I told my husband early in our relationship that if I ever stopped writing, he should worry.

I've always been a writer at the core: when I was young, I remember thinking about life in terms of a book, watching myself and processing life as if through the eyes of a narrator. I don't know if that's normal or not, or if I was just reading too much Nancy Drew at the time, but it's exactly what I did.

In college and after is when writing began to take shape as something I not only was good at, but needed to do for balance. Especially when I picked up and moved overseas for a few years in my mid-twenties, first to Kazakhstan and from there to Russia, sometimes, writing was about all I had. A lifeline in the most literal sense, and one into which I poured my heart and soul. It was writing that kept me whole and somewhat warm (and sane!) in those cold, rough and wild places.

Life seems infinitely more complicated than it was then, and the hats I wear are many: wife, mother, bonus-mother, employee and boss, and for a while, forgetting that long-ago warning to my husband (and really, to myself), I convinced myself that there wasn't space for writer any more.

Only then I became a mother, and so in the same season that time and energy drained to a scarcity I'd never before known, multiplied were the moments of beauty and inspiration in the everyday. And so suddenly, simply, not writing wasn't an option any more.

This is my place to write, to catalog memories, and to keep myself whole. Welcome. Stay a while.


You can contact me at thefledglingmatriarch (at) gmail (dot) com. I'd love to hear from you.

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