September

On Now: Motherhood in tragedy, Madwoman, and hurricane relief

I wrote most of this before the hurricane, and I’m only sharing it now because our internet was just restored yesterday. Honestly, even simple tasks—like publishing on Substack—feel overwhelming right now. The weight of grief is so heavy that I can barely manage anything beyond giving whatever I have left to my son. But here it is. I keep reminding myself that I’m still here, I’m safe, and everything is going to be okay... (but is it?).

September was campfires and my son’s marshmallow mouth and sparklers in the dark. It was waking up on my friend’s couch after a night of the wrong conversations and too-good gnocchi. It was going to an art show put on by my ninety-four-year-old grandmother's care home and hearing her name called as a runner-up—I had never seen her do anything creative in my life. It was being reminded that it’s never too late to start. It was cornmeal pancakes soaked in maple bigger than my son’s face and feeding my dogs bacon under the table. It was panic attacks at three a.m. and running to no one and nowhere—will I ever stop running? It was candlelit dinners and pomegranate seeds bursting in my mouth and neon green pesto made with rain-soaked basil. It was sunset walks around the lake with my son and painting rainbows in the living room. It was reclaiming my identity as a writer through the first line of a poem by Mary Oliver. It was topless talks in the hot tub in the rain and fresh cut flowers on every surface and olive oil everything. It was packing for a weekend of rest and writing, kissing my son goodbye, and being dysregulated from the leaving, even if I was the one doing the leaving. Will saying goodbye ever feel safe? It was staying up past midnight to finish a book that left me sobbing in the dark. It was rainy walks through the mountains with my friend, sharing all the dark parts of ourselves—the things that happened to us that shaped us, broke us, and that we’re still learning how to live with (or without). It was hundred-year-old lamps and books spread across the picnic table and getting to the center of what we’re trying to say. It was poems about bees and writing about morning and sleeping in beds that weren’t mine. It was collecting flower seeds in my palms and rain in my hair and slowing down time. It was tea made with licorice root and love and served to me in tiny red cups while listening to the rain in the trees. It was watercolor peaches and Spanish bodegas and singing Happy Birthday to my husband from the bottom of the stairs. It was waving rainbow flags and glitter everywhere and my son playing drums in the street. It was listening to writers read their work in a dark theater and crying over the language and the sheer bravery of pouring your heart out. It was a hurricane hitting our little mountain town and destroying everything we’ve known and loved for the last seven years. It was no service or access to the outside world for days and not knowing if anyone was okay. It was listening to Patsy Cline on the portable tape player my son got for his third birthday, trying to convince myself everything was going to be okay—because at least there’s still music, at least someone is singing. It was my family from England canceling their trip here because all the roads were blocked and the town hardly even existed. It was feeling broken and powerless and trying to be of service in any way that I could. It was violent sobs erupting beyond my control, with no choice but to hold it together for my son, whom I'm trying to protect from all of this. It was panic and devastation and grief and desperation and really, I am not okay.

WHAT I’M READING

MADWOMAN by Chelsea Bieker

Trigger Warning: Domestic violence

I read an interview on

Cheryl Strayed's Dear Sugar

with

Chelsea Bieker

that moved me to tears because of how deeply I resonated with it. She talked about sharing chapters of her newest book, Madwoman, with her mother as she was writing them. Her mother revealed that some of the things Chelsea thought she was inventing actually happened. What she believed was fiction turned out to be her accessing suppressed memories from childhood, memories of her father abusing her mother.

It reminded me of when I was writing my memoir and would share excerpts with my mom. She revealed the pieces I had of our story in a way that crumbled the neat and tidy way I’d remembered my childhood and had clung to for survival. After every bad thing, I’d tell myself, “At least she loved me,” and she’d do the same—justifying her flaws and bad decisions in the name of love. I spent my life bypassing my own experience for the sake of love, for the sake of survival. What we uncovered wasn’t an abusive father, though—it was her. The reality of how strung out she really was. I always remembered her as beautiful, but now, looking at old pictures, I can see the battle she fought with drugs and how she was losing. How her 90-pound frame at 5’7” was merely bones held together by sugar and methamphetamines. “And love,” she’d say. And still, in my mind, the memory tells me she was beautiful and that I was loved. But what was truly uncovered was neglect.

Being a writer is terrifying when you’ve spent your life running from your past. We often write from our subconscious, and there’s no telling what’s buried there. Even fiction isn’t safe, as Chelsea experienced. But these are the stories I love—the ones with truth at their core. These are the stories I can’t put down, and the kind of stories I hope to be able to write again someday.

