The Rut

Three years is a long time for silence... what now? This is a chronicle of life updates, reasons and excuses, and overall, what has happened in the gap years since my last bits of content. I don't begrudge you for skipping this post :)

2023...

This is the year that my marriage tanked. Hard. Suddenly. Catastrophically. I was overseas, living in a country with few friends and even less support, going to therapy to resolve my declining mental health, without a job or any means of supporting myself outside of the marriage, and trying desperately to make things right with everyone. I was working hard on Jade Juniper's book (The Solstice Court, available anywhere books are sold ✨), getting my own work off the ground, and attempting to get clientele for a side-business for editing.

The only thing that I succeeded in doing was editing Jade's book.

In the fall of 2023, I visited my best friend, Shyanne, for a month. In that month, I felt more supported, understood, and healthy than I had in months (if not years). Part of it was that, yes, I was on vacation, but the other part was that I was allowed to rest. Actually rest. My parents found out I was back in the USA, and they came as a kind of intervention. That was huge, and without going into details, I swear on my life that generational trauma started to heal that week.

I knew my marriage was done, I knew I needed to move, and I knew I needed to come back to the place I could recover.

So, I moved to Maine.

My life keeps taking me to the last place I'd ever thought I'd end up.

Within 3 months, I initiated a separation, packed up my life, flew (with my cat) to Maine with only a suitcase of stuff, and I crashed into Shyanne's 500-square-foot/1-bedroom apartment. I slept a lot. I cried a lot. I ran on fumes. I experienced my first real winter (snow is fucking magical, goddamn). I didn't have a job. I literally cried over a bowl of cereal for no reason.

Writing was impossible. Anything creative was impossible. I barely had the fortitude to continue my DND campaign which was I DM-ing. And I LOVE running games. The burn-out was so bad that even thinking about creating sent me into a spiral that I would stay in for weeks at a time.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

2024...

Still couldn't create. Still didn't have a job until April, so I did everything I could to make money last and juggle my skin-thin budget. Shyanne took care of the big bills, but I was still existing within the space that provided food, water, heat, and electricity (not that Shyanne ever felt I was a burden. That was all me). I tried to start a cross-stitching business, or at least make enough product to sell at a local shop (Failed). I tried to start up Fiverr for my editing side (Failed, and that's because Fiverr has shit policies regarding "multiple accounts" even if you no longer have access to the original account).

I got a second job in May doing night shifts at a hotel (I got a lot of cross-stitching done during that time).

My then-husband visited me for a few days. Definitely over. We just needed to get the wheels turning on that. This. Sucked. Not going to say much more about it. If you've ever been through a divorce (even one as courteous, "easy", and straightforward as mine was), you know the toll it takes on everything.

In order to avoid my feelings and keep things going at lightning speed, I bought a house.

And when I say I bought a house, I mean my parents loaned me enough money to buy a crumbling mini-mansion that was on the foreclosure/auction market.

When I say crumbling, I mean it. There were (and still are) gigantic holes in the ceilings, water damage, the roof needed to be replaced, ALL OF THE COPPER PIPIG FOR THE HEATING WAS GONE, and we barely had a single toilet and a sink. There was broken glass, gouges in the hardwood floors from the 15-or-so pitbulls that lived there (accoriding to the neighbors), and cracked stone steps. The yard has not been mowed in 9 years according to the neighbors and one tree had to be cut down for fear it would crash into my bedroom. And rats. So. Many. Rats. And a paper-wasp nest. And squirrel nests. And, and, and, and, and.

It's a money-pit, but we love her dearly. The history is incredible (but not for this blog). There is a brand new roof on her. She is (I think) rat-free. My bedroom has a new wall. All the major areas with lead paint have been painted over with the lead-blocking paint. We have water to most areas of the house. The guest room is complete. We have more furniture from Facebook Marketplace and family hand-me-downs than I ever thought possible. And she has brand new pipes for the heat.

I finally got a job that was in the day-time, full-time, with benefits, and paid more than the other 2 jobs I was working together. I'm still there every day at 6:30am.

Through all of this, I still could not create. To say my nervous system was fried is an understatement. I don't know what happened between July and October. It's a blur.

Divorce was finalized. Life moved on.

The election happened. Life... became frightening. Just as I thought I was settling into a routine, to my new life here in the Whitest State in America, to my house that was (and is) costing me a fortune, I had to make a choice of whether to stay and make the best of it, or bolt. I still don't know what will happen, but between November and January, every single day was a struggle. I was planning for 5 million outcomes and still not sure what I wanted to do.

Christmas was pretty chill. And another Happy New Year.

2025...

If anyone has had a good 2025 so far, I'd like them to come to the front of the class and explain how. I think we are all feeling some kind of way about the year, and it's grown more chaotic as we go forth.

But.

I wrote.

3 pages.

Of real content.

And I had the compulsion to do it before the feeling slipped away.

I have never cried just for the act writing. I cried then. I'm crying now, thinking about it.

Three whole pages of utter crap lifted me into a place of joy. Freedom. Self-actualization. I haven't written anything in years. If I'm honest, it's been almost 4 years, and through that time I had a quiet, steady voice asking me if I wasn't meant to write. Maybe I was simply working out my trauma, or it's a hobby, or I actually knew nothing about writing and editing and I was a fraud. Even through 2 college degrees, helping Jade and others, finishing Mill-wordy, and almost getting an agent a few times, I thought I was insignificant and incapable. I was so small, and publishing was such a big world. I wasn't sure if I'd ever have the ability to look at an empty page and write ever again.

I'm not on the other side of burn-out yet, but writing three pages has given me a glimmer of hope.

Three pages turned into five that same day, as I added on later. And that's turned into picking up editing for Jade again for her new novel. And that has also turned into another editing project that I'm keeping secret until the author is ready to share.

And that, in turn, has pushed me to look at editing more seriously as a profession.

I don't want to stay in the job that I'm in currently. Beyond the soul-sucking nature of an office job, I also see the end of the company on the horizon. It's a few years away, but that'll be enough time for me to change industries and (hopefully) work with something I love. I'm applying to internships at big publishing imprints and houses, and I'm looking at courses I can take to refine my skills even more: something that will propel me forward.

I'm still exhausted, and I'm still sleeping in (what will be) our library on my pull-out trundle in the corner of the room. Shyanne still doesn't have her room, and she's sleeping in mine. I don't have an office. I don't even have my belongings unpacked from 2023. But I am so incredibly hopeful. It hurts to hope these days; it's the kind of hurt I can handle now.