• Realism

    My back is collapsing.

    More specifically, my right shoulder is collapsing forward and inward toward my left hip, while my left ribcage rotates to the right and collapses inward at the same time, while my spine is curved upward to the left at the bottom of my thoracic area and is curving to the right up by my neck. 

    It’s a whole thing.

    But, it feels more like just my ribcage collapsing and my left hip drawing upward. I am not conscious of the right shoulder issue at all, until I actively remember to hold my right shoulder down and back. And, that part isn’t painful. It might be more helpful in preventing it if it were painful, but it’s not, really. 

    But, I knew I was having more trouble holding my left shoulder up, and I knew for sure that when I lie down it is more difficult to get my knees to align with one another lying on my left side because of my hip, so back to physical therapy I went last week. And before I started the new exercise from physical therapy last week, I could feel the rotation and curving pivot point in my lower thoracic back, deep inside. I can’t describe it, but I could feel it. Not painful, definitely wrong. 

    My physical therapist used this tool to measure the degrees of my curvature. 

    She showed me after exactly what the measurement had looked like while she used it while I bent forward……she showed the tool inching to the left as expected, and then as I got to a cerrtain point it inched clear the other direction.

    Rotation.

    And so: those bars my Dad and Jared installed some months ago are now my lifeline and my primary project: At least twice a day I am to hang, on my knees from the floor, from the tallest bar I can reach with my left hand, with my right arm on the next bar down, letting my bottom just hang and gravity do its thing. It is so important that my physical therapist isn’t even worried about any of my other strength or balance exercises this week. 

    My physical therapist said after doing this once and her doing some massaging as I lie on my right side that she could already tell a difference for the better when I was getting ready to walk out of her office last week, in my posture. 

    And, three days later, I can, too: I realize now that my right shoulder has been falling forward. The gravity from the hanging is making me more cognizant of my left side, it has more feeling, and it is slightly easier to puff it out with my breathing exercises I do a lot even when I am not doing other exercises now, just sitting or walking around. It is easier to concentrate on putting my left shoulder blade in the correct place, which I have to do consciously or it just falls where it wants to fall, unsupported.

    See, the problem is, my spine was collapsing anyway. But I had this hysterectomy and my ovaries removed in May of 2025 and even though I am on estradiol, my hormones are in free-fall: my body is converting to old-lady format in speed mode. My physical therapist says my body will reach a new baseline, but what I do with it between now and then sort of determines exactly where that new baseline lands. 

    What I know is maybe it should scare me more than it does. It doesn’t though.

    Nor does back pain scare me; there is a baseline of pain whenever I move now in pretty much any direction, from any position. But I don’t think of it as pain exactly, at least not pain in an injured sort of way. I would know the difference. No, this is more of a “ooh, I am working this out” pain. Probably arthritis pain. I’ve had arthritis in my ribs since I was a teenager.

    Because I am keenly aware that yes, perhaps there are surgical alternatives. But: I know those surgical alternatives would come with less mobility and flexibility. 

    My upper back may be somewhat painful now, but every bit of that pain is a reminder that it still works, things still move. 

    And, I will take that soreness for the rest of my life to maintain the flexibility. Good pain means things still work. 

    That hanging though: I can do it for about 5-6 breaths. Then I have to let go, mostly because my grip strength is awful and I’m too lazy to take my rings off. And, I have to say: the sensation on my left side, where my left side has been bunched up and crunched and rotated for so long: the stretching of that feels gross and weird and wrong and slightly creepy-crawly in the mid-hang position. And it also feels deeply, deeply necessary. 

    My beloved large jute purse is a problem. I’d estimate that it is probably almost 3 pounds by itself, maybe more — maybe less, but probably not much.

    Add my camera, my computer, my notebooks, my daily carry stuff…… it gets heavy when it is fully loaded. 

    Jared carries it for me a lot these days when we go to Gallery Row. Or more accurately— I carry it out of stubbornness to Gallery Row because it is cute. Jared carries it back to the car for me when we head home.

    And the bag has very little in it when I am just out and about for the day…..most often the computer stays home unless I am going out to write elsewhere. I don’t always carry the camera even though I want to. Sometimes the notebooks stay home, too. 

    So, I am considering using my lighter purse options more often. Begrudgingly. 

    And speaking of writing, and photography, the time has come for a permanent business pivot, after months and years of floundering. 

