At the end 2015, I packed up a dream. We had two toddlers, I was pregnant, we were living in my parent’s basement in Knoxville, TN, and I had spent the last two years building a blog that was just starting to support us financially. Zach was working a couple different jobs and we were trying to “make it” outside of full time ministry. It wasn’t working. We came to a crossroads where we had to decide if I was going to go full time into the writing thing and put our kids in daycare, or if I’d quit and keep being a stay at home mom. The writing was getting too demanding to do both. I had to choose. At the time, I had this inkling that we were supposed to do some more time in full time ministry. Zach didn’t agree. He was going through a spiritual desert and even mentioning being on staff at a church again made him angry. But I was sure that that was what God was going to bring us to again. I didn’t like it, but somehow, I just knew. I didn’t push it, didn’t bring it up again, just waited. But I knew that the next right thing for me to do was to shut down my blog.
I had 14,000 “fans” on facebook and averaged a million unique readers a month on my blog. I had sponsorships. I was going on all expenses paid trips, sponsored by big brands. I had literary agents pursuing me, asking me to write a book. I was beginning to become a person in the blog world and in the Christian industry. It didn’t make any sense for me to walk away from it. But, I didn’t really like what I saw and I didn’t like how I felt. Nothing felt right. So, I shut it down. I finished out my sponsorships, removed my website, and said goodbye.
Six months later, Zach got a phone call from his old pastor, offering him a job. We moved to Massachusetts and shortly after that, my mental health sunk into the pits of hell. I kept writing, but I didn’t really have an audience anymore. I couldn’t write as honestly as I had before. Zach’s ministry position prevented kept us under intense scrutiny. I didn’t want to be a liability. I kept writing, but I stopped sharing. I joined a volunteer organization that teaches writing to women who are incarcerated. I learned how to lead group discussions with traumatized women in compassionate, healing ways. I learned how to listen and share openly, honestly, empathetically, and with consideration to other people. My training helped me to become a trauma-informed writer and gave me the tools to process trauma that hadn’t even happened to me yet.
That time in my life was dark and sad. My identity was broken over and over and over again. I didn’t know who I was without a ministry or an outlet for my writing. I was broken. I buried my dream of being a writer and accepted that I’d never be able to be as honest publicly as I was privately and in these groups of women.
But then we left ministry, for good, kicking and screaming and bleeding, but I was free to write publicly again. And so I did.
I wrote through my pain and connected with others through their pain. My words gave other people words and their connection to my writing gave me energy to keep writing. My dream was still buried. Long dead. I’d grieved over it and let it go. I just thought, how great is it that people can read what I write - even without a blog or a book deal? I was grateful.
I posted a picture once, of me standing in front of a shelf full of books, written by people I knew and had been friends with, at Barnes + Noble. “I’m a writer with no books on the shelf,” I captioned it. “It’s not something I dwell on or get sad about, but it’s a constant dull ache. Writing is the only thing I have ever wanted to do, since before I even knew how to write letters. But then it’s not something that I do, but rather something that I am. I write because I’m a writer. It’s not something I became, it’s just ... who I am. And yet ... I’m a writer with no books on the shelves.”
So I bought books about writing. I took writing courses. I practiced and I crafted and I never stopped writing. I didn’t become a better writer naturally, I worked at it. Cried over it. Zach took this picture of me grabbing some top shelf writing books and shortly after this, I self published a devotional for moms going through a dark season as I, myself, was drowning in postpartum depression and anxiety.
And I kept writing.
Slowly, my following on instagram grew and that was the only place I wrote. I kept my dream buried, but I kept writing. I sold essential oils. I thrashed and spiraled and started sharing about what I was going through.
And I kept writing.
I watched as people I had mentored as a blogger started their own blogs and surpassed me numerically and influentially in what felt like no time at all. I felt that ache again. So I took branding courses and marketing courses and learned really quickly that I can’t do both. I can market myself well or I can write well, but I didn’t have the time in my day to focus on learning both, so I chose to keep working on my craft.
And I kept writing.
