Holl & Lane, Issue 18 Preview (Impact)

HOLL & LA N E A S A N C T UA RY F O R SO UL - F IL L ED STO R IES

20 1 8 CO L L ECTI O N Volume I V, I ssue 18

T HE IMPACT ISSU E Measuring the action and inf luence of our lives 1

Special Thanks To: Cristin Goss Cover Photographer cristingoss.com Autumn Pawelec Cover Model instagram.com/autumnpawelec Clare Lozano Cover Model instagram.com/seejaneblush Julie Kahlbaugh Cover Model instagram.com/julieanne514 Ta’lor Pinkston Cover Model instagram.com/ladyhoodjourney

In Every Issue 04 Contributors 06 Regular Contributors Become a Subscriber hollandlanemag.com/subscriptions

09 Editor’s Note

Shop Previous Issues hollandlanemag.com/shop

12 The List

Join our Private Facebook Community facebook.com/groups/HLFamily

94 Dear Soul Sister...

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In This Issue 14 The Impact of Women Now, more than ever, women are taking a stand in the world

44 The Face Looking Back Coping with a terminal diagnosis and self-identity

68 Women Impacting the World 3 women who are making a difference

18 The Heart of Home How our lives impact the places we call home

46 Losing Grace One of the hardest choices a mother has to make

72 The Span of Two Aprils Life, love, and loss - a lot can happen in one year

20 What My Parents’ Divorce Taught Me About Love 5 observations on relationships and what not to do

50 Feminism and Teenage Boys Sharing personal experiences as a means to educate

76 A Life Not Lived The legacy of a daughter who never took a breath

24 How to Be Happier Every Day Much of our happiness comes down to our daily choices

54 It’s All in How You Define It Smaller, quieter ways to make a lasting impact

80 Releasing Regret & Moving Forward Relinquishing perfectionism after a failed mentorship

26 A Conversation Can Save Lives Why more people should be talking about mental health

56 The Homes That Built Me How advocating for home ownership profoundly impacted so many lives

82 A Fear of Landing An unexpected death brings reality crashing down

32 Three Cheers For the Underdog The kind of person who always seems to surprise you

58 A Mother’s Dream Life changes overnight once you make the decision to become a parent

84 Social Media Silence A culture that has taught us to see noise as validation

34 The First Step Towards Restoration A life-changing phone call led to hope and healing

60 To The Brother I Never Met A love-filled letter 20 years later

86 One Person’s Impact Helping others feel less alone

38 How Being Vulnerable About Food Helps Others One woman opens up about her changing relationship with food

62 The Importance of Photographs How a disposable camera led to healing and joy

88 The Top Shelf: 5 Books That Made An Impact Reflecting on the literature that inspired curiosity

42 An Italian Lesson Reflecting on living abroad for a year

64 I Am a Survivor A Valentine’s Day with an unexpected ending

90 The Secret Recipe For Rising Communities How individuals + organizations can work together to improve communities

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Team SARAH HARTLEY Creator / Editor in Chief sarahhartley.net editor@hollandlanemag.com

MIA SUTTON Editorial Manager mia-sutton.com stories@hollandlanemag.com

JESS DOWNEY Social Media Manager chaoticcollectedinc.com

CONTACT

For press and advertising inquiries, editor@hollandlanemag.com For contributions, stories@hollandlanemag.com For stockists, editor@hollandlanemag.com

ABOUT We’re starting a movement towards more honest media, giving your voice and stories a platform to share your authentic lives.

SOCIAL instagram.com/hollandlanemag facebook.com/hollandlanemag pinterest.com/hollandlanemag The opinions expressed within each article do not necessarily represent those of the Holl & Lane team.

Contributors Abby Jones Writer It’s All in How You Define It Abigail O’Shea Writer Losing Grace Alisa Anton Photographer The Top Shelf: 5 Books That Made an Impact alisaanton.com Alli Worthington Writer How to be Happier Every Day instagram.com/alliworthington Amelia Barnes Writer Women Impacting the World instagram.com/ameliakyoga Amy Cook Writer The List : Read instagram.com/amy1939 Anastasia Hauschild Writer I am a Survivor anastasiahauschild.com Angelina Danae Writer Social Media Silence angelinadanae.com Anna Kolosyuk Photographer A Mother’s Dream unsplash.com/@anko_ Annie Spratt Photographer I Am a Survivor anniespratt.com Autumn Pawelec Writer, Model The Impact of Women instagram.com/autumnpawelec Beverly Paul-Cooper Writer Three Cheers for the Underdog instagram.com/bevpaulcoop

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Bonnie LaRusso Writer The Heart of Home instagram.com/blarusso Brooke Lark Photographer How Being Vulnerable About Food Helps Others unsplash.com/@brookelark Ceallaigh Anderson Smart Writer The Importance of Photographs printthelove.org Christine Amoroso Writer An Italian Lesson barenakedinpublic.com Clare Lozano Writer, Model The Impact of Women instagram.com/seejaneblush Cristin Goss Writer, Photographer The Impact of Women cristingoss.com Danielle Shaub Writer Releasing Regret & Pressing Forward instagram.com/danielle.shaub Denese Russell Writer Women Impacting the World deneserussell.com Elisabeth A. Fondell Writer The Span of Two Aprils elisabethafondell.com Emily Flanders Writer To the Brother I Never Met theemitimes.blogspot.com Erica L. Bartlett Writer How Being Vulnerable About Food Helps Others rediscoveringfoodmaine.com

Contributors Erica Musyt Writer The List : Watch instagram.com/1hotredhd

Julie Kahlbaugh Writer, Model The Impact of Women instagram.com/julieanne514

Eunice Brownlee Writer The Houses That Built Me euniceann.com

Justine Duran Writer Women Impacting the World instagram.com/consciousdegenerate

Grain and Compass Photographer The Heart of Home grainandcompass.com

Kelly Sikkema Photographer What My Parents’ Divorce Taught Me About Love unsplash.com/@kellysikkema

Jami Pasquinelli Writer The Secret Recipe for Rising Communities communityandcocktails.com

Lynette Rogers Writer Women Impacting the World homescapesofne.com

Jen Moslander Writer Feminism and Teenage Boys instagram.com/j_moslander

Luke Ellis-Craven Photographer A Conversation Can Save Lives unsplash.com/@lukeelliscraven

Jennifer Dunsmore Writer A Fear of Landing jenniferdunsmore.com

Maria Healey Writer A Mother’s Dream

Jennifer Lilley Collins Writer The Face Looking Back lifeconfetti.blog Jessica Rockowitz Photographer The First Step Towards Restoration jessicarockowitz.com Jessie Collins Writer The First Step Towards Restoration instagram.com/iamjessiecollins Jordan Whitt Photographer To the Brother I Never Met instagram.com/jwwhitt Jori Root Photographer The Heart of Home

Marissa Pane Writer A Conversation Can Save Lives spiesfittofight.com Melissa Boles Writer Dear Soul Sister twitter.com/melloftheball Mia Sutton Writer The List : Listen mia-sutton.com Nathan Dumlao Photographer It’s All in How You Define It nathandumlaocreative.com NeONBRAND Photographer Social Media Silence neonbrand.com

Rachel Whalen Writer A Life Not Lived anunexpectedfamilyouting.wordpress. com Rick Armstrong Photographer The Secret Recipe for Rising Communities raphoto.net Sami Ross Writer The Top Shelf: 5 Books That Made an Impact instagram.com/beetliever Sarah Hartley Writer The Impact of Women sarahhartley.net Suhyeon Choi Photographer The Face Looking Back unsplash.com/@choisyeon Ta’lor Pinkston Writer, Model The Impact of Women instagram.com/ladyhoodjourney Timothy Paul Smith Photographer Three Cheers for the Underdog unsplash.com/@timothypaulsmith Toa Heftiba Photographer Releasing Regret & Pressing Forward unsplash.com/@heftiba Trinity Murray Writer What My Parents’ Divorce Taught Me About Love instagram.com/tmurray121 Wes Hicks Photographer A Fear of Landing weshicks.photography Zantika Ellis Writer One Person’s Impact instagram.com/flyingfreediaries

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Regular Contributors AMY COOK, Books Wife and soccer mom by day, nerdy bookworm by night. Lover of wine, literature, pie and all things Gone With The Wind. instagram.com/amy1939

ERICA MUSYT, Movies Erica is a 30-something Virginia native who is passionate about family, friends, and the movies! She buys books faster than she reads them, loves ladybugs and all things purple. A movie star at heart, Erica is delighted to be a contributor to the Holl and Lane movie section! lookingtothestars.com

MIA SUTTON, Music Mia is a self-proclaimed word nerd. As a writer, blogger, and poet, she believes that words are our greatest treasure. She lives in Virginia with her husband and two sons. mia-sutton.com

CHRISTINE AMOROSO Writer Christine recently traded her role as elementary school principal, and her home in southern California, for a chance to live and write in Italy. She actively seeks opportunities to learn and grow, both personally and professionally. Her stories reflect her personal journey, opening her heart and mind to adventure and endless possibilities.

Barenakedinpublic.com SAMI ROSS, Writer Sami is a Chicago-based copywriter by day and Creative by night. Outside of her writing career, she likes to express her creativity through her yoga practice, and is working towards her teacher certification.

Currently, her favorite word is erleichda- a Tom Robbin’s creation that means “lighten up.” shross.com

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This Issue Brought To You By...

Thank you to the amazing people who donated to our Indiegogo campaign and helped us bring this issue to life. We’re able to keep going because of people like you.