In the interview, Chelsea also talked about her journey to healing through Internal Family Systems (IFS). If you’ve been following my Substack, you know I’ve used this same modality to heal parts of myself stuck in past trauma. It was so encouraging to read about her experience and how IFS has helped her deal with rejection. Seeing someone further along in their healing journey sharing what’s on the other side gives me hope and validates the work I’ve been doing. It expands my sense of what’s possible if I just keep going—keep processing, keep healing, keep writing.

After reading the interview, I knew I had to read Madwoman. I told my husband all about it but mentioned that I’d have to wait because I already had too many books on my TBR pile. Then, a few days later, I attended a generative writing session with The Practice, and Erin Rose Belair opened the session by reading the first page of Madwoman. I was hooked. It felt like a sign from the Universe—it kept popping up in my life.

When I returned home from a short artist residency of rest and writing at the Hemlock House, my husband surprised me with wildflowers he and my son had picked, along with a book wrapped in paper painted by Pressley. I could tell by the shape it was a book, and I knew it was Madwoman because my husband listens when I talk about the things that excite me—and apparently, the Universe listens too. Inside the book were two notes: one from my husband that said, “Hope it inspires you. Love you,” and one from my son, which looked like his art but which he told me was a poem. I now use it as my bookmark.

I flew through this book. I had to force myself to put it down to go to bed, and even then, I couldn’t sleep because the story kept swirling in my mind. It infiltrated my thoughts and even how I responded to my life. It unhinged me, bringing my deepest fears of feeling trapped to the surface. I found myself carrying anxiety, taking deep breaths with long exhales just to calm down. I felt this book on such a visceral level, which is really what you hope for with any book, but this one lived in my body, lighting up my nervous system. My body’s favorite trauma response—flight—was screaming, “RUN. GET OUT. I DON’T CARE WHERE YOU GO, BUT LEAVE.” It’s wild how deeply those parts of me were activated.

To make things worse, I was stuck inside, quite literally trapped because of a hurricane—a hurricane in the mountains! Isn’t that insane? Our basement flooded, which means our workshop (where we work to make a living) and my husband’s music studio were submerged. There was a literal waterfall flowing behind his piano. I found a suitcase of old pictures partially submerged in water. I haven’t opened it yet, afraid of what I’ll find.

Feeling trapped is something I struggle with—a major issue I’m reprocessing in therapy through EMDR. I’m trying to create new neural pathways and all that, but this time, it wasn’t just a feeling, I  really couldn’t leave the house because the road wasn’t a road anymore—it was a goddamn river. The town I often escape to was barely recognizable, hardly a town at all.

It was all a lot, and Madwoman escalated everything. I was sobbing alone at midnight in my living room, trying to process the book when it ended. But isn’t that the beauty of art? How it can make or break a moment, a season, a life? The power of it leaves me in awe. Even if you’re not trapped in a hurricane or neglected by your meth-addicted mother, read this book. If you’re a mother, you’ll feel it. If you’re a daughter, you’ll feel it.

A couple of notes on craft: I loved that the protagonist isn’t necessarily likable. She does things that are cringe-worthy or outright cruel, yet you get it. You’re with her for the long haul. I love characters that show the full depth of the human experience—we’re not just our “good” parts, the ones we show to the world, but all the dark parts too. Chelsea lays out all the pieces of the protagonist, and I accepted every one of them fully. I also loved how the book seamlessly jumps back and forth in time, between her present and her childhood. It added so much to the tension. I tried this in my memoir, but not as seamlessly as this. I’m still learning how to tell a good story, and once again, this book has expanded my view of what’s possible. And, of course, it made it look effortless—but we all know it’s not.

I’ll leave you with the blurb from the inside cover: A GRIPPING STORY OF MOTHERHOOD, MOTHERLOSS, AND THE BRUTAL, MIGHTY THINGS WOMEN DO TO KEEP THEMSELVES AND EACH OTHER ALIVE.

Written just like. All in caps. Tell me that doesn’t make you turn to page one.

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WHAT I’M WATCHING

I watched two movies—Outside In and You Hurt My Feelings—but honestly, I’m not in the right headspace to really dive into them after everything with the hurricane. I’ll likely revisit them and share my thoughts in a future wrap-up when I’m feeling more grounded.

OTHER THINGS

I had planned to write about my time at Hemlock House and the Punch Bucket literary festival, but everything feels so distant in my mind right now because of the hurricane. Both were such powerful experiences, and I’ll share more about them in separate pieces when I’m feeling less raw and scattered. Thankfully, I wrote most of my thoughts on Madwoman before the storm, or this wrap-up would’ve been pretty fucking bleak.

