer in Business Professionals of America, and is an honor student. As if that wasn't enough, he was/is leadership in his high school band and helped out a lot with marching band. Jazz season is upon us now and he's lead tenor in the high school jazz band. Perhaps most exciting for this Fall was his auditioning and being chosen to play with the Kalamazoo Youth Jazz Orchestra. Needless to say, he's one busy kid and this mom is a tiny bit relieved that he'll have his driver's license soon.

Ben -

Not one to let his brother look busier than him, Ben dove into working with the high school varsity teams again this year. He started the year with his second year of managing the varsity boys basketball team. It wasn't the most stellar of seasons, but his work running the camera for all of their games was highly praised. As soon as basketball wrapped for the year, he jumped right into working with the baseball team. It was a lot of hiking to the field, but he made some really good friends who helped out with rides and really enjoyed being outside and wearing the "infamous" duck hat. You'll have to ask him about that...lol

Summer came and found Ben working out at the YMCA summer camp, helping out in their kitchens. He really enjoyed it and learned some great skills that he can continue to hone. Once school came around again, Ben started his senior year. Yep, this kid is graduating this year! He worked hard with the football team, joined the Key Club, and helps out wherever he can. On top of that, he got to attend two Michigan State football games to cheer on his Spartans. We're back in the swing of basketball season and if he's not behind the camera, he's at practice encouraging the guys to work hard and to rebound.

Katrina -
As for me, I'm tired just writing about everything my boys did this past year. I know that I probably missed a few things too! As Ben says, "in all my free time", I was blessed to work with Nick and we published not one, but two books. Nick is an amazing storyteller and I am truly honored that he invited me into a universe that he created and said, "Here, it's yours now. Have fun." I'm incredibly proud of The Tether : None Good and The Tether : Except One. 

While most of my time belongs to getting the boys where they need to be or attending their events, I have also written a supplemental "novella" to go alongside books 1 and 2. In fact, with any luck, I'll be sending it off to Nick tonight for him to check out and to give me feedback on. I have some ideas for it that I'm hoping our readers will really like.

Looking back at 2017, my year doesn't look nearly as impressive as my boys, but knowing that I'm a big part of their years makes it all worth it. I'm looking forward to another "action packed" year. There will be more sports, more jazz, and more books and I'm thankful that I get to share those moments with all of you.





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Today I dropped off the youngest at Jazz Camp for the week and as I drove away, it struck me just how independent he's become. As soon as we'd collected his things from the car, he took off for the dorm and forgot I was even there in his excitement to reconnect with his friends from last year. After I gave him his things, he joined his friends and didn't even look up as I left.  Please don't get me wrong, he wasn't rude or disrespectful. He was ready to move on with this coming week. He was ready for this next mini chapter.

Tonight, idly looking at house listings, I started to wonder how ready I am. In 11 months, my oldest will graduate from high school.  He's nervous about it and I spent some time tonight talking about options with him. There's a local trade school especially for disabled people. They have a program that he might be interested in. I'll need to see if they do job placement or anything like that because if they don't, the program he's interested in is fairly useless.

Still, it got him thinking about changes too. He knows that after his brother graduates from high school, I have to move. We talked today about places I could move to. He asked me where I had friends because I don't have any here. He told me that he doesn't care where I move because it's my life and I have to be happy. It made me smile to hear such an adult thought come from him. He's growing up and I can no longer deny that both him and his brother are on the verge of adulthood. It won't be long before they'll be doing their own things and where will that leave me?

Creating a whole new world for myself.  For nearly 18 years now, I've been mom. That's been my role, my title, and my life. Soon though, I'll be having to make the tough decisions and trying to decide what's best, not for them, but for myself. In theory, I could move anywhere in the world. In reality, I think I'd better stay in this country..heh... That being said, there's a lot of country out there. I could stay nearby wherever the boys are. I could move somewhere random. There's also ...well, I don't really talk about this, but there's a man that I've fallen for and right now, circumstances outside of our control don't allow for us to be together, but who knows, maybe we might find ourselves in closer proximity.

That's a lot of well maybes, huh? There's also the question of what do I do with myself when mom isn't my full-time gig. I would really like to write and to make enough to be able to start paying off old bills. Wouldn't that be smashing? I think so. Of course, it means educating myself as to how to promote my writing better so that people know it exists. A friend on Facebook posted the other night that he met an author who makes about $60k a month (I think, a month was the time frame) but also spends $5-10k during that same time frame on advertising. That's a great return, but I have no way of investing that kind of money into myself. Is it possible to start the ball rolling without spending that kind of money? I have no idea. I guess that's where educating myself comes in.

So, here we are...about 2 years until I have to be moving on from where I'm at and a lot of decisions to make, a lot of work to do, and a lot of finding me that needs to happen before then.



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"People who have experienced trauma may associate the excitement of success with the same physiological reactions as trauma. They avoid subjecting themselves to excitement-inducing circumstances, which causes them to be almost phobic about success." -- Psychology Today

"The Jonah complex is the fear of success which prevents self-actualization or the realization of one's potential. It is the fear of one's own greatness, the evasion of one's destiny, or the avoidance of exercising one's talents. Just as the fear of achieving a personal worst can motivate personal growth, the fear of achieving a personal best can also hinder achievement." -- Wikipedia

Yesterday, I wrote a post about finding myself and in it, I mentioned how I'm the only thing standing in my way of so many things. Today, I woke up absolutely exhausted and immediately went into beat myself up/I'm worthless mode. I sat here feeling sorry for myself. There's no other words to describe it. When my body/brain says you need a down day, I get incredibly frustrated and I take it out on myself. A lot of us do that. We beat ourselves up over things that are outside of our control.