A Harris Abby Jones Abigail O’Shea Allyn Lewis Amanda McMillan Amy Braswell Angelina Burkholder Anna Rohl Ashton Smith Barbara Torgerson Beata Wiggen Brandon Hartley Brigid Waszczak Brittany Forbes Brittany Jackson Brooke Saxon-Spencer Chelsey M Chris Burkett Christine Amoroso Christine Reed Cristin Goss Dana Walsh Danielle Joseph Debbie McKiver Dora Henderson Erica Bartlett Gaelle Berruel Gina Schultz Grace Whitlow Hallie Spencer Heather Ricketts Ja Weyer Jeanette Grzesik Jeffrey Schwarzkopf

Jennifer Collins Jennifer Dudley Jennifer Moslander Joy Schwarzkopf Judy Mei Kaci Wickstrom Kaiko Kassab Karen Kirsch Katie Davidsmeier-Smith Katie Faulk Kristen Bergman Kristin Forsythe LaKay Murphy Cornell LaTriece Arthur Lindsay Holsopple Lindsey Smith Liza Wallace Lizzie Mattson Luigi Rompani Madeline Ranstrom Margaret Hartmann Marissa Pane Mary McDonough Megan Jedlinski Melanie Lentz Melanie Lentz Melissa Prielipp Melissa Whaley Melody Parsons Mia Sutton Mindy Renee Jaffar Missy Cartwright Missy McLaughlin Molly Wantland

Naomi Geidel Nicke Minder Nicole Chrisman Patricia Pierson Peggy Bergman Rachel Whalen Rebecca Gellner Rebecca Keunen Rebecca Rice Rose Finley Vanden Eynden Safiyyah Hanif Sami Ross Sandra Hults Sarah Brockman Sarah Byrne Sarah Weaver Taira Adair Campbell Thera Thibeault Thomas Mattingly Tracey Stoeckel Victoria Grahan Zantika Ellis And to everyone who wanted to remain Anonymous, thank you.

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“

IN EVERY DAY, THERE ARE 1,440 MINUTES. THAT MEANS WE HAVE 1,440 DAILY OPPORTUNITIES TO MAKE A POSITIVE IMPACT. LES BROWN

IMAGE BY MATTHEW KERSLAKE

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”

Editor’s Note

HEADSHOT BY CRISTIN GOSS

Impact. Small word, big meaning.

How do we know what sort of impact we’re making on the world? How do we know if the footprint that we’re leaving behind has meaning?

This isn’t something I had put much thought into early in my life. In my 20’s, I mainly thought about myself.

But once I turned thirty, once I had a couple of kids, once I grew a business from the ground up, that’s when I started to think more of impact. I started to think of the sort of impact I wanted to leave in this world, what I wanted to be remembered for. My initial thoughts were that I wanted to be a good person who raised good people.

But once I started Holl & Lane over three years ago, I decided I wanted something more - I wanted to leave a bigger footprint in this world.

Through this magazine, I found what I was meant for, and what my impact will be. I was created to share YOUR stories. To give you a platform to use your voice to bring about change in the world. To create a magazine that would share our honest lives, no matter if they’re Instagram-worthy, no matter how painful.

To date, we’ve shared stories of well over 500 women. The words that have seeped through our pages and out of our screens have been some of the most vulnerable you’ll ever read. But because of their courage to write those words, so many of you have felt understood. So many of you have been encouraged to share your own stories. So many of you have come to me to say what Holl & Lane has meant to you.

And that is true impact.

I want to leave you with words from our friend Melissa, who wrote this edition’s Dear Soul Sister letter: “Maybe you don’t know it yet, but you’re going to be the connection that holds something together in a way people didn’t know was needed.”

Trust in the fact that you are here for a reason. Your life has meaning. You are important.

Until next time, Sarah Hartley Editor in Chief 9

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impact having a strong effect on someone or something

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THE LIST What we’re reading, watching, and listening to this quarter.

READ BY AMY COOK WATCH BY ERICA MUSYT LISTEN BY MIA SUTTON

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READ SMALL GREAT THINGS

by Jodi Picoult

THE HATE U GIVE

by Angie Thomas

THE LAST LECTURE

by Randy Pausch

Ruth, an African American labor and delivery nurse, finds herself in the middle of a moral dilemma when she encounters neo-Nazis who demand that she stay away from their infant while they are in the hospital. The baby codes with no one else on the floor and Ruth is forced to take action. When the baby dies anyway, Ruth finds herself in the middle of a firestorm between the couple, the hate group they belong to, lawyers, the hospital, and even her friends and family. Doing the right thing almost always comes at a cost and Ruth has to fight to keep her head up in the midst of losing her job, friends, and credibility. The twists and turns in this one will keep you guessing until the last chapter.

Starr is a 16-year-old girl whose best friend, Khalil, is shot and killed by police in front of Starr. Already balancing precariously between the fancy school she is enrolled in and the poor neighborhood she calls home, Starr finds herself in the middle of a battle of racism that is causing her entire world to come crashing down around her. While risking her own life, Starr has to decide if she should be the voice for her friend and the community that is suffering after this tragedy. In light of the Black Lives Matter movement, The Hate U Give will make you think about what racism looks like and how the unknown is not always something to fear. Note: This book has been adapted for the big screen and will be coming out this fall in theaters everywhere.

When Carnegie Mellon professor, Randy Pausch, discovered he had terminal cancer, he took to the lectern and gave a powerful and moving “last lecture” about the meaning of life, what it means to leave your mark, how he felt about leaving his wife and children behind, and what this is all for. You will laugh and cry during this read, but you may just find yourself pausing to appreciate the little things and making changes to leave a legacy of your own behind.

PAY IT FORWARD Has someone ever done something for you without any reason and just asked that you ‘pay it forward’?

Eugene Simonet assigns his students to think of an idea that could change the world for the better and to put it into action. One of his students, Trevor McKinney, creates a plan for paying forward favors that turns into a national phenomenon.

SUPER SIZE ME This documentary follows Morgan Spurlock as he explores the fast food empire and the effects it has on our health. For one month, Spurlock limits his diet to food only from McDonald’s. During this social experiment his weight increases, his energy decreases, and he experiences many unexpected, and terrifying, side effects from this unique diet.

Spurlock also digs into the corporate aspect of fast food and its connection to obesity in America.

THERE GOES MY LIFE

by Kenny Chesney

ZOMBIE

by The Cranberries

BORN THIS WAY

by Lady Gaga

1-800-273-8255

by Logic (feat. Alessia Cara and Khalid)

IMAGINE

by John Lennon

SECOND CHANCE

by Shinedown

WHERE IS THE LOVE?

by The Black Eyed Peas

HALLELUJAH

by Leonard Cohen

WATCH BLACKFISH This documentary follows the controversial capturing of killer whales. It is the story of Tilikum, a killer whale that has killed several people. This film covers problems with the sea-park industry as well as man’s relationship to nature.

LISTEN

SAME LOVE

by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis (feat.

Mary Lambert)

WAITING ON THE WORLD TO CHANGE

by John Mayer 13

The Impact of Women

Words by Sarah Hartley Images by Cristin Goss

When coming up with the theme for this issue, I immediately thought of the impact of women.

Now, more than ever, women are taking a stand in the world, their voices are being heard, and women are making true and lasting change. It’s an exciting time to be a woman. Within the Holl & Lane community, the power of women coming together is something that is life saving. The more than 500 women who have shared a piece of themselves throughout our last 18 issues are playing a role in defining media as we move forward. Our voices are shouting out our truths, and they’re leaving room at the table for other women to sit and talk about exactly who they are. The concept for the cover of this issue represented my thought process behind the impact of women. I wanted to show women of all sizes, races, and backgrounds coming together to support one another.

I asked the beautiful women featured on the cover to tell me what the impact of women coming together means. This is what they had to say.

AUTUMN PAWELEC Cover Model, left instagram.com/autumnpawelec What women coming together means to me is a promise to one another. A promise to impact the world together. A promise to honor and respect each other. A promise to hold and cherish one another through the ups and downs.

A promise to remind each other that we ALL are worthy of love, worthy of directing our own lives, worthy of following our dreams. Womanhood is promise. A promise to always have each other’s back.

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CLARE LOZANO Cover Model, left instagram.com/seejaneblush A strong, intelligent, passionate, and confident woman can do anything she sets her mind to.

But when she surrounds herself with other like minded women who are just as strong and and just as confident, who lift each other up in love and support, they are all unstoppable!

JULIE KAHLBAUGH Cover Model, above instagram.com/julieanne514 Women’s empowerment is when judgement, jealousy, envy, and differences towards other women are pushed aside. It’s when we lift each other up and help guide each other towards self-love. There are no more stereotypes, cliques, or categories. We stand hand in hand and become one connective energy. This energy can and WILL change the world.

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TA’LOR PINKSTON Cover Model, above instagram.com/ladyhoodjourney For years I struggled connecting with women because I viewed them all as the bullies I had as friends when I was a teenager. When I started being transparent about all the pain I have endured, that is when I was truly able to connect with other women on a deeper level.

As a self-love coach, self-love lifestyle blogger I know the strength in uniting women and women’s empowerment. No matter your race, ethnicity, age, socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, sexual preference, or religion we all have something to learn from one another.

Every story matters and sharing only makes connections more genuine.

Women are so much stronger together than they are separate.

CRISTIN GOSS Cover Photographer, right instagram.com/gossboss_photovideo Women supporting other women will have such a positive impact on the world because of the positive energy and motivation we can offer each other. I have almost exclusively built my photography and videography business on referrals from other women that wanted to lift me up and help me succeed. I find that most women are likely to support and build “tribes” or a community rather than the rat race and ladder climbing. I feel incredibly grateful to have both a local and online network of strong, like-minded women that I call my clients and now, friends.

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Words by Bonnie LaRusso Title image by Grain and Compass Interior images by Jori Root

THE HEART OF HOME

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T

he first days in our house were marked by my baby’s first steps and I remember thinking of how fitting that seemed. I loved the image of my first-born son marking his first footprints on the floor of our new house, instantly making it a home.

A few months later, we celebrated my son’s first birthday even as a tiny new baby grew inside of me. I began to imagine the friendship those two kids would have, especially being so close in age. When we lost our baby twelve weeks later, I was overcome with grief and my soul instantly and desperately longed for another baby to dull the intense pain of our loss. But again, three months after that, we lost another baby.

In the wake of my second miscarriage, my world came crumbling down. My whole life I had dreamed of having a big family. It was my only dream, my identity, and I couldn’t understand why God would not grant this simple wish.