    I closed my Google Business Profile yesterday. I filed for an NAICS code change for my LLC— it’s that official. I downgraded my gallery software to the free version since it was up for renewal this weekend, with limited storage. I removed the “portraits” page from my blog. I reached out to have my occupational tax business category amended.

    I’m good with it. I’m pivoting more to focusing on fine art photography and my writing. I’ve done three sessions this year, with only one being paid. I know it is no longer in my best interest to seek out wedding or event work— I was on my feet for three hours last week for a relatively stationary volunteer opportunity and that felt like a workout to my upper back by the end. I had to come straight home and lie flat on the floor to reverse the hump back feeling I had in my neck. And I wasn’t even holding anything but my lighest purse on my shoulder the whole time. 

    I’m under no illusions that blogging and writing will bring actual paid work though it would be nice, but I changed my NAICS code with the Georgia Secretary of State this weekend. Moving forward I am concentrating on blogging, fine art photography, and content creation. I’m considering myself more of an visual and written essayist moving forward. 

    I am on the fence daily about selling my second camera and parting with another lens or two. 

    That’s a hard one: since I started taking photography more seriously in 2012 or 2013, it has been deeply ingrained that keeping two camera bodies was the cardinal rule. But do I need them both in this season of life? Definitely not. Sunk cost is the only reason for keeping at least the second camera body and probably one of the lenses but if I am being real, our budget could use the funds from a sale. And I am trying to be more responsible with our budget these days. 

    And: I’m not sad about these changes. The reality is, I got a nice camera in 2011 because I wanted pretty photos to be able to have a blog. The blog was always the dream. And, now I have the blog. Photography was a detour and it was an awesome, unexpected detour and I learned a lot and met some really nice people. 

    And, I am mercurial, so tomorrow, I might decide to do professional photography again. Goodness knows, it has happened before.

    Regardless, realism is important. Settling into middle age, I am finding my introspection-out-loud feels like home, and feels more worthy at this stage of life than attempting to be a service provider. 

    And, mercurial or not, I am nothing if not a realist. 

  • Postpartum Psychosis Thoughts

    photo by Griffin Gibson

    as posted on my Facebook profile on Friday, August 21, 2026

    There is a court case right now that involves postpartum psychosis.

    Let’s talk about that— not about the case, because I know nothing about that person’s situation. Let’s talk about postpartum psychosis.

    Because, that is indeed something I know something about.

    Because, I gave birth to our middle child in May of 2008.

    And due to my employer’s policies of the time, and due to the fact that I was out of work four weeks’ prior to my son’s birth due to preterm labor, I returned to work on my due date.

    And as it happens, I was going to lose my job if I did not return to work on my due date.

    And I loved my job; it was my dream job with my dream employer; and so, I, from my hospital bed, within hours of giving birth on my child’s birth date, emailed my boss to let her know that I would like to attempt to return to work in precisely four weeks. I told her I thought I would be in good shape to do that.

    As it turns out: four weeks to the day from that date, I did actually indeed return to work.

    On my child’s due date. My first day back at work, the day my child turned four weeks old, was his due date.

    He wasn’t even old enough to go into daycare; my aunt and uncle kept him for the first two weeks I worked because he needed to be six weeks old to go to daycare.

    And as it happens; I did have a history of bipolar disorder at the time; I’d had my first psychosis at age 17.

    And as it happens now: I am on SSDI for bipolar disorder and PTSD; my case is one of the rare ones that had enough documentation that I qualified at first application without an attorney.

    And I know absolutely nothing about what is going on with the particular legal case that is in the news. I know that it is a tragedy I refuse to speculate about.

    But: I know something about dealing with severe mental illness in the wake of giving birth.

    I know what it is to not have the kinds of support you really need to raise three children.

    By the grace of God, I have a child turning 20 years old on Monday who is at the college of his choice, and that child whose due date occurred on the first day I returned to work is in his first weeks at the college of his choice; both of our children have tremendous scholarships. And our 12 year old will attend a cross country meet in the morning.

    I am one of the lucky ones.

    I am one of the lucky ones because of happenstance. Because a month after I returned to work, I resigned from said job because I knew I was unwell, and within 48 hours I was inpatient in a mental facility in metro Atlanta, delusional and having experienced the only hallucinations i have ever experienced in my lifetime.

    I’d sought help, within two weeks of returning to work. It was clear I had postpartum depression; I was in overdrive and overwhelmed caring for a toddler and a newborn. My psychiatrist at the time was not great and was not that responsive.