*Trigger Warning: Death and heartbreak 

I don’t even fully have the energy to give you the full experience of what our state has gone through since the hurricane, but I can tell you that I’m not okay. I’m safe, I’m alive—but truly, I’m not okay. I held it together pretty well during the storm and all the service disruptions, but once the internet came back and I reconnected with my community, the grief hit hard.

We’ve had friends over for showers, laundry, and drinking water—all the things we take for granted every day—and that helped me feel better, even if just temporarily. But the grief is coming in waves. I called my dad because that’s what I always do when I don’t know what to do, but even that led to more tears from both of us. Why do I always think he’ll have the answers? I just feel so useless. We’re donating, but I keep trying to figure out what else we can do for those in need, while also thinking about what’s next for our little family. It’s difficult to be out there on the ground floor with Pressley, and we don’t have childcare.

I brainstormed ways we could contribute or volunteer with a toddler, but the more I saw and heard from my community, the heavier the grief became. The news isn’t showing the full scale of the devastation. My community is sharing their firsthand experiences, and it’s truly heartbreaking. From Swannanoa to Chimney Rock and beyond, entire neighborhoods have been wiped out. People are still being rescued by helicopter, and many remain stranded without access to basic needs like water, food, and electricity. Countless dogs are stranded on rooftops, waiting to be saved. Now that the water is receding, bodies are being found along the roads—children, the elderly, animals. I am shattered. I can’t believe this is happening to the beautiful place I’ve been lucky enough to call home for the last seven years. I’m drained from all the crying and grieving while trying to care for my son and protect his innocence, protect his joy.

I feel so powerless, but I’m trying to do all that I can to be of service.

We’re donating a portion of all ring orders through our business, Rhodes Wedding Co., to hurricane relief efforts. If you're in the market for an engagement ring or wedding band, now is the time to create something truly special while also helping those in need.

Also, through our women’s retreat collective, Lume, we’re donating to support the artists of the River Arts District, who have been devastated by the hurricane. The entire district has been destroyed—artists have lost their studios, their work, their livelihoods, and their ability to support their families.

Additionally, I’m here to support hurricane survivors in any way I can during this difficult time. If you need someone to talk to or want help processing this tragedy, I’m happy to guide you through grounding exercises or journaling prompts to help calm the nervous system. We’re here for our community, and now, more than ever, it’s essential that we lean on each other. 

If you’re looking to contribute, there are several ways to make a direct impact by supporting those most affected.

Hurricane resources and relief

Here are some grassroots organizations to support or reach out to for help if you need it:

BeLoved Asheville *This is where most of our donations have gone*

   - PayPal: BeLovedAsheville

   - Venmo: @BeLoved-Asheville

   - Focused on providing critical aid to Asheville’s most vulnerable, including unhoused neighbors and working-class families.

WNC Rural Organizing and Resilience (ROAR)

   - PayPal: ruralorganizingandresilience@gmail.com

   - A community-centered org dedicated to resilience and recovery efforts in rural areas.

Appalachian Medical Solidarity/Asheville Survival Program

   - Venmo: @AppMedSolid

   - CashApp: $streets1de

   - Focused on medical support and survival resources for affected communities.

Pansy Collective

   - Venmo: @pansycollective

   - A trans grassroots org that supports vulnerable populations in crisis.

These organizations understand the unique needs of their communities and can move with a high level of efficacy to deploy resources where they are most needed. They know the geography, the people, and the local challenges, making them the most effective in delivering timely aid.

While national relief organizations may receive a lot of attention, consider directing your donations to these local groups. They are often less encumbered by bureaucracy and are bound by their devotion to the people they serve.

Thank you to everyone who is sending funds to these local orgs—the outpouring of support is much appreciated by those on the ground working tirelessly to rebuild. Every dollar makes a difference. 

Animal support

If you're looking to help animals in Asheville affected by the hurricane:

Asheville Humane Society

They have evacuated over 100 animals due to flood damage and are in need of donations to continue their efforts. They are also coordinating with other shelters to rehome displaced animals

Brother Wolf Animal Rescue

This shelter was severely impacted by the hurricane and is currently housing animals with foster families. They are in need of monetary donations and support to rebuild and care for the animals they’ve rescued

Other resources + ways to help:

Offer Shelter and Resources: 

If you're in a nearby area and have access to clean water or electricity, consider opening your home to those in need, like providing showers, laundry, or a place to rest.

Mental Health Support: 

BetterHelp is offering three months of free therapy to those affected by the hurricane. If you or someone you know needs emotional support, please take advantage of this resource by using the code “hurricane-helene-support”.

Volunteer Where You Can: 

If you’re local and can help with relief efforts, even with a toddler in tow, reach out to organizations coordinating supply deliveries, clean-up efforts, or animal rescues.

Please share these resources with those in need or who are looking to help. Thank you for being here.