I spent night after night, as sleep evaded me, pacing around our home, crying out to a God I wasn’t even sure about anymore.

The footprints I made during that season were marked by heartache and hard questions, but the thing about these walls is they don’t just see the happiness and the laughter, they also see the pain and, just as my son’s footprints turned this house into a home, so did my own in their own way.

The third pregnancy after my first born finally stuck, but after all we had been through I knew I didn’t want to deliver our baby in a hospital. We began planning our first home birth and nine months later, while my two-year-old napped peacefully downstairs, our second son was born. Since that night we have had two more babies at home.

I know for some people this sounds crazy, horrible, or a certain mix of the two, but for us it has been the most perfect experience. There is nothing quite like being in your own home as you go through the pains and joys of labor. I’ll never forget how I could simultaneously labor while listening to my older boys play Legos downstairs. It’s almost too special to put into words the feeling of my three-year-old holding my hand during a contraction or my five-year-old cheering me on. And after the baby is born there is truly nothing like sleeping in my own bed as I relax and recover.

Each time a new baby is born I think about all the things these walls have seen: the footsteps and the laughter, the loss and the sadness, yes, but most of all the new life that has literally been birthed right inside of them.

Lately we’ve been talking more and more about leaving this house and I have had to slowly come to grips with the fact that this may not always be my home.

It feels oddly fitting that we might wrap up our season of birthing babies and simultaneously be thinking of moving. It’s almost like a clear shift from one season to the next; one home to another.

I have a vision that someday, long after we move, we will drive past this house.

As we pull up to the front I’ll begin to tell my boys about how they were born in the bedroom upstairs and how they used to ride their bikes in circles inside on the long Chicago winter days. I’ll take a moment of silence thinking about this sweet old home of mine and then I’ll slowly drive away with silent tears in my eyes as I remember the million pieces of my heart that live in these walls.

For these are the walls that have seen all of who we have been and are becoming. This sacred floor has been marked by tummy time, first steps, and endless games of chase. This house has watched me become a mama; it’s seen my dreams realized, my identity solidified and, just as our season of birthing and losing babies has made its mark on this home, this home has made its mark on my heart. &

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What My Parents’

i d

or c e v

Taught Me About Love Words by Trinity Murray Image by Kelly Sikkema

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M

y parents divorced when I was four years old, so I never truly had a model to look up to when it came to relationships. You may have heard your parents at some point tell you to do as they say, not as they do. In my case, everything I learned about relationships through the years has been a huge guide on what not to do. By doing the opposite of everything they’ve done, I have come to understand love.

When it came to my mother’s many relationships following the divorce, I learned that you should never let a significant other treat you like you are a lesser being. They shouldn’t sit on a couch all day while you bring in the paychecks and do all the work around the house. There has always been this theme where men would move into our house very quickly, sometimes without my sister and I having met them yet.

I learned from his long-term relationships that you should not stay with someone if you do not feel the same about them as you did in the beginning. If the flame is no longer lighting up a room, then you should not stay in a relationship simply because of finances or because you are afraid of what would happen after that. My father was handed the short stick after his first and second failed relationships.

His partners left him with nothing both times, and he had to build himself back up from the ashes. I had to give him credit for that. I watched and lived through the struggle both times with him, and if it weren’t for what happened next, I would have lost all hope for myself when it comes to love. He met his current partner, and I have never seen more love between two people than what they share with each other.

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One relationship will stick with me until the day I die, and that is my mother’s second marriage. She met this man online, which I have no issues with if done safely and over a good amount of time to ensure they’re trustworthy. The thing that bothered me was that she didn’t care to do a background check on him before allowing him to move in with two young girls. At the time, I was only eight years old and my sister would have been twelve. That man had an evil past, and he should never have been permitted to live in the same house as us. I’ll just leave you with that.

Luckily, nothing happened to either of us.

But my mother was not so lucky. He was an alcoholic, so when going through withdrawals there were times he hallucinated that people were trying to attack him or that bugs were crawling out of the walls of a room and up his body. One day, the paranoia sunk in and he thought my mother was out to get him. She ended up in the hospital with a bump on her forehead the size of a baseball. That was the day I decided that I would never let a guy get close enough to hurt me mentally, emotionally, or physically like that. She has learned from her mistakes as well, and the man she has been with now for many years is all of the things her second husband was not.

I have personally only ever been with one person, and that is my adorable fiancé. We are high school sweethearts who grew up a few streets over from each other. We have been together for almost seven years now, and I don’t know what would have become of me had I not spoken to him in the stairwell of our school all those years ago. He has taught me how to love, and most importantly how to be loved in return. I honestly believe we are each other’s reasons to wake up and reach higher every single day.

Looking back, I do realize that if my parents hadn’t made the decisions that they chose then I would not have turned into the compassionate and sentimental human being I am today. Having recently been engaged, I am searching for answers on what a healthy relationship is. The takeaways from my observations are as follows: •

It takes two. Both giving and receiving respect makes for less arguments and more appreciation.

Communication is key.

Equality has been a process for over fifty years now, so both partners should put in their best effort when it comes to finances as well as everyday household tasks.

If there is fear in a relationship, it is okay to leave.

Loving someone should be second nature, and if you find it a chore then maybe it isn’t for you.

We offer print and digital issues plus subscriptions starting at just $5!

My father’s relationships after the divorce were confusing to me for a long time. I didn’t understand the concept of guys liking guys or girls liking girls until I was about eleven, and that is when I found out that my father was gay and my sister was a lesbian. That’s right, I found both out at the same time! At that point, I’m not going to lie, I thought it was either contagious or hereditary.

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• •

• •

Love is love, and if you aren’t falling head over heels into it then it is time to move on. Whenever you find your person, trust me…you’ll know. &

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How to Be

HAPPIER Every Day

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Words by Alli Worthington

B

usyness, fear, bad news, world events, your boss that never gives you credit for your brilliant ideas — it seems like daily we face situations that threaten to steal our happiness. For something that we imagine should come naturally, it’s often surprising that we must fight to be happy.

Learning how to be happier every day begins with understanding that being happy doesn’t mean the absence of frustrating circumstances. It means we allow ourselves to revel in the good times and to cope with the bad times in the most effective way possible.

HAPPINESS IS A WORTHY GOAL AND WORTH FIGHTING FOR For most of us, feeling happy isn’t our natural set point. In our survival brains, we have learned to see what is wrong in the world, to stay on high alert for danger, to prepare for the bad things to come. But happiness is a worthy goal and one worth fighting for, a goal that can be achieved by simply making the decision to be happier and live a happier life.

Much of our happiness comes down to our daily choices. Throughout our life we unknowingly develop habits that directly impact our personal happiness.

These habits are often small choices, actions, or thought patterns that keep our happy meters on empty. Let me explain.

HAPPINESS THIEVES My friend, Julie, a glass-half-empty kind of girl by her own admission, went on a personal quest to identify the things in her life that were stealing her happiness.

Though it took some work to discover them, she learned the three biggest happiness thieves in her life were saying yes to things she didn’t want to do in order to avoid disappointing others, comparing her real life to others' life highlights on social media, and thinking of herself as powerless to overcome difficult situations (the “it’s never going to get better” mindset).

Julie quickly realized how much power these seemingly small habits had in stealing her happiness and created a plan to overcome them. For a month, she kept a sticky note on her bathroom mirror with her list of truths she would use to combat the happiness thieves in her life. She read them aloud each and every day.

Her truths were: I give myself permission to say no.

Social media is not real life.

I can do hard things.

Any time she caught herself doing, speaking, or thinking any of the things she’d identified as happiness thieves, she’d speak truth.

What we can’t see, we can’t overcome. But once we are aware of the happiness thieves in our lives, we can create systems and processes that give those thieves the boot! (Y’all know I love a good system!)

HAPPINESS BUILDING BLOCKS In addition to identifying our own happiness thieves, we must also understand the essentials to a happy life. Researchers have proven that there are two key elements that build a happy life: the quality of our relationships and the habit of gratitude.

THE POWER OF RELATIONSHIPS Harvard happiness researcher, Daniel Gilbert, says, “We are happy when we have family, we are happy when we have friends, and almost all the other things we think make us happy are actually just ways of getting more family and friends.”

The happiest people are those who invest in relationships. Start intentionally investing in your relationships by spending more time with your family, taking a coworker out to lunch, joining a social group, or a book club - whatever you enjoy, go find people who enjoy it too!

THE POWER OF GRATITUDE Positive psychology research has consistently shown a happier life to be associated with gratitude. Gratitude is the secret to releasing serotonin (the happy hormone), enjoying good experiences, overcoming stress, and building better relationships.

In our family, we have made it a habit to share our "three wins" for the day. It would be easy to focus on what didn’t go well, but by sharing our three good memories, we are practicing gratitude and savoring what makes us happy.

Some additional ways you can cultivate gratitude in your life are keeping a gratitude journal, sending thank you notes, and regularly thinking about things in life that you are grateful for.

Abraham Lincoln said, “Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.” If you want to be happier every day, identify your happiness thieves, spend time developing the relationships in your life, and make the decision to be grateful, every day, for something. &

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Words by Marissa Pane Images by Luke Ellis-Craven

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A Conversation Can Save Lives

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D

espite what many believe, asking someone if they are thinking about killing themselves actually doesn’t influence or increase the likelihood of someone attempting suicide. In fact, it can actually be what stops a person from making an attempt and I’ve witnessed the power of this conversation firsthand.

under my belt, and something extraordinary happened.

I was even more directly hit with how important and impactful my presence had been in a student's life.

As a mental health advocate, I began the core of my advocacy work with the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI). The first time I presented, I was speaking to a group of incoming college freshmen at a local community college. These freshmen were only a few years younger than me at the time, but upon hearing my story, you could tell that they believed we were decades apart in age.

No one batted an eye during the session and it seemed like the typical high school class reaction, “I’m too cool to act like I’m listening, but, like, this is super intense..”

On a Wednesday morning, I spoke to a few high school health classes about mental health awareness and of course, my experiences with mental illness.