I'd love to tell you that I meditated or came to some brilliant conclusion that brought me here today, but the reality is that I noticed that I had Pinterest open in a tab so I decided to lazy scroll through things and see what I found. What I found was a whole lot of pins on writing and it reminded me of yesterday's post so here I am...after pinning about a dozen of them to go back to later.

If you know me well at all, you know that I write. I write stories, I write posts, I write diary entries in Word that may or may not ever be seen by the world. I write. It's what I do. It's what I've done for as long as I remember. It's what I want to do with my life. I want to write.

Seems easy enough, right? If someone said to me that they wanted to write, I'd say, "Then write." Except it's not that simple. Okay, the writing part is. Writing isn't difficult for me. Heck, hand me a notebook and a pen and I'll doodle and write all day long. It's the part that comes after that...what do I do with it once I write it? Do I file it away somewhere? Do I publish it? Do I tell anyone about it?

Just a few days ago, I got the Facebook notification that on this day a year ago, I published my first story on Amazon. I've gone on to publish something like 8 stories. In that year, I've never made enough off selling them to even receive a royalty payment. Why? Because I've been afraid to take the next steps. I have the resources. Russell Nohelty has a podcast all about building up your creative business. I'm part of at least one really good authors' group on Facebook. I'm friends (or at least Facebook friends) with multiple published writers.

So what's holding me back? Me. I am. I'm the problem. I'm terrified of what happens if I do this and I do it well. What will that mean for my life? What changes will there be? Just thinking about it has my anxiety flaring up. Then, there's the other side of it. I look around at the people surrounding me and I think "What's the point in even trying? There are so many people out there already doing this. There's nothing special about me or what I do."

I'm afraid of success and I'm afraid of failure. So, I do nothing. I write my stories and sometimes I post them and sometimes I don't. I write here and since it's mostly ignored by the outside world, I tell myself that it's a sure sign that my writing isn't any good. If it were, surely something I'd written would have gained traction by now. Is that the truth? Probably not. There are a million people out there writing the same  types of things on their blogs. There's no reason that mine would gain attention.

Still, I write because I can't imagine a life without doing it. This is part of me. I just have to decide if I'm brave enough to really show people what I can do and if I am, I have to start taking those steps. I know that I'm not alone in feeling like this and I hope that I'm not alone in whatever happens next.



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Sometimes something someone says gets stuck in my head and I can't get rid of it. It sits there, tugging at my thoughts, pulling at my emotions, until I give it the attention that it desires and perhaps the attention that I need to give it. After all, if it's there, it must be there for a reason, right?

In this case, a man that I was involved with a few years ago, perhaps more now, wrote me this rather horrible email to not only end our relationship but to end any association he had with me. Honestly, it was cruel and below this person, but that's not what this post is about. It's about what he said to me in that email that has hung around in my head for all these years and the fact that I'm finally at a point where I can deal with it clearly and without wasted emotion. After all, emotion is wasted on someone who was flat out cruel to you.

I'm not going to directly quote him because honestly, I have no desire to open that email. The gist of what he said was that I'm not me. I'm not someone who stands for anything or has her own beliefs. I'm merely someone who morphs herself into whatever she thinks the other person wants. I'm nothing more than a mimic.  Harsh, huh?

That one single idea has stuck with me ever since I read it and I wondered if it was true. Who am I? I'm reminded of this quote from the movie Music and Lyrics:

"Since then, every time I pick up a pen, I'm haunted by those words that he wrote, you know? "She was a brilliant mimic. She could ape Dorothy Parker or Emily Dickinson, but stripped of someone else's literary clothes, she was a vacant, empty imitation of a writer.""

Stripped of other people's interests and beliefs, who am I? You see, he was right in a way. I do tend to take on the interests of those I care about. Do I do it to define me? No, I don't think that I do. I do it to have more in common with them, to learn about new things. Rob is a perfect example of this and someone who, on the tiniest off chance that he ever read this, wouldn't care if I used him as an example.

Rob was/is very much into roller derby. Me? I knew next to nothing about it. When I'd visit him, if one of his friends stopped by, they'd sit and talk about it and I'd be left out because I knew nothing about it. I hated that. It was also something he was very passionate about so I wanted to know more. I downloaded and read the complete rule book. They teased me that the next thing they knew, I'd be some sort of official. The reality is that I never intended on playing myself or getting involved. I just wanted to know more. I'm still holding out for Rob to take me to my first bout.

Did I change myself into a derby girl because Rob was into derby? No. Some would point out that I did go and buy a pair of skates. I did. I still have them though due to illness, etc I haven't used them since right after I bought them. Skating is fantastic exercise and a lot of fun. It was something I could do on my own or go with Rob to do when I was visiting him. Was it because of him that I looked into it? Yeah, it was. Did it change anything? Not really.