    And whether my allergy to lamictal or whether my own propensity toward psychosis kicked in is irrelevant; I experienced a break with reality that saw me 1013’d into a mental hospital for 72 hours.

    And I’d like to say my story had a completely happy ending.

    And in a lot of ways, it does: I am much more stable today; and my children are safe and relatively happy, and in many ways have beaten quite a lot of odds given that they were raised with one parent with severe mental illness.

    But: I can’t say I’ve had the support I’ve needed throughout raising my chlidren. My husband has had to bear an unfair burden of parenting. I’ve retreated to isolation in a lot of situations. I have friends, but I have lost an awful lot more friends who I’ve made uncomfortable with my particular brand of mental health issues.

    It’s not quite as simple as a lot of the commentary out there seems to indicate: That if you need or want help or someone to talk to, you should just reach out. That is a gross oversimplification that simply is sometimes impractical; sometimes ignored; sometimes unwelcome.

    And I have to say: I read an awful lot of social media commentary in relation to the current events case.

    What I can say is that the mental health system is indeed broken; good psychiatry care is hard to find; good therapists are harder to find.

    I found a regimen and care team that work for me: but I didn’t enter serious care until after that postpartum psychosis episode, and it took over a full decade to figure out which medications really work for me in a sustainable manner.

    And I was lucky: because I have had very significant family social and financial help; I lucked into SSDI at first application; I have a spouse that has the temperament to deal with my issues; and I’ve had very good psychiatrists. And I went onto have a third baby whose birth didn’t induce a postpartum psychosis because I was under the watchful eye of a stellar psychiatrist.

    But I can’t say that it is a completely happy ending because there has been tremendous cost to me socially, financially, professionally; and quite frankly, if I’d felt more supported in any one of those areas, I probably could have been a better parent in my childrens’ growing up years.

    So I find it pretty uncomfortable for a lot of the social commentary going on in the Lindsay Clancy case. It is true that postpartum depression and psychosis requires much more support than is typically given or available.

    But in my experience, society is not prepared to provide that support in any way, shape, or form to mothers with mental health needs. Not even close. Not judging by the interactions I still have, and severe isolation I still deal with, every day of my life, as a woman who has with my husband raised two children to adulthood with one still at home.

    And the armchair detectives and commentators out there on this case make me very, very, very uncomfortable. It strikes me as making entertainment of a family’s real-life tragedy, and a sort of mockery of those of us who have indeed dealt with real life post-partum psychosis.

    But what I do know is it shouldn’t take enormous tragedy to call attention to the enormous mental health needs of all mothers.

    But that requires conversations and support that we as a society are not prepared to have.

  • How It’s Going (Not Great)

  • We Have a Grinnellian!

    Originally posted on Facebook on August 15, 2026

    So… it is done.

    The dorm is done. The goodbyes have been said.

    The separation process was natural with the structure of the day; as it should be.

    And somehow: as I have sobbed, and teared up at inopportune times: I am feeling really good about leaving him in Grinnell now.

    Even if it is over 900 miles away from home. Even if it is Iowa. Even if we are leaving him with trips to Walmart to make. Even if he will have to remake his bed with his mattress protector later whenever he decides to do that. I am glad I don’t have to know if it is tonight or next week. That is as it should be.

    A staff member ushered him over to a table game group after we got back to the science building; a good time for us to make our way to the room where families and parents of students had their session.

    I am grateful today has felt all about getting him ready. I am beyond grateful that he gets to be a part of the Grinnell Science Project cohort, and having the opportunity to move in a week early is among the privileges he’s experiencing that I am deeply grateful for.

    And he is ready; and we are ready.

    And we will see him in a month and a half for parents and families weekend.

    Jared and I walked a good portion of downtown tonight after saying goodbye, including the bit of Broad Street by Central Park we used to walk lots 2005-2007 with Tinkerbell and just us and then with baby Porter, and surreal doesn’t begin to describe the sensation of remembering what it was having walked those same sidewalks twenty-one years previously, when children were a someday dream.

    We are so very proud of all of our children, and Liam is off on a grand adventure.

    And the adventure has begun.

  • Note To Self: Highway 6 is Closed

    published on Facebook on August 14, 2026

    The middle kid is the grounding force of a family. 

    And all of a sudden we are on I-80 between Des Moines and Newton, Iowa where we will stop for Walmart to get Liam‘s tires rotated and we’re passing Mitchellville, Iowa and all of a sudden I am flashing back to when I was on the way home from ING from Des Moines about this time of day after having quit because I was pregnant and I didn’t think that I could work in a call center even if it was a Series 6-licenses job, with all the terrible morning sickness I was having at the time. I didn’t know what I was gonna do and then two weeks later I found out that I was having a miscarriage.