Then, as the universe would have it, the next week I received a phone call. One of the students who was on the receiving end of my presentation on Wednesday had a suicide plan in place for that coming weekend.

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I explained how I had been bullied and labeled as the outcast for my entire life and how I never felt as if I belonged. I talked about how I struggled with anxiety and depression for my entire life but I had no idea what it was or that it wasn’t a normal part of every person’s life.

I spoke about my mentally abusive relationship which combined with the loss of my passion (baton twirling) due to a broken back, and the transition of moving my extremely handicapped brother from our home setting to a permanent hospital residency, launched me headfirst into a vicious eating disorder.

...WHAT?

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I froze in shock. Had my presentation been scheduled for a week later, it would have been a week too late.

But instead, upon hearing my battle with mental illness and my journey to recovery, this young boy went to his guidance counselor's office, confessed his truth and began his search for the professional help that he so desperately needed.

I went on to explain that even with all the pain, even with all the sleepless nights praying to a God I didn’t believe in to stop my heart while I was sleeping, and with all the bullshit that I had faced in such a short span of time, I prevailed and found resilience to be my biggest strength. I had found a reason to live, a spark of hope, and understood that I was experiencing these dark times to help others who would also find themselves in the dark.

This story stands out to me because of how direct and in your face the impact of conversation can be.

I was determined to turn my pain into my purpose. And so I did.

If you have an experience with mental illness, talk about it.

Overall, moments like this happen all the time. It may not appear this obvious, but a blog post, a magazine article, a TV interview, a radio show, a podcast conversation anything - has the power to land in the lap of someone searching for a reason to hold on and keep going.

If you’ve recovered from a dark place, share your story and shine your light.

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After my presentation, a member of the audience, an incoming freshman who recently lost a friend to suicide, came up to my co-presenter and I in tears. She couldn’t stabilize her own mental health since the loss of her friend and we knew we needed to get her the help she needed.

After an hour speaking with her, we were able to connect her with multiple support paths.

If you know someone with mental illness, extend your support.

Start a conversation. Be present and watch as you become the guiding light leading those suffering back home.

I was shocked by how my story instantly opened the gates for this girl to unleash how desperately she needed help but didn’t know where to go. In this moment, I became totally invested in the cause of speaking about mental illness and felt that I needed to continue sharing my story if it was the green light for others to find the courage within themselves to seek help.

You hold the power to save a life which means that you hold the power to change the world. Step up and take action, my friend.

Fast forward a few years, with dozens of presentations

Every soul deserves support. &

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Every story is significant.

Every story is worth sharing.

I was determined to turn my pain into purpose.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

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You are

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so needed.

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Words by Beverly Paul-Cooper Image by Timothy Paul Smith

Three Cheers for the Underdog

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ome might say I’m witty. My husband would be quick to tell you that I am determined, while my best friends would say I am sarcastic. I, however, have always seen myself as the “underdog” - the kind of person people never seem to bet on or against and always seems to surprise you.

Up until a few years ago, this identity always followed me, or more bluntly, haunted me. I could never do or be enough to have other people offer up the kind of strong faith and support they would give to someone they truly believed in. These sentiments have been both my mantra and my muse, and to be frank, my perspective of feeling underrated has often deterred the chances I wish I could have taken.

This is not me intentionally being self-deprecating - it’s my truth. The observations and emotions that are surrounded by my underdog thought process have led me to both explore and acknowledge new and beautiful sentiments about who I am and how I see and affect the world around me.

Through vast and unique situations with others, I have learned that my unexpected abilities or overlooked strengths help me to be set apart. The most significant nuggets of wisdom I learned once I accepted my underdog self was the beauty of surprise and the peace and confidence of self-affirmation. Here’s how these characteristics have shed so much light onto my otherwise overshadowed life. ›››

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THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE Growing up I was an avid reader, and still try to be to this day, so it didn’t seem too beyond the scope of my capability when I entered into a reading contest in third grade. Several pages and online quizzes later, I found myself one of the top readers on the list for our entire school. I can still recall my name being read over the intercom during morning announcements and feeling the excitement roaring through my body and brain. I can also still remember the slightly disillusioned looks on so many of my classmates’ faces. Were the other kids assuming I could not read? Well, no. Did I get along with them for the most part? Yes, of course. What they didn’t know was that I was actually good at reading.

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There was nothing inherently obvious about my intelligence nor my capabilities that really made them take notice. Now, no one picked on me or anything, but I could feel a shift with how they viewed me.

They might not have known exactly what I was capable of, but they certainly weren’t going to count me out. Even way back then I began to learn something as small as topping a school’s reading contest would leave a whiff of unpredictability in my trail and a smile on my face.

CLICK HERE TO GET THE FULL ISSUE SELF-AFFIRMATION By nature I am a self starter, a dreamer, and a try, then fail, then try some more kind of person. Viewing myself as an underdog has prepared and toughened me to exude a lot of grit and determination when I decide to do something. The most significant thing to me about catching someone's eye and ear unexpectedly is honestly how good it feels to prove to myself that I can do it. And because I am unexpected, the fear of not reaching someone else’s expectations is not even something I consider.

I can recall preparing my graduate school application and toiling over what professors I would ask to complete my recommendations. I would ask myself questions like, “would they remember me?” and “do they even think I’m capable?” Despite knowing that I am never the first on everyone’s list, I applied anyway with only minor hesitance. I got in, graduated, and the feeling set my soul on fire.

No one really knew I was applying, and I didn't graduate summa cum laude in my area of study, but being an underdog breeds unexpectedness, and unexpectedness nurtures willpower. Accomplishing what I want in life has spurned so much more self-affirmation than I could have ever dreamed simply because I am working hard - not to be heard or praised by others, but to feel the excitement, triumph, and cheer that comes with feeling good about yourself.

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As time passes, I become more and more grateful for opportunities to surprise myself and others. I spent too much time growing up wondering why there wasn’t something overtly special about me, and now I focus more on embracing what there is about me that highlights my strengths and gives me opportunities to influence others in a positive way.

I have always felt like an underdog. That has never wavered, no matter what I push to achieve in life. Well then, so be it! Let it be the catalyst for any empowering presence I have on myself and the world. Let it be that for every time I am overlooked I am then presented with an opportunity to show others they should be prepared to not only be surprised, but be able to see the beauty in what comes unexpectedly. &

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Words by Jessie Collins Images by Jessica Rockowitz

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THE FIRST STEP TOWARDS RESTORATION

D

uring a rare quiet afternoon in our home, I watched my three-year-old meticulously mix every paint color on her makeshift cutting board palette. I marveled at her concentration and soaked up every detail of the unintentionally beautiful scene. I reached down to feel our second baby moving in my full-term belly and was overwhelmed with gratitude for this season of life – a season that long felt out of reach for me.

Behind my deep gratitude lives a complicated earlyparenthood journey riddled with fear, uncertainty, and eventually redemptive hope. This very hope was made possible by one impactful first step toward healing and the series of seemingly fortuitous connections that followed. ›››

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I suffered severe, recurring hemorrhages two and four weeks postpartum after my first labor, and my road to healing and self-care took much longer than the physical healing. Because I was living in a state of survival and unknowns (as most first-time parents understand), my postpartum experiences emotionally debilitated me in ways I could not begin to identify. After weeks that led to months that led to years of feeling some level of isolation, I took the first step to recovery – I called a counselor.

I was devastated to learn this particular counselor – one I had deemed perfect for my situation – was not taking new clients, but she referred me to several others. Too exhausted to commit to anything other than that initial attempt, I made a couple calls to tell my story and never solidified an appointment with anyone else.

I let feelings of loneliness and inadequacy become my norm, convincing myself parenthood was mainly challenging and only slightly joyful. I held on for dear life to the times during which I felt good at this role and accepted that “some people are just better at this than I am.” The thought felt sad to me considering I longed my whole life to be a mother, but I accepted this as reality and carried on.

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When my daughter turned two, I experienced graphic flashbacks to the episodes following her birth. The necessity to take action became clear, and I reached out to that same first counselor. Once again, she was not taking on new clients and referred me elsewhere. Without much research or reason, I made one call to a referral.

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“I remember you!” the woman said immediately. “How are you? I feel like I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

Apparently, I called her months prior and never moved forward, but now her existing knowledge of my story was just enough to push me to make the appointment.

She led me through months of Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy, during which I learned to identify my experiences as trauma and start to heal. The ultimately restorative work was exhausting and forced me to acknowledge how many relationships, including one with my daughter, had been stifled because of my inability to connect and trust after trauma.

Through this process, I met myself as a mother for the first time. The self-doubt that defined so many days began to melt away and was replaced by tremendous fulfillment and confidence. My new posture of gratitude transformed my relationship with my daughter, and my life was primarily defined by an incredible lightness.

Following our final EMDR session, my counselor explained that she did not want to overstep but felt a strong push to relay the name of a specific obstetrician in town. This seemed strange because I had no intention of having more children. While I had made enormous strides, I did not yet trust that any medical team could support me in the ways needed to enter into a second round.

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For some reason, though, the physician’s name stuck with me. I decided to take one more step and gave the OB a call. I walked into my appointment with very little on the agenda other than telling my story.

This turned into a two-hour visit, and in that time she shared with me her own story of labor trauma and subsequent mission to care for and protect mothers.

I left feeling heard; I left feeling safe; and most surprisingly, I left with a deep desire for a do-over. My heart craved a bigger family and a redemptive experience. This reality hit me like a ton of bricks, and I was in tears before I even made it to my car. I was shocked to learn how much I had suppressed this desire out of fear.

With an open heart and mind, I was able to own and love my role as a mother. My relationships with my daughter, husband, and so many others were restored in a way I did not previously know necessary. Life began to take shape beautifully as anger and fear became just details in a long, hopeful story.