So where am I going with all of this? I guess I'm going to the part where I say Stuart was right. Over the years, I've molded myself at times. My upbringing caused that. If I wasn't what was wanted, things happened. When I was with the boys' dad, that continued. Please don't misunderstand. He never raised a hand towards me, but he knew what buttons to push to get me to be or do what he wanted.

Then, I was on my own. I was no longer his wife. I no longer had an identity. I didn't know who I was. So, over the years since then, I guess I've explored options. With Rob, I explored the idea of skating and I discovered that it was something I enjoyed. I totally sucked at it, but I enjoyed it. With others, it may have been certain television shows or hobbies. Does that mean that I continued to morph? Perhaps, but only to the smallest extent. As someone who had no idea who they were anymore, what their interests were or what they wanted to do/be in life, it was a way to discover the answers to those things. I discovered that no matter how much someone else liked it, I just could not get into Buffy, but that I loved Doctor Who. I realized that I do kind of like certain types of science fiction. I found a tiny piece of me.

I tend to think of myself as one of those jigsaw puzzles that have 10,000 pieces and each time I discover something, a tiny piece slides into place. With enough exploration, I may find me again. I think that I started my container garden a number of years ago because Rob or someone was growing tomatoes and it gave me an additional connection to him. It also allowed me to discover that dirt therapy is really good for me. Does Rob still grow tomatoes? Heck if I know. I do know that right now, there are 8 plants on my front porch that I need to water later today.

There are also things that I do simply because they're a part of me. I love to craft. I've been making things since I was a child and while I don't do it as much these days it's not because someone has frowned on it. It's simply because I got in my own way and now I need to clear that out so that I can get back to it. Nick once told me that coloring is my therapy...crafting always was and I suspect it always will be. I can't draw but I can still create in my own way.

Which brings me to writing...another thing that I've done for as long as I can remember. In fact, if you asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I'd tell you that I want to write. It's another thing that I'm just plain getting in my own way of. Will I ever be famous for writing? Probably not. Could I be successful at it? Probably. It's my own fears that are getting in the way of that, but that's probably another post for another day. It's another one of those thoughts that have been bumping around in my head lately.

What does this all mean? It means that you may see me becoming interested in something that you do. I may try it out for a little bit. I may discover that I love it and stick with it. I may discover that it's not me and leave it. Either of those things is okay. The only way to truly discover if something is me is to try it. I'm not mimicking, I'm exploring and exploration is healthy. It's good.

In order to reclaim me, I have to find me.



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This past Saturday was a long one. Roger and I were up at 5am so that we could join his high school steel drum band at a festival for the day. The festival was pretty awesome and I'll share a link to the mass band performance at the end of this post, but that isn't what I want to talk about...I'm going to sit here and I'm just going to write about being a mom.

For the longest time, mom has been my primary title. It's been my world and my life. Those two boys have been my world and my life. It's only been in the past little while that I've started thinking about what I'm going to do when they're gone and living their own lives. I still don't really know but I am thinking about it.

On Saturday, I had expectations. I expected that this was an event that Roger and I were doing together. Except, the event really wasn't what either of us had figured it was. So, instead of spending the day with me, he spent it with his band and with his friends. He did pretty much everything with them. He sat with them. He had lunch with them. Since this wasn't my usual group of band kids, I wasn't invited to join them. I ate lunch alone. I sat in the bleachers alone. I watched them laughing and inside, a part of me hurt. I was happy he was having a great time, but it still hurt that I was on the outside looking in.

Still, there were those moments where he was completely my boy...he ran over to me to make sure it was okay that he spent $5 of the money we'd set aside for his band trip. During the concert, he was sitting on the opposite side of the gym from me and I realized that we were sitting in the exact same position. He'd make faces at me from across the room and I couldn't help but smile.

What's the point of all this you ask? Just that Sunday, after his dad had picked him up, I was sitting there thinking about the weekend and I realized something. The very fact that he was confident and comfortable enough to not need me on Saturday meant that I had done my job. He may not know how to sew a button back on but he's learned the skills that will help him become the man that he wants to be and the fact that he'll still make goofy faces at me from across the room means that no matter how old he gets, he won't forget he's my kid. With that realization, I was filled with peace and that, my friends, is a very good thing indeed.

If you'd like to check out the mass band performance, check out this video!


If you'd like to hear the HHS Steel performance, head on over to my YouTube channel where it's almost all kids, all the time.



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Last post I left off with the conversation that I had with myself on the drive home after a busy day. Today, I want to tell you about what happened after that....

I came to the conclusion that I think I knew all along. Once I cut away all the insecurity and all the garbage surrounding the truth, there it was waiting for me. It wasn't anyone's doubt in my abilities but my own. He didn't use me (or anyone else) because he didn't feel he needed to. He had the confidence in his work that I never seem to have in my own.

The review on Amazon for the book that I worked on with Nick was harsh but it was true. I didn't give the book the attention it needed on what should have been its second to last pass through. As I worked on the book, Nick repeatedly told me that it needed more of me in it and after taking the time to process the review, I think I finally understand what he meant. I tweaked his story but I didn't add to it. I didn't change it. It's still Nick's book with me making the most minor of changes, things that most people wouldn't even notice when reading it.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was completely calm and at peace with the situation. I had hope that no longer feeling the panicked anxiety that I had failed Nick on book 1 would allow me to get back to work on book 2. Wednesday is supposed to be my writing day, you see. It's the day that I have 3 hours set aside to do nothing but write. Except, that isn't what happened...

