April

On Now: Release, imposter syndrome, and poetry as an act of love

April was squeezing every last minute out of the daylight and forgetting to eat dinner and running outside with my son to look at the moon. It was the last of the flowering dogwood and first blooms of the heirloom irises. It was walks in the rain and lingering hugs and getting a story published. It was the first firefly and showing up in my friend’s bad mushroom trip to give him permission to rest. It was street fairs and mountain music and tiny cafe shows with my son in my lap. It was struggling not to bury my needs and my art for the pressures of work, of making a living. It was trying to let envy show me what I want and what’s possible rather than allowing it to make me feel small. It was backyard barbecues and bright Chimichurri sauce and watching the people I love live out their dreams. It was my son pulling poetry books from the shelves and saying, read me a poem, mama. It was guiding women through writing prompts and questioning myself every step of the way like I don’t deserve to do this. It was a total eclipse during a work meeting that ended up leading to nothing and remembering that some things aren’t worth sacrificing. It was my neighbor crying on the phone cause her father died and wishing my own didn’t live states away. It was manifesting the things I wanted and then feeling guilty and filled with grief for getting them. It was wishing on dandelions and belly laughs and double rainbows two days in a row. It was hosting family from Michigan and England and California for most of the month and talking in my book-lined living room until 2am. It was my son being so used to people coming over that he’d ask who’s coming over today? and me questioning whether our quiet little life in the blue mountains is enough for him. Is it enough for us?

WHAT I’M READING

The Giver of Stars by Jojo Moyes

This book had a slow start for me, taking quite a while to get through the first hundred pages. I'm generally not a fan of Depression-era settings, which might have contributed to my initial struggle. However, once I got past that, I found the book utterly engrossing. It's a historical fiction piece centered around the 1930s Horseback Librarians program in Kentucky, initiated by Eleanor Roosevelt. The program aimed to deliver books to the isolated communities in the Appalachians, enriching and educating those who lived there. The hardships these women endured to distribute literature were compelling enough to keep me turning pages. The emotions of grief, longing, and the quest for belonging were so vividly portrayed, they seemed to mirror my own life in ways well below the surface. And there's a palpable sense of claustrophobia threading through the narrative that made my stomach ache and had me squirming.

The romance in the story felt a bit cheesy, but I found that occasionally, a little cheesiness is just what's needed. Not everything in life has to be dark and serious. Lately, I've been welcoming more playfulness and lightness into my life, and this romantic thread really hit the mark. 

What truly resonated with me was the portrayal of intimate relationships—between friends, lovers, and family. My heart was in my throat. Outside of sex, I struggle with intimacy—being seen, being cared for, being held. This book made me question these fears and had me wondering, what am I so afraid of?

POETRY

WHAT I’M WATCHING

Elvis

I finally saw the Elvis movie with Austin Butler. The trailer made me cringe in terms of the lighting and production so I wasn’t in a hurry to see this one even though I’m a massive Elvis fan and have seen just about every Elvis movie there ever was—good or bad, and most of them have been bad. I thought maybe I’d skip this one altogether seeing as I don’t have a ton of time for film these days, but then I heard Austin Butler speak in an interview with Timothée Chalamet about filming Dune, and I was completely won over. I figured who cares if the movie sucks, I just want to hear his voice, especially as Elvis. 

The first half of the film was almost nauseating with its camera motion and visual dramatics. It felt like it was trying to tell two stories at once, making it hard to focus on either. Eventually, the story gained some depth, though it strayed far from the facts. I wouldn’t really recommend this film unless you just want some eye candy then yeah, go for it, because damn, Austin Butler can really move and talk like Elvis and it’s sexy as hell.

SPRING, LETTING GO, AND BECOMING

Art vs. Money vs. Motherhood

So much has happened this month that I feel hollowed out in ways that have challenged every part of me, in ways I wasn’t prepared for. For starters, my mom moved out. Are we ever truly ready to let go of the ones we love? (I’ll explore this more in a future Substack post). Also, remember how last month I lost a big chunk of my monthly income yet felt stable and hopeful about it? Well, the fear has returned, devouring any sense of trust or contentment I had managed to cultivate. It's disrupting my sleep and stifling my creative freedom. Whenever I find time to work on my novel, my mind is overrun with voices insisting that I focus on making money right now, not art. They argue that my art can't possibly support my family’s need for not just security, but abundance. Stop writing your silly scenes that no one will ever read, that you will never finish, because you have to take care of your family, you have to make a living. For god's sake, grow up, will you? So, naturally, I’ve barely written this past week. Who could write with their inner voice constantly pummeling them with fear? 

I've been trying to find my way back to trusting both myself and the universe, but the journey is long and, at the moment, feels like an uphill climb. Do I love myself enough to allow myself the time to do what I love? Or do I put my head down and focus solely on what it takes to make money? Can I manage both? Is it possible for art, motherhood, and financial abundance to coexist?

I’m going to find out.