Now I sit here, anxiously awaiting the arrival of our second baby girl. The miracle of this opportunity is not lost on me. My story, one of everyday miraculous moments, is the reason I trust in the power of a first step, no matter how big or small. The synchronicity and seamlessness that unfolded from a routine phone call has changed the course of our family’s existence. &

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IME T T S R I F E R TH O F R E H T MO A S A F L E I M E T M YS

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Words by Erica L. Bartlett Image by Brooke Lark 38

How being vulnerable about food helps others

M

ost of the time, I don’t know if or how my actions impact others.

I try to treat people nicely, but it’s hard to know what it means when you give someone a kind word, hold a door open, say thank you, or just listen.

But I have learned one thing that’s guaranteed to have a positive impact: being vulnerable. And I notice this especially in relation to food and eating habits.

If you’re surprised to hear that talking about food makes someone vulnerable, I envy you, because that probably means you’ve never felt ashamed or guilty about your food choices. Personally, though, I can’t imagine going through my life without ever having those feelings. And the more I talk about my experiences with others, the more I realize I’m not alone.

REVEALING SECRET FOOD HABITS That wasn’t always the case. When I was younger, I was convinced I was alone. After all, I didn’t know anyone else who obsessed about food. Who ate the “good” foods in public but the “bad” foods in secret. And who hated themselves for doing that.

When my parents made me go to Weight Watchers at 13, I did meet other people who struggled with food, but none of them were my age. And I freely admit that even if they talked about eating in secret, I didn’t hear it. I was too angry about being forced to go.

I didn’t feel like I could talk to anyone about this, both because it would mean coming clean about cheating on my diets, and because I didn’t think anyone else could understand. I even felt too embarrassed to tell my best friend - the friend I spent so much time with that we finished each other’s sentences.

Instead I carried all of this, feeling alone with my difference, for over a decade. ›››

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Only in my 20’s, when I started changing my relationship to food, did I learn I wasn’t alone. Other people – mostly women, but sometimes men – had the same struggles. It amazed and saddened me how food could be such an important and necessary part of our lives and at the same time fill us with such anguish.

That’s when I knew I had to start talking about all this. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of more people suffering under this burden of secret shame.

For instance, I might explain how after 20 years, I told my best friend – the same one I could never talk to before – how I used to sneak sweets at her house. It was so hard to do. I still felt ashamed of my actions, and embarrassed that I had never been able to tell her before. But opening up about it let that old wound start to heal, especially after she gave me a hug and said it was okay.

So I started working as a mindful eating health coach. And always, the first thing I do when I meet with someone is to tell them about my own experiences.

Or I tell people how I talked to my dad about my teenage years, and the negative effect of all that focus on my weight. That gave me the chance to find out he’d had no idea how it impacted me.

And to hear him say he was sorry, that meant so much to me. I only wish I’d been able to have that kind of conversation with my mom before her death.

Even though things have changed for me, this can still be scary. To explain how ashamed and guilty I felt about the way I ate. How I thought something was wrong with me because I couldn’t stick to the diet rules. How panicked I felt when I thought of anyone witnessing me stuffing my face with candy, cookies, brownies… whatever I could get. How worrying about it took over my life.

When other people have an example of this, it gives them the courage to talk to their own loved ones and to heal and deepen their relationships. One woman told me how she felt lighter after talking to her husband about her struggles with food. He didn’t completely understand, but being open about it made a difference. She also finally felt able to eat what she wanted in front of him without worrying about judgment.

But here’s the great thing about being vulnerable: finding out that someone has an experience similar to yours validates your experience. And it empowers you to share your own stories.

And once you start that process of healing, you realize how much time and energy you spent on keeping those secrets, beating yourself up, or obsessing about diet rules.

I see this so often in my coaching. When I tell a woman about my struggles, she starts telling me about hers. This includes sharing eating habits that she’s kept secret for years, even from her spouse or best friend – just like I did. I often feel the urge to cry, hug her, or both.

This is where the other part of the magic happens. Because once you understand that you can spend that time and energy on something else, everything changes. Your horizons open up.

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OPENING THE DOOR TO HEALING But this brings up the second great part about vulnerability: it opens the door to healing.

By moving these parts of your life out of the shadows, you can acknowledge and own them. It takes away their power when you realize you don’t have to be ashamed anymore. These behaviors are just part of what is – and they don’t have to stay that way.

You can choose instead to focus that energy on something more meaningful. Maybe your family, or volunteer work, or creating that book/music/painting/other art that you’ve been dreaming about for years. You can start a new hobby. Or simply live more joyfully, at peace with yourself.

For example, one of the older men I worked with came to a place of self-acceptance. It’s too bad it didn’t happen until his late 60’s, but at least he was finally happy with himself.

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Changing things starts with ditching the guilt. Some women have told me how freeing it is simply not to beat themselves up about what they eat. And even if that’s all we accomplish together, I consider it a win.

But some go further. They want to be more mindful overall… and that includes telling their loved ones what’s going on.

This is another area where I find it’s critical to share my own journey. Because I know firsthand how scary it can be to open up that way, how we worry that our loved ones will reject us when they know these hidden truths. But that’s also why it’s important to know that it doesn’t have to be that way. In fact, this can result in something good.

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THE RIPPLE EFFECT What makes it even better is when that change ripples out.

Simply by walking in the world as someone comfortable in your own skin, you can inspire more people to do the same. You can pave the way for others to make full use of their talents instead of letting them waste away, overshadowed by those darker thoughts.

I love seeing this ripple effect of how I can help one person, and then she or he can help others, and on and on. I’ll never know how far it spreads, but I don’t need to. It’s enough to know those ripples are going out.

I’m not saying this is easy. Being vulnerable takes courage and practice. And it will always carry some risk. But when I see how much it can help and inspire others, that risk is well worth it. &

Image by Rachel Rouhana 41

Words & Images by Christine Amoroso

An

Italian Lesson 42

S

tanding in the middle of the small bedroom, hands on my hips, I assess the mess around me. A small wardrobe, two drawers, a big cardboard box, and the largest of my two suitcases, all open and awaiting my decisions. Winter clothes, jackets, boots, scarves, and beanies along with books and journals I’ll ship home. Summer clothes stay with me for the remaining weeks in Italy. Stuff I no longer want or need will be donated. Only two suitcases and my backpack go home, the same way I came to Italy a year ago.

I sort, fold, and pack in the sticky humidity. It’s hard to believe I’ll be back in California next month. I haven’t given my return home much thought in the last year. Now that my departure is looming, I think about it a lot. I have no solid reentry plan, no place to live, but plenty of places to stay in the short term. No job, but I’m on a quest to see my first book published. I’ve been purposeful about my loose planning, living in the moment and trusting the Universe as I adventured. But as the adventure concludes, I admit to worrying a tad about real life and finances - my savings won’t last forever. There is a little discomfort in the uncertainty. I am sure of one thing: my life at home will be different because I am different.

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CLICK HERE TO GET THE FULL ISSUE My damp t-shirt clings to me. Not even the wide open window can provide relief from the heat. Taking a break, I sit on the edge of the twin bed and check my progress. I give a nod of approval and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. I chuckle, funny to think I spent the winter freezing my ass off in northern Italy and longing for sunshine. As the weather slowly warmed I looked for any signs of spring, and celebrated the definitive change in season, welcoming a new beginning. Tossing a pair of gloves in the box, I wonder now, did I not appreciate the arrival of spring at home, or was the experience here made better because I had suffered the long cold winter?

I have asked myself some version of this question a hundred times over the last year. When I felt awed, inspired, humbled, transformed, or grateful in the wake of a beautiful experience, I would search my southern California memories for similar emotion. I suppose my comparison was prompted by being consistently asked which I liked more, living in California or Italy? To which I would always reply, “I love them both, for different reasons.” Still, I cannot deny that my senses are somehow heightened here. I am keenly aware of the beauty and lessons of this extraordinary journey as they happen. Is life here in Italy really better? If I rely on the opinions of the Italians I meet for an answer, they say California, hands down. It seems I am always defending Italy to its citizens, convincing them of all it has to offer. I love Italy and I love home, so what’s the deal?

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I am unencumbered here. I broke free from the daily grind I had created at home and left it far behind. In Italy, I have time to think freely, observe without hurry, to listen and learn. My heart and mind have been wide open, ready to receive new ideas and perspective I never had time to consider. I was scheduled beyond full capacity at home, my emotions maxed out. I have a freedom in Italy that never existed for me in California. Not because it couldn’t, but because I didn’t know how.

As I look at my belongings before me, I realize there is no physical evidence of the impact that living here in Italy has had on me. Yes, there are the perfect sandals I purchased in Florence, and the body cream I love made by the monks at the Monastery of San Miniato. But the gained experiences that have changed the way I see myself, the people I love, and the world cannot be touched or seen, only beautifully revealed in the way I live my life moving forward. &

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The Face Looking Back Words by Jennifer Lilley Collins Image by Suhyeon Choi

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hen I found out I had stage 2 breast cancer, I had no idea what to expect.

I just wanted to survive. I endured chemotherapy, a double mastectomy with reconstruction, complications, extra surgeries, and 28 rounds of radiation -- none of it was fun. In fact, most of it was pretty awful. Two years later, I was diagnosed with stage 4 metastatic breast cancer when the cancer spread to my bones and lungs. I was considered terminal and given a prognosis of about 3 years. I had 13 more rounds of radiation and started a combination of medications that came with nasty side effects; like achy bones and joints, ridiculous fatigue, and stomach problems that made life miserable at times.

It was hard enough to grow older, but throw in losing your breasts and having unsuccessful reconstruction surgery; growing in a fresh head of hair popping out in all directions, colors, and textures; a 25-pound weight gain from medication side effects, various scars all over my body, thinning hair, and disappearing eyebrows yeah, that can severely impact a girl’s self-esteem. My clothes didn’t fit. I felt awkward in my own body. Buying a bra or a bathing suit after a double mastectomy or going to a salon where the other women were having their long, luxurious locks blown out, while you were getting your wig cut similar to your old hairstyle so your kids didn’t cry when they saw you - not fun! I wasn’t a vain person but when I didn’t recognize the face in the mirror, I had a hard time feeling good about myself.