I looked at my bag where my writing notes live. I looked at the folder icon on my laptop. I did both these things but I couldn't go further than that. I was suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. I decided that perhaps the time had come to lay down and explore these feelings and to try to get to the bottom of the situation. Except, the oddest thing happened...I laid down on the couch, stared up at the ceiling and started working my way through things. What was the cause of the anxiety? That part was easy...

1. I "failed" at book 1. While people seem to like it, I didn't do my job to the best of my abilities and I let Nick and myself down in that.

2. Book 2 is supposed to be far more me. Nick has made that clear when we've talked about it. This book isn't supposed to just be me tweaking. It's supposed to be me adding things to it, changing it, and when I finish this book, I'm supposed to write a third book all by myself. I'm terrified of book 3. I don't know that I can do it.

3. See author in quotes triggered my ptsd. It brought back every moment when I was told that I couldn't do something and/or wouldn't ever be anything.

Except, as I laid there, I wasn't feeling any of the anxiety. I was laying there, completely clear minded as I went over everything in my mind. Finally, I asked myself one question, telling myself that whatever my first answer would be would be what I trusted. I asked myself, "What are you supposed to do?" and without second thought, I answered "Write book 2." I had total peace and no insecurities, no indecision, just peace that this is what I was meant to do.

What does this mean? Well, it could be a few things...

1. The anxiety over working on the second book may not be true anxiety but something I've taught myself. The only way to get over it will be to force my way past it and to just pull out the notebook, to open the file and and do something. It won't be easy but it will be something I do.

2. I've acquired a form of ...numbness when it comes to this. This happens to me in high anxiety/stress situations. I don't realize just how badly things are affecting me until I have some sort of physical manifestation of the stress. This first started happening to me when I was 19. It's called conversion disorder and it's not much fun. For me, it's happened different ways...I develop a cold spot in my chest, my hands go cold, one time I had a pain that raced down my left arm and for 3 days, my hand on that side was pins and needles as if I'd slept on it.

3. I have finally, on some level, accepted that this is what I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to write. I have stories to tell and I'm supposed to tell them.

If I really have to say, I'd say it's a combination of all three. Knowing that gives me power though. It means that the next time I have the chance to pull out my files and notebook, I will take a deep breath and I will pull things out. It may take me a couple of attempts to actually start working again on the book, but  I will start working on it again. I have an April 30th deadline. It won't be done by then and that's okay.



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Once upon a time, I probably lived without anxiety, without fear, without constant worries, but I don't remember that time. These things have been a part of my world for so long that they've become a part of me. I've lived with certain levels of anxiety for so long that to not have it starts a new wave of fear and anxiety.

Those are the thoughts that led to me writing this post today. No, those are some of the thoughts. There are times that my mind moves so quickly that i can't keep up with it. Last night wasn't one of those nights and that's truly what led to me sitting here now writing as if I'm sharing secrets with my closest friends....

Yesterday was a busy day. I had my first eye exam in about ten years. I wasn't nervous until they called me back and put me in a chair. Suddenly I was having to take deep breaths and to remind myself that it was only an eye exam...to fail it meant nothing more than getting a pair of glasses. I felt ridiculous for being anxious over something so small.

From there, I picked up my oldest and took him to his annual check up with his orthopedist. The appointment seemed to go too quickly and she has essentially released him from her care unless something happens. That led to another round of anxiety, especially when his stepmom questioned the entire thing. I had to remind myself that her office is only a phone call away and if I feel as if I need to go talk to her, I can go and talk to her.

After that it was picking up the youngest and waiting for him to get changed into his tux, taking him back to the school, helping a little bit with the concert set up and enjoying the annual Band-o-Rama concert. It was during this that I saw an instagram post that showed that I wasn't doing editing work on a comic that I had been 150% sure that I was. I was waiting on the file to arrive. It turns out that I misunderstood and there had never been an intent for me to work on the book.

My reaction scared me. There was the usual bit of hurt and such, but then something shifted. I took a look around the gym, at the kids rushing about to make sure everything was perfect and I just stopped caring about a comic.  For the next two hours, I didn't care. Instead of being wrapped up in my fears, insecurities, and anxiety, I was wrapped up in the music and what was happening in front of me.

It was after the concert, after I had dropped the kiddo off at his dad's and during the 30
 minute drive home that it all came back. I cycled between insecurity, being completely calm, and perhaps somewhere between the two. I had entire conversations with myself:

"He didn't use anyone. He probably doesn't feel as if he needs a proofreader/editor for comics, just for prose type things."

"Yes, but he said he was sending it to me."

"Yes, that's probably how you took his yes when you asked about seeing it that week, but that's probably not what he meant."

"What if he doesn't think I'm capable of doing it? After all, that one book review said I sucked as an editor and that a professional needs to look at it and fix it. What if he agrees with her?"

"And what if you acknowledge that you aren't perfect and that you rushed the second review of the book and didn't do a third like you usually do because you were more worried about disappointing him by missing the deadline than you were with your usual level of perfectionism?"