    I thought of Mary and Red Cross chapter in Marshalltown when we passed the Highway 65 exit for Marshalltown and I’m remembering that I’m terrified for Liam not because of Grinnell College at all but because I hated Iowa because I was so far away from home and I really don’t know if I can let our baby stay here. I’m terrified he is gonna hate this like I did and I remember the early days of our marriage because we were newlyweds and Jared’s dear Mama had died and I was also sad and I just didn’t even know if our marriage was gonna survive and then all of a sudden there was a newborn in the NICU and Sara came and sat with me and Lindsey brought the kids to the NICU to see the baby. All I wanted to do is go home and all of a sudden the job at Fernbank opened up and it was my ticket home.

    I had not counted on the idea at all that bringing Liam to Grinnell was gonna remind me of how much I hated Iowa because reality is I have been complaining for weeks and months and years that I felt like I didn’t have a place to Carrollton, but it was worse in Iowa. And all I’ve really wanted for twenty years is to be back in Atlanta.

    And I have to remember that this is not about me and Liam carries absolutely no baggage about Grinnell or Iowa or the newlywed days or even Porter in the NICU; that Liam wasn’t more than a dream in our head at the time and that he will be just fine and that this is an adventure for him. And at the same time, I’m glad that we’re here because it reminds me, too, that a place is just a place is a place and the people are what matters. There were some lovely people that we met in Grinnell and I hated to leave them when we moved away to Georgia.

    But this drive that is so familiar to me because it’s so many trips to ING and to church at Westminster Presbyterian and Des Moines and back-and-forth to Blank Children’s Hospital and shopping and the million other reasons we found ourselves in Des Moines weekend after weekend or even on weeknights; on Wednesday nights.

    I don’t know how many times I made this trip but the road is all tore up in ways I don’t remember it being in 2005. And I missed the turn for 235 because my way was telling me that I really should keep going on and I forgot that 235 is actually a shortcut and Liam tried to tell me by getting over into the other lane that we should get off and I totally miss that.

    But the landscape isn’t completely familiar because there are new buildings and new hotels and things that weren’t there twenty years ago. The Walmart in Newton, Iowa is there on Iowa Speedway now and I have recollections of a Speedway being built in Newton, Iowa for NASCAR when we were here, but Walmart was not on Iowa Speedway Road. So I don’t know if there’s a new Walmart in Iowa or if the Walmart the highway has been renamed don’t know but I’m hoping that Aldi is still there and I’m trying not to be a mess.

    And we’re in Newton, Iowa getting Liam’s tires rotated at Walmart and I forgot how much I would stick out like a sore thumb with the way I dress here; with my septum and nostril piercings and too much jewelry and leggings. And the Walmart is indeed the same Walmart just the road name has changed. And the Aldi is a newer bigger building across the street from Walmart instead of being up on Highway 6 like I remembered. And Aldi here is much, much bigger and nicer and I scored a blue jean dress in the Aisle of Shame at Aldi because not much is more midwestern fashion than a blue jean dress and that won’t make it to Aldi in Georgia, I am certain.

    The middle kid is a grounding force for a family and Liam is certainly that and I feel like I am losing my center of locus.

    Except everything is different enough here— even if fashion sense is definitely the same— that this trip we are on feels like a different, newer adventure that it is, not some return to the scene of new marriage difficulties.

    I’m pretty sure I have waited in this waiting room of the tire center in the Walmart of Newton, Iowa before. Except this time, the marriage did last, I’m sitting by a child I was pretty sure would never exist when I was swearing Porter would be an only child after those NICU days. And that child isn’t a child himself anymore: he is a young man who thankfully is more amused than embarrassed to have his parents along for the current ride.

    And somebody moved my cheese again: the lug nuts are stripped on Liam’s tires, so no rotation today.

    This is the point where I am grateful Jared still knows people in Grinnell for mechanic recommendations.

    But we are here; and I do not actually want 515 Broad Street back because apparently the A/C is dead as evidenced by the window units now throughout the house. That little house I loved so well looks positively so awful it is unrecognizable.

    And a last minute upgrade at Hotel Grinnell means we are here for both nights instead of having to switch hotels at the last minute.

    You can’t go home, but you can take a kid to college. And survive the experience relatively unscathed.