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My whole world changed. I closed my businesses and stayed home with my kids. I looked at everything differently. Time was no longer on my side and that brought a whole new perspective. I was terrified that this birthday, this anniversary, this Christmas might be my last. When the doctor told me to plan on 3 more of all those milestones, I did the math more than I should have; however, I had since learned to enjoy the moment, because right now was really all I had.

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I appreciated my new outlook. As much as I hated cancer, I was grateful that it forced me to change my priorities. I was a different person. I was a better wife, mom, daughter, and friend. Cancer was a cruel teacher, but an effective one. With my faith, and the support of my family and friends, I navigated this path I didn’t choose with as much grace as I could muster on most days. On the other days, I gave myself a break. This cancer stuff wasn’t easy.

It wasn’t the medical part that was most difficult. I became tolerant of the pain and used to the needles and scans that were suddenly a part of my life. I came to terms with my life being shorter than I imagined.

Still, there were things I didn’t expect. I never wanted to be a poster child for cancer. I never wanted to be anyone but just “Jen”. I struggled with that, though. I was no longer the Jen I used to be. My cells revolted. My body changed. My appearance changed.

Everything changed. I constantly fought an internal battle between being grateful that I was still here, and willingly adjusting to the new person I had become.

My surgeon told me I was lucky to have a husband who was so supportive. In her experience, many divorces followed a cancer diagnosis. Another patient warned me that I would lose a lot of friends. I thought they were both crazy. Thankfully, my husband and I were still happily married, even after the stress and uncertainty of this dreadful disease. I lost some friends, though. They couldn’t handle me being sick or didn’t want to deal with it, but a few good friends walked away and I let them. It was hard but I survived. There were friends who stepped up to support me and my family. Now, when I met new friends, there was that awkward first conversation about my diagnosis. I still hadn’t learned a smooth way to handle that. I was still working on that one.

I would never be the person I was before my diagnosis.

Looking back, my priorities were in disarray. I spent too much energy on a business that was no longer here. I missed out on great times because I was worried about what was coming next. I stressed myself out about things that didn’t matter, while precious moments slipped away.

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Grieving my former self was one of the hardest parts.

I missed that girl who wanted to take on the world, and who felt like nothing could stop her. I missed that girl who could stay up late and get up early and still have the energy to get through a 10-hour workday.

I missed that girl who powered through workouts when she was strong enough to do them. I missed that girl who dressed up for work and for dinners out, whose calendar was full of meetings and not doctor appointments. I missed the old Jen while I tried to figure out who this new Jen was going to be.

Today, I lived life more intentionally. I noticed the sunsets and flowers and the first leaf to turn in the fall.

I hugged more, baked more, and read my Bible more. I didn’t know how many days I had left on this earth, but I was going to live them the best way possible. I focused on my family and the friends who stuck around. I made my good days count and allowed myself to rest on the bad ones. And when I didn’t like looking in the mirror, I wouldn’t turn away. I stared right back and reminded myself that I was still beautiful - not because of how I looked, but because of who I had become. I was stronger.

I was wiser. And more importantly, I was still here. &

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Words & Images by Abigail O’Shea

Losing Grace

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never got to hear my daughter cry, or laugh, or even breathe. But I got to hold her and feel her against my chest as I cradled her lifeless body for eight hours. I slept with her in my arms and carried the illusion she was slumbering peacefully, even though I knew better. Even though I knew this was a whisper of the life she would never get to have and the moments we would never get to share.

Still, I savored those hours in the delivery room with my baby girl, and alongside my parents, my stepparents, and an unwavering nurse named Kim, bore witness to her existence by creating memories of her. We embraced her and kissed her tender cheeks to remember the way she felt. We studied her dainty face, attributing features like her slightly upturned button nose and full, rosy lips to my genes. We spritzed lavender hydrosol on her receiving blanket and nuzzled her, inhaling deeply to catalog the soft floral scent into our consciousness. We dressed her, took photos with her, captured her footprints, cut a delicate wisp of her hair, all to preserve her presence. We mourned and wept over her. We honored the undeniable, indelible impact she would have on our lives. We named her Grace.

I could have held her forever and it wouldn’t have been long enough. It felt unjust that our time together was so brief, and yet I shouldered the blame. I didn’t know I was pregnant until 27 weeks along, when my doctor informed me after doing routine blood work. I had assured her beforehand there was no way I could be pregnant; I was on the pill and hadn’t had a regular period in years, the result of a crushing, decade-long dependence on restricting, binging, and purging. I was wrong. I was completely unmoored from my body and the cues it was begging me to read.

It was February 2014 and I was reeling from a brutal, blindsiding breakup from the man who shaped my entire being. It had been a week since he upended my world on an otherwise ordinary Tuesday night. He said he could no longer be with me while I struggled with eating issues that he couldn’t fix. He took pride in planning and portioning every meal I ate, selecting flattering clothes, and doing anything he could to shield the shame of my illness from others, yet he was still unable to control the outcome.

I was shattered and jilted, but saw it as an opportunity to re-engage my medical team, take ownership of my body, and win him back.

The days that followed told a different story. When my doctor called to deliver the news of my pregnancy, she also alerted me to my fatally low potassium level. My mom and I rushed to the hospital, where I received IV electrolytes and had an ultrasound to determine the baby’s gestational age.

The imaging also revealed abnormalities with her spine and extremities.

All I could think was that I caused this. I’d become so detached from my body that I didn’t realize I was pregnant, and had starved my baby of key nutrients in the process. ›››

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An amniocentesis and other advanced testing with a high-risk OBGYN two days later confirmed the worst. My daughter had an undiagnosed genetic disorder with profound neural tube defects. Even with rigorous oversight and treatment through the remainder of the pregnancy, it was unclear whether she would survive to term or through delivery, and certain she wouldn’t live more than a few days after. Once born, she wouldn’t be able to eat, breathe, or move on her own, and would spend whatever time she did have being poked, prodded, and bound by machines in the NICU. The obstetrics team and a pediatric geneticist assured me that my eating disorder didn’t make her sick, and that these were biological factors beyond our control. Their words were empty to me. They also explained that in Massachusetts it was illegal to terminate a pregnancy after 24 weeks, and I’d have to go out of state if I chose to have a late-term abortion.

Something inside me shifted in that moment. I stopped caring about returning to a relationship that amplified the distorted and untrue thoughts I had about myself. I stopped caring about manipulating my body to fit some nebulous ideal of beauty. I stopped caring about my needs altogether. My daughter was depending on me to show up for her and decide the most compassionate, humane way to move forward. It was my first real act as a mother.

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I spent the next few days moving between introspection and conversation. My parents, who had been estranged following a contentious divorce, came together with their unflinching support. We spoke with each other, with specialists, and with a rabbi to weigh the moral and medical implications of my decision. I spoke with my exboyfriend, the baby’s father, to gauge his thoughts. He indicated no interest in being involved and said what to do with the “fetus” was entirely up to me. I already knew the answer. The image of my tiny, helpless baby hooked up to monitors and IV lines, intubated and encased in a plastic-walled bed, just for a sliver of time on Earth, seemed cruel and selfish. I had to end her suffering. ›››

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Though Grace’s time in the physical world was quiet and finite, the ways she changed me have endured.

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F EandMteenage I N Iboys SM

Words & Images by Jen Moslander

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W

here's a politically moderate woman to land in feminism? I can't even explain some days what I mean when I try to express it. What can I do about feminism and why should I even care?

The more curious I became, the more I realized that I had just been complacent about the status quo. Now, I feel compelled to contribute, but how?

I have come across many male-dominated experiences that have made an impact on the way I choose my actions, functioning as stepping stones for me to become a more well-rounded woman.

It's also been my experience that boys who are coming of age right now really like a good story. In a world that seems like headlines and rumors swirl in chaos, it feels good that an authentic story is just the ticket to connectedness.

Boys don't want me to lecture them into familiarity with modern feminism.

Sharing my own experiences and how they have shaped me into the evolving person I am is the best use of our time.

Here are a few of my own experiences to use as a jumping off point to recall your own stories for sharing: ONE While on our way to a game, I picked up a few of the baseball players. Partway through the trip, I heard this conversation from the backseat.

"Jo, I touched Joyce's butt."

"Why you touching my girl?"

It was in this moment that I fully understood where my feminist platform lies.

Also, in this moment, I had three options: 1) Yell at them.

2) Say nothing.

3) Explain to them why this is bothersome.

I told them a story about something that happened to me when I was in college. I was leaving a club with my roommates and there was a tourist there that grabbed our butts as we left the crowded space in a line. There were four of us, and I was last. I saw him grab the other girls and when he grabbed mine, I punched him in the face.

Punching people in the face has not been my solution to anything ever in my life. I remember this feeling very instinctual.

I don't know that I would have shared this story with any of the boys otherwise, but I needed it to illustrate a few teaching points: Don't touch ANYONE without their consent. Joyce was not Jo's property. I've met Joyce, she might punch you in the face, too. ›››

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Words by Abby Jones Image by Nathan Dumlao

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IT’S ALL IN HOW YOU DEFINE IT

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The Homes that Built Me

I

Words & Images by Eunice Brownlee

’ve been involved with Habitat for Humanity since I was a kid. My dad was actively involved in our local chapter growing up and I went on my first build when I was 16. When my church sponsored a build when I was 28, I knew I would participate from the moment they broke ground. I signed up for every volunteer shift I was available for to work on that house.

I didn’t expect that volunteering for that particular build would open up a whole new opportunity to impact so many lives in such a profound way.

I can honestly say that I don’t remember much about the family my church sponsored but as I hung drywall, built shelves and painted, I saw this plot of land transform into a house. When I attended the home dedication a few months later, I watched as four families put down roots in our city and knew that because of my work, their lives were forever changed.

After that build, I volunteered on a few more build sites, I brought hot chili to build crews on cold winter days, and then an opportunity to become a home interviewer came up. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

As part of the process toward home ownership, Habitat has a team of volunteers that meet with prospective families in their homes and verify that they meet the three criteria required to be selected as a Habitat homeowner: need for housing, ability to pay, and willingness to partner. After

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the interview, the team presents the family to the selection committee. As a home interviewer, it was our job to advocate for the families we met in order for the committee to select the best partner families.