Yep, sometimes I'm pretty darn harsh with myself. Still, that last self was right. I didn't give it the third review that I do with all of my projects. I missed things. It's the accepting that it's okay that's the hardest. Anything less than perfection in this kind of thing isn't okay and I will be going over it again and sending it back in so that hopefully it can be updated.

Why am I telling you all of this? I don't honestly know. I think, more than anything, I felt the need to write, to share some of  this with someone.

There's more to this, but this post is long and perhaps it's better left to another post...




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Five years ago today I got the call that would lead to the end of something that had started 10 months previously. Looking back, I think I can say that it was the day that I finally lost myself after the previous 5 years of fighting to find myself again. I suppose that I ought to give some background so that this makes sense to someone other than me...

In 2005, Peter and I agreed that it was time for a divorce. In June 2006, the divorce was finalized. Memorial Day weekend 2017, I left the house that we had bought together and everything I knew to move to New York. To say that I was lost is perhaps the understatement of the century. I left behind everything I knew and in some ways, my very identity. For the 10 years or so before that, I had been known as Peter's wife. Since 2000, I had been someone's mom. There was no me outside of those two roles. I didn't have any local friends. The only people I socialized with were online.

For the next five or six years, I fought to figure out who I was without being someone's wife or mother. (Of course, I was still the boy's mom but I had made the heartbreaking decision to leave the boys with their dad because he had the job, the money, the insurance, and the location where all of Ben's team were located.) I missed almost an entire semester of school due to a depression so bad that it crippled me and gave me panic attacks whenever I tried to get into the car to go anywhere. I ended up in therapy that was mostly useless because the therapist decided that my entire issue was that I was lonely. I wasn't lonely, I was lost.

I did finish that semester of school by some tiny miracle, dropping most of my classes, and having some incredibly understanding instructors. I finished the following year as well and while it improved, I never really shook that depression. Later, I would be diagnosed as Bipolar II. I graduated with honors with a degree in Psychology and was once again faced with the idea of having nowhere to go. The people I had been renting from wanted me out and I wanted out. The atmosphere was unhealthy on almost every level. In the end, I decided to "come home". I needed to be back with my boys. I found a house to rent in Sunfield, about 25 miles from them. It wasn't perfect but it was at least within driving distance. I threw myself back into being their mother. I drove (and still do) every day to town to do homework with one or both of them. I went (and still go) to all of their events. This was a me that I knew.

Slowly, piece by piece, I recovered from losing the world that I knew and I started to build up a new one. I was finding me again. I started writing again. I started crafting again. I slowly purged the things that I had accumulated and that I really had no need for. I felt as if I had close friends, even if they again lived nowhere near me. I started working out and eating better. In fact, I think I lost close to 75 pounds and for the first time in a long time, didn't hate myself when I looked in the mirror.

My Grandparents

Then, my world started to crumble again. The only person who I had ever felt loved me unconditionally got sick and suddenly everyone was leaning on me for strength and acted as if I could somehow magically fix it. I should have been stronger. I should have said no, but I didn't. They knew what cards to play. They reminded me how she'd taken me in when my own parents didn't want me. Before I knew it, I was spending almost every weekend at her house cleaning, organizing, purging, sorting and with my poor boys in tow. It wasn't fair to me and it wasn't fair to them, but the guilt laid on me was too much for me to say no to.

I stopped working out. I stopped cooking because I was tired and stressed and I was starting to crack around the edges. I was trying to keep everything normal but nothing was normal and the guilt of the fact that I was dragging my children into it added to everything. Five years ago today, my grandmother died after being sick for 10 months. I'm not going to lie. I was glad. I was glad that she was no longer suffering and I was glad that it was over. Except, for me, it wasn't over.

For the next six weeks, my family would guilt me into going through ever box that had been packed and sorting it into things they could sell and things they could toss. I was exposed to their greed, their hypocrisy, and their selfishness. They were allowed to mourn but I was expected to work. During that six weeks, I was pushed to my breaking point and at the end, when I finally had the strength or perhaps the desperation to say no more, it was too late. I had lost myself again. I had lost myself and I had lost the few close "local" friends that I had thought I'd had. I went home and buried myself..literally.

Boxes and boxes of her things had made their way to my house either because I'd brought them there or because they'd been dumped there. On top of that, I had started to surround myself with stuff in a desperate effort to feel some sort of security. In the years that followed, it would only get worse. There are very few who know the true conditions that I was living in and in some ways, still live in. I wish I could explain how this was "okay" to me but I can't because it wasn't. The worse the house got, the worse I felt. The guilt, the anxiety, all of it overwhelmed me until I was crippled and frozen by it.

Five years ago, I lost myself again and I'm just starting to find myself. Some of you have seen the tag Reclaiming Me either here or on Facebook. That's a very real thing for me.  Just over a year ago, I started purging my house again. I've backslid at times and made huge strides at others. Eight months ago, Nick convinced me to work with him on a book series. When he brought it up in exchange for doing something for me, we both knew that it wasn't a fair deal but neither of us cared. I think he knew I needed to push myself, that I needed a challenge and as for me, I felt ready to take that challenge. Oh, I've had major bouts of anxiety and self doubt since that agreement, but I finished book one and it's had good feedback.