Once a year, a post of mine would go viral and I’d gain a thousand or so followers and then there would be no movement for the rest of the year. Every time I’d post something honest or show a piece of myself that didn’t fit into what people expected of me, I’d lose followers by the hundreds and they’d all send me messages letting me know how disappointed they were in me. Sometimes, people I knew would say it to my face. I’d go into hiding, afraid to say anything, afraid of conflict. My faith was changing, my world was getting bigger, my friendships and community were shifting and growing and I was learning how to live outside of the authoritarian thumb of the evangelical circles I’d been in. I lived in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, always waiting for the next person to “speak into my life for a minute” and tell me what I was doing wrong or how poorly I was reflecting Christ.
But I kept writing.
A worldwide pandemic happened during the most interesting season of my life - RVing around the country for a year. And as it turns out, I had a lot of things to say. I found my voice and my courage again. I wasn’t just writing, I was writing with purpose. I was writing cause I had to. I burned my computer out from all that I was writing and doing. I wrote and self published another book about conspiracy theories and how we should engage with them as believers because I was watching them destroy my friends’ lives. I wrote with fury and excitement and for the first time since I stopped blogging, my platform started to grow.
And I kept writing.
When my pregnancy with the girls went into crisis, Carlos Whittaker told people about me (we had become friends through the pandemic at some point, but no one knew that). He shared my venmo and our story and asked his community to send us hope and prayer and overnight, I gained 10,000 followers. I was in crisis, terrified, actively in trauma, and he shared the instafamilia with me and they (you) held us up when we couldn’t stand.
I kept writing.
When we brought the girls home from the hospital, a literary agent reached out to me and a few months later, we began the process of writing a book proposal which led to getting 5 publishing offers, which led to a two book contract with Tyndale, which led to me writing Even if He Doesn’t, which comes out in 10 days.
And the thing is, I still don’t know if I’ll be a writer with books on the shelves. The industry has changed since I first dreamed of being an author. Everything happens online now and from what I understand from our conversations with book retailers, you don’t really get to have your book on the shelves unless you’re predicted to sell a lot of copies, which, as a first time author, I obviously am not. I still have this ache in me, for that dream I’ve had since I was little to look the way I always envisioned it, but it might not. I buried that dream. But I’ve been given a shot at this new one. An echo of the old dream. It’s ok if I don’t have books on the shelves, but I’m still gonna give this my best shot, you know?
I’ve given this book and this book launch everything I’ve got. I’ve exhausted myself in a podcast tour, I’ve taken marketing courses, I’ve fallen asleep listening to marketing podcasts and reading books. I’ve learned how to make reels and spot trending audios. I bought a nice camera. I’ve learned all these things I never imagined having to learn because it’s a lot harder to be just a writer these days. It helps if you’re also an artist, graphic designer, marketer, entrepreneur, speaker, etc. I’m none of those things, so I feel like I have to give 1,000% of myself to this. I don’t have a backup plan. I don’t have another career. I don’t have any other income streams anymore. And I don’t want to look back and ask myself, “what if I’d done more?” I’m so eager for it to work. To be a writer with books on the shelves. To be a writer whose words make a difference.
This is my basket and all of my eggs are in it!
I want to honor the dream that I buried by giving muscle to the new one in front of me. All I’ve ever wanted to do is write words that mean something to people, and I’ve done that. I want to keep doing that. For a long time. And so much of that hinges (or at least, it feels like it does right now) on how Even if He Doesn’t (and the next book) are accepted in the marketplace.
I don’t know if this is another dream I’ll have to bury. I hope not. But even if I have to bury this dream too,
I’ll keep writing.
“it’s not something that I do, but rather something that I am” … so the words will never stop flowing, for better or worse.
Thanks for being here and reading what I write, whether it’s here or on instagram or my books. Not every writer has readers. Not every writer gets a chance to be an author. I’m grateful, I’m excited, and I’m running out of breath.
10 days until Even if He Doesn’t.
these are some of the places and scenes I wrote this book from over the last two years.
You're not simply a writer, you're a superb writer with a beautiful heart. So, so thrilled for you.
I started following you just around that time in 2015. Found your blog and one of those viral posts. It has been very insightful seeing you discuss different topics through the years and seeing you grow through your seasons. Definitely excited this dream is coming true for you! I have my own that seems to keep getting put on hold and who knows if I will ever be able to pursue it again.