I will never forget my first home interview.

At the time, my daughter and I were living in a fairly transient state. I was between jobs, waiting tables to get by.

We moved in with a friend who had just terminated a longterm relationship and was left with a mortgage she couldn’t afford and was planning to live there until it was sold or foreclosed, whichever came first. We got groceries from the food bank and I was making enough to cover daycare and my car payment and that was about it. I wasn’t seeing much by way of child support and I couldn’t afford to fight for it.

I thought I had it pretty rough despite the fact that we were slumming it in a million-dollar mansion with no furniture, save for a couple of beds, a couch, and a dining room table.

And then I met Sarah*.

Like me, Sarah was a single mom who worked hard to provide for her kids while she also attended school. Unlike me, she had no chance of ever seeing child support as one of the fathers of her children had disappeared to Mexico and the authorities told her not to even bother trying to find him. I knew my situation was temporary, but Sarah’s felt like a life sentence. ›››

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Words by Maria Healey Image by Anna Kolosyuk

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A Mother’s Dream

I

’ve never known how to dream small.

Implementation…now that’s quite another thing. In order for me to actually accomplish those dreams, I had to write them down, make them an attainable goal, and then pursue them with reckless abandon.

Motherhood was never a dream that made it onto the list of goals. It may very well have never been a dream to begin with. However, I found myself in my early thirties with a husband who dreamt of fatherhood.

Life as I knew it changed the moment I found out I had someone growing inside of me. I was on board immediately.

I knew the steps I took would result in impacting this life I was now responsible for. I went cold turkey on coffee and struggled with headaches until my doctor let me know it was OK to have a cup a day. I gave up lunch meat because of the small possibility of contracting listeria. After my son was born, I even gave up dairy because my milk was upsetting his belly.

I spent the first 5 years of my son’s life at home with him. When it came time for him to begin school, I went back to work. I don’t say that in a way to imply that there was this amazing career out there just waiting for me to jump right back into it. No, quite the contrary. It took me 6 months to find a job in a city that I had not worked in or networked in, with a 5-year gap on my resume. I wasn’t in high demand.

I don’t regret spending those years at home with my son, teaching him how to be a smart and creative kid, a responsible adult, a loving person, a good man. I’m proud to have impacted him so deeply. It wasn’t easy either. It takes a tremendous amount of hard work on my end behind the scenes to create this great highlight reel. It feels good to see that the sacrifices I’ve made have all been worth it. Everything I’ve done has really meant something to the life of this little person. ››› My parenting style is deliberate. I make choices and approach all situations with empathy in order to create a sense of respect and pride in myself and in my son for his mother. I don’t believe that a parent is just someone who sets rules and limitations. Parenthood is a lifelong bond. Why wouldn’t you put the hard, meaningful work into something that lasts forever?

In creating that dynamic, I focused on the fact that I wanted to be a mom and woman that my son would be proud of. I found it necessary to show him that I am capable of anything, that I can dream big and set goals and accomplish them. It was only then that I realized I had this driving force, this major impact that came in such a small package.

As my son grew, I was able to remember the dreams of my youth, now that I had a little bit of free time on my hands, thanks to his schedule. I have always been a writer but had never written an entire book. I researched the process and formally moved it from dream to goal. I simply broke it down that if I wrote 1,000 words a day, I would have a 90,000 word book in 3 months. I spent 3 months of nap time to write those words. Though it remains unedited and unpublished, I'm still proud of the fact I accomplished that goal.

Motherhood changed my life so quickly and so dramatically that I understood why I’d waited so long to make such a commitment. It’s always been very clear to me that life changes overnight once you make the decision to become a parent. I always hoped to put myself in a position to make an impact on my child’s life, but I never for a minute thought about the amazingly positive impact my child would have on my own life. I see now why I was to be the mother of this specific person. I needed him all along. &

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Words by Emily Flanders Image by Jordan Whitt

To the brother I never met

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THE IMPORTANCE OF

PHOTOGRAPHS

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I am a Survivor

Words by Anastasia Hauschild Image by Annie Spratt

A

s the police officer stripped me of my belongings, he told me to remove my rings. For the first time, I removed my engagement ring. Watching the officer put it in a plastic bag and seal it shut, I knew I didn't have to do this anymore.

On Valentine's Day 2015, he asked me to be his girlfriend.

The day was everything the holiday says it’s supposed to be.

We exchanged handwritten love notes, had an extravagant steak dinner, and kissed at sunset.

A year and one month later, he asked me to marry him on top of a parking garage overlooking a glowing Chicago. We toasted champagne and kissed under the city lights. It felt like a moment from a movie.

As I sat in front of the judge feeling tense, scared, and hopeless, I realized something that made me more concerned than the fact that I was getting charged for a crime I did not commit: this all felt normal. I felt the same way here sitting in jail as I did outside of jail. In the free world my normal state was feeling tense, scared, and hopeless.

The six months leading up to Valentine's Day 2017 were the worst. I started sleeping on the couch, I dreaded when he came home, and I could not be around him without feeling tense and uneasy. After Sunday night dinners with my family, I secretly panicked driving away with him. I felt trapped and scared.

I sat in the drunk tank for three hours. Soon, I was admitted into jail. I was given rubber slip-on shoes, a mesh bag with a nightgown, a thin blanket, and green scrubs. I stripped naked and got dressed.

A police officer led me back to my cell. With my hands behind my back I walked in. Heard the click of the lock. I panicked for a second remembering how he locked me in the bedroom hours ago. How I tried to leave the apartment so many times.

How he took my phone and ended my calls out for help.

In the beginning of our relationship, he appeared to be attentive and kind. Going above and beyond to show, what I thought at the time, that he cared for me. The signs of abuse were confusing. The manipulation hidden under another act. I was always second guessing and self-editing myself, certain I was to blame.

I woke up on Valentine's Day 2017 filled with dread. I knew he would pretend like this was a normal day. That we were a normal couple, celebrating our anniversary and the day of love. And he did. I woke up to a love letter and pictures of our happiest moments displayed across the counter. I felt empty. ›››

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Your voice

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is necessary.

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Women Impacting the World

Interviews by Denese Russell It’s natural to admire people doing big things. It’s also natural to wonder why you’re not out there, doing more. Humans are hard-wired to want their lives to matter. We can also be blind to what’s in front of us, what to do with the incidents and interests that present themselves, without asking, even wanting. Before you spend one more second doubting your ability to make a difference, here are three women who took what life gave them and made impact happen.

JUSTINE DURAN instagram.com/consciousdegenerate Sometimes, impact starts with an incident. Justine Duran grew up in a small town where the only things to do were “party or get pregnant way too early.” She was bored, felt bigger than where she was, and needed something to take her “elsewhere.” That something was her catalyst to making a difference.

What was the turning point that prompted your recovery?

When I was 19, they found a lump in my breast which required surgery.

The anesthesiologist asked me if I’d taken any medication like ibuprofen, opiates… I didn’t know how to answer. I’d been on so many of those things, I lied. I thought, if I don’t wake up, it’s my own fault. I’d rather die than have to postpone the surgery and tell the doctors (and my parents) the truth.

I did wake up and hadn’t even left the hospital before my boyfriend brought me drugs. I knew I couldn’t do this anymore. So, I stopped, moved to New York, and started doing yoga. For the first time, I felt all of the feelings I’d been numbing. I wanted to share what I was learning, I just didn’t know how.

You had an Instagram series that depicted life on the streets...

I had moved to San Francisco and was managing a high-end salon with CEO-level clients. I couldn’t believe the disparity between what was happening inside the salon and what was happening outside on the street.

It’s like we were walking over bodies. Human beings were doing terrible things - shooting up, having mental episodes, yet we walked right on by, not even noticing or trying to avoid it because we’ve been taught to be afraid of them.

Social media is about looking good. I couldn’t fake that I wasn’t seeing a ton of syringes every day. I wanted to be part of the problem instead of pretending it wasn’t there, so I documented what I was seeing on the streets.

That process got me thinking about ways I could contribute, which led to organizing a project called, “Women Let’s Lessen the Struggle” that provided Wellness Period Kits including tampons, ibuprofen, snacks, etc. Compiling the kits and handing them out gave people a way to acknowledge their neighbors, look them in the eye, ask them their name. ›››

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The Span of Two Aprils Words & Images by Elisabeth A. Fondell

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I

've heard it said that everything happens at once. Good things, monumental things, and tragedies. If you asked me one year ago, I'd say that life happens in a gradual progression as if turning the pages of a children's picture book.

But now I know the truth. Life is drinking from a firehose. It is every feeling all at once. It is consuming in its confusion, making it impossible to communicate and identify the muddled pangs of a heart unsure how to be.

Growing up, I embodied the non-emotional type, never understanding the many tears I saw my mother and her sisters shed in unison whenever they gathered. Instead, I blockaded my tears, never wanting to show them for a fear that still remains unknown. There was no specific flip of a switch, I just remember crying freely and then one day suddenly not. &&& Ben and I started dating in April, right as my dad was recovering from his second stem cell transplant. Ben was charming and supportive, brilliant, strong, and all in. Almost from the beginning I could envision our future life together, though I didn't reveal this to him at the time. I turned 30 in our first month of dating, and as we sat around the table at a celebration consuming lamb kefta, couscous with preserved lemon, and wine, my heart was full. I had arrived at the next big step and was thrilled to move forward.

Two months later, we received the news no family ever wants to hear. My dad's treatment didn't work, and they were out of options. He had months to live. But how could this be? In his almost five-year battle with multiple myeloma, we always found some glimmer of hope. Too optimistic for our own good, we looked past the unbearable reality of it all and held on to what we could, charging forward with facts and statistics and positivity. My dad set the tone all along - if he wasn't bitter or defeated or miserable, we wouldn't be either. This news changed the story.