Five years is a long time and I'm not back to the place I was before it happened. I wish that I could say that I was, but I'm not. Every day is a challenge on some level. Today, I woke up and my power was still out because of a wind storm yesterday. I was cold, tired from waking up repeatedly because i was cold, emotional because of today's anniversary and while what I really wanted was to have a message saying I love you, I had one that felt harsh...harsher than it really was but a tired me is a vulnerable me. I'm not going to lie. I laid on the couch for an hour and just cried. The world felt like it was just too much for me. Just thinking about it has me in tears again. This morning I relived the loss of everything that mattered to me and it's still in my head... but I got up, changed into jeans, and drove to someplace warm that had outlets so I could recharge things in case there's still no power when I get home tonight.

Five years is a long time, but it isn't forever and today I'm a little bit stronger than I was then. Today, I got up off the couch. Today, I walked out my front door. Today, I wrote this. Tomorrow, I will write more. Two years from now, I will make a final decision on where I'm moving to and hopefully, I will have the courage to do it. I know where I want to be at that point. It's not just up to me though, but today, under the fear and the emotions, there is hope.



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Normally I would shrink down the images here to the "small" setting but I just can't with this one. I'm so incredibly proud of what that image represents that to shrink it would actually harm me. I'm sure you're thinking, yet again, that I'm a bit of a weirdo but that's okay. Let me explain what I mean...

That image is the cover to my very first book. Yep, I wrote a book. Okay, Nick wrote a book and then gave it to me and said it was mine now as much as it was his and to do what I wanted with it. So, after some serious nerves, I settled in and that's what I did. I tugged and tweaked, added a bit here, changed a bit there, and then gave it all back to him. He's taken it, formatted it, created this beautiful cover and is working on the publishing side of it.

When I first saw the cover yesterday, I nearly burst into tears because it's the fulfillment of a dream that I never thought would come true. It's one of those, if I were to die right now, I could die knowing that I did this. I was terrified, absolutely terrified, but I did this. I helped write a book and that's something I never thought I could do.

I can't remember a time in my life where I wasn't writing. By the time I was in middle school, I was writing poetry on a regular basis (and being envious of Kim Wisniewski because she got all the attention from classmates for hers) and it just grew from there. From the time my babies were in the womb, I told them stories. Still, it remained something private because like anything else I loved, I didn't think that I was any good at it. Years of being told I was stupid, useless, unwanted, lazy, etc had taken their toll and I rarely showed anyone anything that I wrote. Putting up my erotica pieces online helped with that a bit, but it didn't take long before people forgot that I even wrote them. I tried to be brave and followed a few people's advice and their belief that my writing was good and placed about half a dozen up on Amazon but in the 6 plus months that they've been up, I haven't sold enough for them to even send me a check.

Being a writer is hard. Being a writer who lacks confidence in her abilities can be crippling. When Nick asked me not once, but multiple times to work on this series with him, I thought he was crazy. It took him asking me multiple times over the course of a year for me to agree to work on it. I told myself that it didn't matter if I never finished, at least I would have stepped out of my comfort zone and tried. I had no idea how many areas of my world it would challenge me in.

If you were to look at the first five chapters, after my first pass at them, you wouldn't recognize me in them. In fact, I made an absolute mess of them. I spent those first five chapters fighting the anxieties that I would be a disaster at what I was doing, that Nick would see that I really couldn't write, and my dream of having my name on the cover would be destroyed. I can only imagine what Nick thought when I sent them to him. He never said anything though...simply I want to see more of you in this. He said that a lot as I worked through the 30 chapters that would become The Tether  - None Good. I want to see more of you in this. You can do this. You've got this. He wasn't overflowing with praise but every step of the way, I knew he believed in me. Knowing that saved me more than once as I fought my own shyness and nearly crippling anxieties to attend writing workshops and nanowrimo meetings.

The day I emailed him the final document, I so badly wanted him to be proud of me and to tell me that it was really good. I was proud of me. I don't often feel that way, but this time, I was proud of me. I'd overcome everything and maybe more of the words in the book were his than they were mine, but I'd had my "fingers" on every single one of them multiple times. This book truly is mine as much as it is his. It's my baby...my first and with someone I'm incredibly proud to be working with. Did he give me that praise? No, not really. He told me it was awesome work and asked about book two. That's him. Yep, good job, now let's start the next thing. He doesn't stop and he won't let me. I'm okay with that.

Then, yesterday and the cover...There it was. My name...and I was completely overcome with emotion. Sharing that image on Facebook and seeing him share it was like a dream. Then seeing people react and talk about how they want to read it, how they're just waiting to find out where/when..well, it just kept that high going. Every positive comment, every bit of encouragement and my insecure soul lapped it up. I had people offer to be beta readers and while I know that's not something we're likely to ever use, it felt really good to have people want to read it that badly. People believed in me and what I had done. They probably always have but I'm still insecure and worry. Nick will tell you that I worry far too much and need to shut off my big brain. He's right. I do and I do. It's a work in progress...

Then tonight something happened and I went from soaring high to crying in about 2 minutes.
Tomorrow I may see it as a silly little thing, but tonight it made me realize just how tenuous that pride and confidence about my writing really is. Suddenly I was questioning if I'd really messed something up and what if others read it and thought that it didn't work. Every horrible voice popped up in my head and suddenly I crashed.

