I started writing one morning in 2016. I was thirty nine. My kids were four and seven, both girls. I was a year into running our small business. I was a full time family physician and stayed up all night one to two times a week to deliver babies. I was married to the best of men. I had a beautiful life. But a part of me, I have since discovered, was a little asleep; nestled deep inside, enduring a long winter’s rest, and starting to stir and stretch and think about getting up and walking around, scratch that, prowling around a bit.
The morning I started, I read an article that I just could not let exist in the world without a response. I wrote quickly and with certainty and shared things that most wouldn’t, that I was told not to, and then instantly shared it as widely as I could. Over the days that followed the responses I received were exquisite and heartfelt. I felt both a collective grief and parallel uplifting connection that was surprising and oh so welcome. I will never forget that morning or the days that followed.
I don’t remember making a conscious effort to try to repeat the experience, but of course like most things that bring deep pleasure, I did chase it. I eventually started a blog and tried to clumsily find my voice, my focus, and, I guess, my purpose. This remains a work in progress. I expect it will be until my last breath.
As I went forward with trying to write and share and fumbling around with discovering exactly what it was I wanted to say, what I wanted to evoke, I knew only three certainties: I would accept nothing but full authenticity from myself in the moment at which I found myself writing, I was writing to my daughters and those that I loved, and what I wanted for them, with all my heart, was for them to truly find themselves, be themselves, and have the very rare courage to dare to share every last bit of it.
What follows is a collection of my attempts at all of this. Mostly pieces of me to leave for those who were both patient and fearless in their love of me; I will always feel that I couldn’t return what it was that you gave, but through my words I will forever try.