On meeting and raising my son

My son will turn three in July, and every day I witness him embodying the person it took me thirty years to become. He intuitively prioritizes his needs, wants, and dreams. Each morning, the first thing he does is put on a record, grounding himself in music and slowing down time to connect with what calls to him. His choices vary—Elvis, The Beatles, Joan Jett, Stevie Nicks, Diana Ross, Dylan, and sometimes artists I've never even heard of. He knows himself and his mood and aligns art in a way that fills and fuels him.

This ritual started before he could even sit up on his own. I’d take him downstairs each morning, lay him in front of the record player on a blanket, and we’d listen to one side of a record together. I'd switch records every other day, sharing stories about the artists. As he grew older, I surrounded him with books and he’d read his while I read mine until the record finished. Once he began to crawl, he made his way to the record player and took over, having watched me operate it countless times. By eight months old, he could precisely drop the needle, knowing exactly where his favorite songs were on each record. 

Like me, his first great love was music, and then books followed. 

I've always maintained strict boundaries regarding screen time for myself and upheld these in raising my son. While nursing, I never used my phone; instead, I read him poetry and beautifully crafted books like Rebecca Solnit’s A Field Guide To Getting Lost. He absorbed the power of language before he could form the words himself. As he got older, I’d read poems during breakfast, and bedtime could stretch for hours with the stories in all of his books. We still read poems daily, and now he reads them back to me in his own language, running his finger along each line as I do, and it’s all so goddamn beautiful. Just yesterday, he told me, “I read those poems to you because I love you,” and I swear my heart exploded. 

Being his mother feels like a dream. Most days, I wake up questioning the reality of it all. Then I hear his little voice when he wakes up, “Mama, I missed you,” mirroring my own morning greeting to him. I miss him even as he sleeps, and even when he’s beside me because each day he is both himself and someone new as he grows into who he’s meant to be, growing into his future self. What a magical experience to get to meet him and love him over and over again.

Imposter syndrome (Do you really have to do the scary thing?)

I recently hosted a spring journaling event with my retreat company, Lume Collective. It was my first time leading a virtual event beyond book club, where I was actually guiding, leading, and holding space. The event was just an hour, but I poured my heart and soul into it as if it were the most significant thing I’ve ever done. I prepared pages of guidance and prompts, all arranged in a flow that felt rhythmic and spacious. When I shared it with my Lume partners who were co-hosting, they loved it but reminded me that we only had an hour. I knew it was too long, but that’s me, trying to fit every ounce of magic into each moment even if there was not enough time or space to hold it. I don’t know how to kind of do things or keep them simple. I'm constantly striving to offer more value, more fullness, more depth. Part of this drive comes from my desire to do my absolute best with whatever I'm working on. But another part, I think, is trying to compensate for feeling like I'm never good enough. Maybe by offering enough value, I can distract people from seeing the imposter I feel like inside. How do I find the worthiness to do this work? Will I ever feel good enough? I know I have things of value to say, but will I ever feel worthy enough to have a voice? 

That’s really the crux of it—the feelings of unworthiness, of not deserving. Despite much meditation, therapy, and writing around this, there’s still a voice that taunts, who do you think you are? You’re just going to embarrass yourself. Everyone will find out you’re a fraud. I don’t fully understand where this sense of being a fraud stems from. I’ve always felt grounded in my authenticity, never one to chase trends, compromise my beliefs, or act just to be liked. So why does this voice persist? Is it just imposter syndrome? 

They say the more you do something, the easier it gets. But does imposter syndrome ever truly go away? Will I ever reach a point of self-worth where I can show up confidently and content with myself in front of others? Despite repeatedly saying yes to things that scare me, that makes my stomach churn and my breath shallow, it never seems to get easier. I'm plagued by dread and doubt for weeks, even months, before I have to show up. Why am I so afraid of being seen? Is that even what this is? 

With writing, I can pour my heart and soul onto the page no matter how dark or broken or awkward, and it feels safe, but the moment I have to speak, it feels as if my self-worth evaporates. Ironically, whenever I do speak and show up in spaces where I need to guide others, people say…

Wow, you’re such a natural. 

You seem so confident and at home in your words.

Your voice is so healing—I was transfixed!

I could feel the power not just in your words, but the actual sound of your voice.

I would’ve never guessed you were nervous. You spoke with so much calm.

These are just some of the encouraging feedback I’ve received after I speak, which truly blows my mind. How can I be good at something that I dread and that brings me so much fear, putting me in a pattern of low self-worth? I keep pushing myself to speak BECAUSE it scares me; I'm trying to work through my energetic blocks. But the lingering question is, do I really have to? 

Is speaking a necessary challenge I must overcome to live my most authentic, worthy life? Or is it simply that I don’t enjoy it and that’s okay? Why can't I just stay behind my computer and write? 

Can’t writing be enough? 

Do I need writing to be enough because my fear of being seen and fear of speaking is so strong that it crushes everything else? Or is this truly my path? I realize I’m going in circles here, and I’m sorry, but this is how my mind works—so many questions, so few answers.

In the end, I shortened my slides to fit the hour-long event, and it was enough. It turned out exactly as it needed to. Below, I'm sharing the prompts from the event for my paid subscribers. I hope they provide you with clarity and help you center yourself in this ever-unfurling season.