Why am I telling you all of this instead of just saying omg, here's my book cover? Because I promised to be real with all of you. This book journey has had its highs and its lows and I wouldn't go back and change any of it. It's pushed me and I needed to be pushed. The past couple of days have shown me that I can do things, even if they're hard and scary. They've also shown me that I'm still pretty fragile in that oh my god I can do this department.  And you know what? That's okay. Life is a journey and each step forward is a good thing.

So, now that you've read through all of this...let me share with you the text that Nick included when he posted this image originally:

Yeah, I just had to show you again!

Something evil is stalking the streets of Baltimore, our only hope is the Keeper of the Tether - Sarah Taylor. The only problem, she doesn't want it and her only guide CT, the Grandson of the original Keeper wants it back. And there is a Demon, a Psychotic Killer and a secret society chasing them; all wanting the power of the Tether for their own nefarious plans. One bright spot, at least Sarah can summon an Angelic Guardian for protection, if she can figure out how to use the Tether. Watch the shadows as the battle for our reality is only just beginning...

The Tether - None Good is coming Easter 2017
written by Nick Davis of The Words & Art Of Nick Davis
And Katrina Roets of Katrina Roets - Author

Crazy, huh? That's me. That's my name. That's my little fan page. Of course, that's also Nick and Nick's fan page. I encourage you to like his. He does some really cool things. I think he also has a Kickstarter coming up so you'll want to be getting in on that if you can. Yeah, I know...I can't resist promoting someone else, but this someone else is pretty awesome. I promise I'm not just saying that because we have two more books to go or because I'm the editor on his other projects. He really is a great storyteller and talent. 

So what now? Well, now I take a few deep breathes and I get a firm grip on that feeling of excitement and pride that is still in there trying to fight past the anxiety and the fears. I take that and I smile because I did it. I did something I never thought I'd be able to do. Yep. Me. The girl/woman who was told she was stupid, that nobody would ever want her, that she wasn't any good at anything just proved every single jackass who ever spoke those words wrong, including myself. I did it. I helped write this book. I'll help write the next one and then I'm going to write the third one. Why? Because I can. I did which means I can.

As for all of you? Well, you keep your eyes and ears open for the official release date and the where to buy announcement.  I'll post it here, but if you want more regular book updates (I'm still getting used to this whole official author who needs updates thing), go hit like on my fan page. I post there about this far more often. Then, I hope that you'll try this book on for size and if you like it, let me know, write reviews, tell your friends, and maybe even buy book 2 when it's done and ready to go.

PS My next big dream is to have an actual book signing. Is that crazy or what?
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This is the photo that started it all.

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As some of you may know, I've been down and out with horrible, rotten allergies for the past two weeks. I could live with the congestion, but man, the pain is just too much. So what's a girl to do? She hauls herself off to urgent care in the hopes that they can give her something to make it feel at least a little bit better. That's what I did...and that's where this post begins.

Since I had to go grocery shopping anyway, I decided to go to the urgent care that's over near where I wanted to shop. I hadn't been there before and so I was a little bit surprised when they had me step on the scale in addition to all the usual tests. The number I saw there terrified me. I had suspected that I had been putting on weight again, but not nearly as much as that number showed. I am now at the highest weight I have ever been at. Then, when she took my blood pressure and that was also high, something just shifted inside of me. I have to do something. If I don't, I'm going to die. That may sound dramatic, but it really isn't. At the weight I'm at, my body has to work harder at every single thing it does. This puts wear and tear on everything...my heart, my lungs, my joints...and those things can wear out completely.

My doctor warned me back in August about my weight and my blood pressure. She wasn't particularly kind about it and it made me defensive.  This time, nobody said a word. They just showed me the numbers when they came up. Then, I spent a week thinking about those numbers and what they mean to me. Those numbers are the reason that I have trouble climbing up or down stairs. They're the reason I won't volunteer to chaperone trips with the boys. They're the reason that I have some of the health problems that I do.

The numbers scared me, but they got me thinking and for that, I'm thankful. For too long, I've let pride get in the way of me getting help in this area. I've never had a healthy relationship with food. Growing up, food was a sanctuary of sorts. My grandmother used food as a way to show us that she loved us. I never walked into that house without an immediate offer of being fed being made. As I grew older, food became either a way to fill the holes in my emotional world or a control object. Soon I hope to write an entire post regarding my relationship with food. This isn't that post.

This post is about the decision that I've made. Twice now, my doctor has given me a referral to the Sparrow Hospital Weight Management Clinic. Twice, I let get pride get in the way. I told myself that I've lost weight before and that it's not rocket science. I can do this alone. The truth is that I can't do this alone. When I'm doing it alongside someone, I do okay. When I have that accountability. The problem with that comes along when the other person meets their goal or they don't take the time/make the effort to be my cheerleader. When that happens, it's easy to make excuses and let things slide.

It's time to stop the cycle. It's time to get the help that I need to understand what it is that I need to do. If what that is equals therapy, so be it. If what that is means surgery to help my body start helping itself again, so be it. So, I made the courageous decision to attend a meeting next week at the weight management clinic. It's just an introduction to what they do there so I can see if it's the right fit. I suspect that so long as insurance covers it, I'll be going there on a far more regular basis and finding my way to healthy again. After all, I want to be able to ride roller coasters with my boys, to travel comfortably on trips, and most importantly to live a long, long life where I watch all my dreams and hard work turn into something amazing.

