I didn’t write this post… 

I did not write what you are about to read. The next few paragraphs were not written by me. They’re going to sound like me, because it’s written by one of the most talented authors who has ever written for this blog— and, I have to admit, even ghostwrote as me here a time or two when I just couldn’t get up the energy to clack through another sponsored post about kale and lunchmeat— but I assure you it isn’t me. 

It’s all Mary Malcolm she’s not only a best selling author many times over, but she’s also a steamy romance novelist in a way that I could never be. 

And that’s why I’m leaving in the s-e-x stuff. Because what’s a romance author without a little swoon, right? 

So buckle up, friends because Mary’s about to take you on a journey of what she imagines is a journey into my head over the last few years. And honestly, she wasn’t that far off…

You see, as someone who wrote for the blog here, and even as me for years and years, she had a really insane view right into my whole head. 

When Kevin cheated on me the first time? She brought me a cake. 

She isn’t just someone who I worked with for a few years. She’s someone who saw me through some of my darkest, yet most successful parts of my whole career thus far, and as you guys all now know, I did it with a broken heart. (But she knew I was doing it that way all along. And she never stopped loving me. Not for one second.)

Here’s Mary’s post written as if she’s ME writing all about this crazy new chapter of my life: 

I cut my teeth on Tiger Beat Magazine with the tear-out posters of boy bands and dreamy actors. John Stamos in the ‘80s? Have Mercy. That cover also had Scott Baio, but we’ll come back to him later. 

In my teens it was all about s-e-x, and Cosmopolitan. No Teen Cosmo for me, nosiree, I went straight to hardcore. 10 Ways to Please Your Man with Just Your Hands? Uh, yes please. Who wouldn’t want to know that? 

When I reached my late teens, early 20s I realized I’d rather men know how to please me with their hands and promptly shifted to Jane Magazine. Feminism? Punk Rock? Politics? Powerful women? Those were a few of my favorite things.

Then I had a daughter. And a divorce. And I realized Scott Baio was a dick. 

I sat at my kitchen table, looking at this perfect tiny human that I could not fail, and started blogging. I shared my stories, my dreams, my best tips for painting perfectly straight lines on nails from home. I talked about the Twitter war I got into with Chachi. And talked about it again, because he didn’t stop. And I think one more time, because, seriously, Charles thought he was in Charge of the things I said and he was dead wrong.

As my daughter grew, so did my blog. She crafted, so I shared crafts. She had her own YouTube channel, I shared recipes. I still wrote about hopes and dreams, but also about my fears and the great awakenings I had as a parent. My friends joined in. We wrote posts about miscarriages, about the expectations placed on single moms, about more recipes (because who doesn’t love a good Southern Cornbread recipe?). 

When Halle got into Marvel, Minecraft, and pop culture, that seeped into my blog. And while I still shared personal moments and great awakenings, those pop culture moments were fun. It’s almost as if pop culture was a great way to break away from feelings. The feelings of watching my daughter grow up. Of trying so hard to be the wife and business owner I expected myself to be while still drowning in imposter syndrome. Pop culture didn’t care about how I felt or the times I went to bed and cried on my pillow at night. The Lego Movie said “Everything is Awesome” and I let it keep readers happy and entertained while I watched my daughter grow into a teen, a young woman, a high school graduate, and now a student in college.

My nest is empty. Sure, I moved close to where she goes to school so she can come to my nest for manicures and lunch whenever she wants, but my days of sharing content based on what went on with my child ended. My marriage ended. My desire to hide everything I felt behind pop culture and the 25 Ways the Barbie Movie Will Change Your Life… Ended (the Barbie movie really will change your life, though, so go watch it). 

In my quiet home, with my sweet dog, and sunny balcony, and taking the time to build myself up on the outside, I yearned to share more of what’s happening in my life on the inside. And maybe my friends will share their stories, too, someday. But for now it’s me, and my dog Nugget, and taking a chance to tell all those stories I held back while I watched my perfect tiny human become a woman. My life has changed so much over the years, and this blog is a time capsule of my every evolution. 

I’m changing again. I’m breathing four by four breaths, meditating, finding ways to be mindful in the middle of chaotic emotions. I’m evolving. And so is my blog. We, all of us, were Totally the Bomb when we read Tiger Beat Magazine. We’re still Totally the Bomb now. A few more gray hairs, a lot more life experience, but we will always be Totally the Bomb. I hope you join me in the next leg of my journey. I hope the things I write are the things you need to hear. And I hope you tell me your own stories along the way, too. 

Thanks for being on this journey with me. We’ve come so far together, and we have so far left to go.