I've also made the decision to keep this off of social media for the time being. I'll be posting about it here and over on Welcoming Weight Loss as things happen and I treasure any support that I get, but this is a private decision and that on some level, I need to do for me on my own.




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I don't know how many people read my post earlier today, but this is a follow up to that. What I wrote earlier was based purely on anxiety and emotion and was logical in its own way, but not in the way it should have been.

I want to start out this post by thanking people for either giving me hugs, coming up with options, reminding me of legalities, or in the case of one just plain telling me that I was wrong.

Was I wrong? Not entirely. Like I said, there was some logic in how I was thinking. I really do love it here and don't want to lose this house because of my own hoarding issues. I'm also proud of me that I know that I deserve to live in a house that has things like hot water, something most of us take for granted these days.

Was I right? Not entirely. I never should have let the anxiety take over. I should have taken a deep breath, looked around at the work I had already accomplished, created a plan to deal with the rest and then contacted the owner of the house. I have a problem with overreacting before thinking clearly. I usually come around to the right side, but it's not always my first response to something. On top of that, I'm still forgiving myself for things getting how they were. So my instinct was to go into a mode where I felt ashamed and didn't want to let anyone in.

Nick was right. I was letting the anxiety make decisions for me and that isn't me taking care of myself. It's not me standing up for myself, even to myself.  I guess I'm still learning. I've come a long way but the journey isn't over and I know that I'm blessed to have someone who is willing to say hey, you're wrong. Even if it makes me defensive, it usually makes me stop and think too..because who likes being wrong?

So what's next? An email will be going out to the owner of the house about the water heater. She's always been good about getting things fixed when I let her know something was wrong. I need to keep working on shutting down the anxiety I feel about being on a month to month lease. I know we've been good about paying rent on time, we're rarely a problem and it is her responsibility to make sure the house is in livable condition.

After that? Well, I've started tackling the dining alcove. Who knows, maybe by the end of the weekend, it will be complete and the boys and I can sit at the table again to eat and play games. Won't that be a lovely thing? For now though, I have about 30 minutes before I have to go pick up the boys and I don't have a shopping list yet! Time to create one!




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The plumber came. The plumber went. Nothing is repaired. Why? Because it's worse than anyone realized. Someone installed shoddy plumbing and pipes need to replaced. The good news is that it's only for the kitchen drain, not the whole house. The water heater wouldn't light and the gentleman who came out only does line snaking. The furnace and water heater vent together and the vent is rusting out. The water heater is ancient...and on and on it goes..

I'm not going to lie to you. I'm currently sitting on my couch with tears running down my face. Not because any of this is impossible to get fixed, but because I worked so hard to get the house to a place where I could let someone come in to fix these things and nothing got fixed. On top of that, I posted my frustrations to Facebook and while I'm thrilled that a few people jumped in to remind me of leases and laws, I feel a bit as if I'm being lectured as if I don't know that I ought to contact my landlord when something breaks...I do know..but I haven't and I won't. At least right now, I won't. I can't.

You see, I'm a hoarder. Remember? Maybe my landlord can't remove me because an ancient water heater breaks, but she can if she doesn't feel as if I'm caring for the property and having to wade into a room isn't caring for anything. I've worked really hard these past few months and I have four rooms that are functional spaces (except for what's broken). That's huge progress and I'm proud of it..but it's not enough. If I call them and tell them there are problems, they'll send someone out...that someone could be a spy for them. I know that sounds paranoid, but it's happened before. Until this downstairs is 100% , I cannot let them in here.

And it's hard...it's so damn hard. Everyone is acting as if I can't take care of myself, as if I'm not taking care of myself and they don't understand. I'm trying to protect myself. I'm trying to fix things. I'm trying to undo years and years of trauma and habits to reclaim my world, to make things better. This isn't about the fact that I don't know the owner should handle these repairs. This isn't about me not knowing my rights as a tenant. This is about me. It's about me trying to fix me. It's about me having the space to do those things and I can't do that if I'm sitting here worrying that someone might report back to her that the place is a disaster. The bipolar brain looooves obsessive thoughts, after all.

So yes, if me paying a plumber god knows what to replace a section of pipe will buy me some peace of mind then I'm going to do it. Is it going to frustrate me that some owner in the past 100 years went with cheap fixes instead of proper repairs? Hell yes it is. I hate half assed done things. Are there going to be tears? Yep. Sometimes I just need to cry out the frustration and the feelings of being ashamed so that I can reset and go on to tackle the next thing.

I say this to remind myself ....I can do this. I am doing this. I am being the change I need within my own world and if people don't understand, all I can do is try to help them to. I know people think I'm crazy (and I am..it's been certified, check my medical records), but this is what I need to do for me. Who knows...maybe I'll whip through these last 2 downstairs spaces and then be comfortable contacting the owner. Maybe I won't. I need to do this in my time to prevent setbacks.

I'm working hard at this and what I need is for people to try to be understanding that if I don't do things the "normal" way, there's probably a reason for it. I haven't been as public about some of my issues as I have about others, but one by one, I'm knocking down mountains and support is always appreciated. Remember those goals that I posted yesterday? Today is another day to chip away at them.



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