My dad called a family meeting. While sitting around the dining room table discussing the dwindling possibility of a clinical trial and his 'do not resuscitate' status, the depth of it all was elevated to a new height. There was no hope. This was the beginning of the end. ›››

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Words & Images by Rachel Whalen

A LIFE NOT LIVED 76

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make time for small acts.

J E W E L R Y .

G I F T S .

S T A T I O N A R Y .

A C T S

O F

L O V E

S P R E A D I N G L O V E . C L U B 79

T

he phone rang. On the other end was a job offer that I did not want but could not refuse. Two years earlier, I graduated from an eight-monthlong internship. I was personally and professionally mentored by a team of staff and trained to work in the touring music industry. Now I was being invited back as a staff member to assist in leading a group of nineteen-yearolds as they participated in the same program. You would think that I would be ecstatic to return and help provide the same formative experience I had gleaned so much from. Yet a feeling of dread settled in my chest the moment I accepted the job. I knew my time leading the team would be a challenge, but I had no idea the struggle I would face to leave a positive impact. Or the battle to forgive myself in the aftermath for my shortcomings as a leader.

I was walking into a perfect storm. The organization was struggling, and the program was drastically understaffed and underfunded. The team was under-trained and, eventually, I realized so was I. Recently dumped by a man who had promised to marry me, and in need of the extra money, I was a train wreck on a personal level as well. To top it off, this was a faith-based organization that often taught "women could only lead when in submission to men�. Which caused the young men on the team to challenge and undermine most of the decisions I made. Throughout the next few months, I struggled with my decision making as a professional and in my ability to maturely lead the interns.

Despite the cards that were stacked against me, I’ve never excused myself from taking responsibility for my mistakes. Quite the opposite - guilt over my negative impact during my time of leadership has followed me like a bad shadow. Haunting me in future leadership roles and when I closed my eyes at night. I found myself hesitant to accept leadership roles and often making some of the same mistakes when I did. We all fail, but failing those who rely on you is especially devastating.

Something would need to change if I wanted to feel the freedom to move forward.

I finally caught myself in the same cycle of remembering a moment of a bad decision, feeling guilty, and then mentally assaulting myself. I realized that reliving and replaying my bad choices was trapping me in the past. I had spent quite a bit of time taking responsibility, but the season had come that I needed to forgive myself.

Unlike guilt, feelings of forgiveness will never involuntarily wash over you.

Forgiveness is a blanket you must choose to wrap yourself in. It is a decision to stop mentally berating myself when the chill of resentment and regret come loudly knocking. It is a daily, and sometimes hourly, reminder that I am no longer the desperate twenty-three-year-old simply trying to survive my early twenties. Giving myself grace and permission to stop punishing myself. Yes, we all fail, but how you respond to your failure determines your future.

My fear of potentially leaving a negative impact in the future was keeping me locked up in a cycle of failure. I had to give myself permission to move forward. Taking on new leadership roles and pushing myself professionally has required that I summon all my moxie and permit myself to not get it right all the time. As new opportunities for leadership and promotion have surfaced, I have risen to the occasion. I have successfully avoided repeating my past mistakes and even seized the opportunity to mentor others. Helping them avoid the same pitfalls that contributed to my failure.

The journey has been terrifying at times, but relinquishing perfectionism and giving myself permission to mess up has set me free. If you are struggling with guilt or fear over leaving a negative impact, it’s OK to forgive yourself. Set yourself free and bravely move forward. You are now equipped with wisdom and grace. Two gifts your world and your people need. &

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RELEASING REGRET & MOVING FORWARD Words by Danielle Shaub Image by Toa Heftiba

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A Fear of Landing Words & Interior Images by Jennifer Dunsmore Title Image by Wes Hicks

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Words by Angelina Danae Image by NeONBRAND

ia d e m l a i so c

E L I S

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E C N

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Words by Zantika Ellis

One Person’s

IMPACT 86

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The Top Shelf:

5 BOOKS THAT MADE AN IMPACT Words by Sami Ross Image by Alisa Anton

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A

s a child, I always had one foot firmly rooted in my daydreams. My parents hadn’t quite put it together that I needed glasses, so reality was really just a blurry mess of loud nothing anyway. In the glimmering optimism of the early 1990’s, my disinterest in my surroundings was seen as a testament to my above-average imagination - not a health problem.

While movies, television, and video games left me wanting more, there was one respite from my nearsightedness: books. Deliciously colorful, wildly absurd, whimsical books. With my nose nearly pressed to the page, I could trade in my bland, fuzzy world for something richer.

Long after I got my glasses, and finally saw what all the fuss was about (Nickelodeon! Trees! Billboards!), I still returned to the more intoxicating universes inside my favorite books. The stories I loved championed women, encouraged adventure, and offered a healthy dose of hope.

In this very moment as I write, slouched over my laptop, swaying sideto-side on the Salish Sea, it’s impossible to gaze at these ethereal grayblue waters and not wonder “how did a Midwestern girl end up here?”

I suppose I could answer that question somewhere between five and a million different ways, but on this particular day, as the ferry rocks between islands out of a Greek myth, the land rising from the sea as though planted at whim by the Gods themselves, I think about the literature that shaped my mind and set my sense of curiosity on fire. ›››

D’AULAIRES BOOK OF GREEK MYTHS Like so many suburban youth before me, I was shipped off kicking and screaming to Hebrew school three times a week where some Northwestern undergrad preached baruchas and Torah stories in between sing-a-longs on his acoustic guitar. During an art session, we were asked to draw our interpretation of God. I had recently unearthed my parent’s battered copy of D’Aulaires Book of Greek Myths and was rapidly devouring the drama, and the gorgeous illustrations, with a passion and fervor that Dave the Religion Studies Minor never seemed to inspire. With the Muses by my side, I drew a lovely family photo of God, Goddess, and their children who I called “Godlings” (a depressingly heteronormative portrayal, I know.) Needless to say, I was sent to the Senior Rabbi for a quick chat. Today, I credit my love for sex, beauty, nature, and my healthy distrust of organized religion, to the delightfully chaotic tales spun by the D’Aulaires.

DEALING WITH DRAGONS I became a feminist the moment I left the womb. As a child, I longed for fierce heroines who kicked ass, used their brain, and maybe had good hair too. Patricia C. Wrede’s Dealing with Dragons checked all my boxes. Featuring a romance-eschewing princess, a dragon society ruled by a female King, and a magical library, I read and re-read my dog-eared copy to shreds. This was the book I needed, especially in a pre-Hermione Granger world.

HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER’S STONE Speaking of Hermione Granger… I’m a fantasy nerd, always have been and always will be. I could wax poetically on for ages about the powerful themes in the Harry Potter series, the character development and conflicts, the pure, unadulterated magic of it all, but, if I had to bet, you already know all about it.

JITTERBUG PERFUME I didn’t become a writer until I read Jitterbug Perfume. I had just started high school and this introduction into the post-beatnik scene blew my mind. It was an adult fairytale, myth, and legend all rolled into one rollicking ride of a novel. Tom Robbins helped me bridge the gap between the stories I loved as a child, and the fantasy I longed for as an adult. The storyline is tied together by a word invented by Robbins: Erleichda (lighten up). I think that’s advice we all could use.

THE HIKE Newer to my world, but no less important, is Drew Magary’s The Hike. It’s a fun fantasy dripping with Magary’s signature dry wit. On the surface, it seems like a quirky fairytale, however, it’s really a serious novel about the wounds we carry and how they affect the choices we make. It’s sharply funny and unexpectedly poignant.

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The Secret Recipe for Rising Communities

C

ommunity development is a very broad topic that people have a hard time defining. Since I am a sweets lover and a self-proclaimed foodie, let’s talk about it in terms of a recipe.

ONE HEAPING CUP OF FUNDING There are a lot of people working on making a community a great place to work, live, and play. Volunteers, city employees, planners, and engaged residents are vital to how the end “community cupcake” is made. It isn’t something we normally think about when we are enjoying our communities. I will say, I do think about it now.

Fast forward more than several years, I found myself working with a community development corporation (CDC) in the South Hills of Pittsburgh. We received funding to do community development work in the distressed communities of Mt. Oliver Borough and the Knoxville Neighborhood in the city of Pittsburgh. Both of these neighborhoods had not seen investment in years before this Neighborhood Partnership Program (NPP) funding came through. This funding is a 6-year commitment through the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania with the possibility to renew. ›››

Words by Jami Pasquinelli Images by Rick Armstrong

When I start talking about community development, I always use the quote “things don’t happen overnight.”

These NPP programs are vital because of the length of time they give the organizations to provide capacity working in the communities. Usually, CDCs get short term funding from foundations or the funders don’t support capacity.

3 CUPS OF CAPACITY (SIFTED) Capacity, along with funding, is what transforms a community. If a community wants real impact, you must have the “boots on the ground” doing the work. As mentioned above, these are the people making it happen.

When we first started working in these communities, there were many months spent talking to community members identifying the most pressing issues in the neighborhoods.

2 TABLESPOONS OF GOOD QUALITY PARTNERSHIPS In community development work, you have to be honest in knowing not one organization can do everything. For example, in our communities, we work in what we call “buckets”. In Mt. Oliver and Knoxville, our buckets are commercial district revitalization, housing stabilization, and family and community transformation. The Brashear Association, who we partner with, are a bunch of rock stars that know their stuff about how to get a family utility assistance or even help people with resumes and finding a job. The Rebuilding Together Pittsburgh Team is amazing with helping low income, disabled, veterans and senior home owners who need home improvements.

We partner with these organizations because they do what they do extremely well. ›››

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Photo by Cristin Goss

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Dear Soul Sister...

I know you think about it as much as I do. How what you’re doing changes the people around you, or how it alters your community. If it does.

That’s what gets me the most - the “if ” of it all. The worry of “am I even making an impact?”.

In the last week, the teachers in our community have been on strike. The details are messy, but it’s about being paid appropriately for the work they’re doing. It’s about being treated with respect for the impact they make every day.

Their strike has done more than remind people what they’re worth, it has also had a profound impact on our community. I’ve seen parents and students show up at the picket line, community members drop off water and snacks, and businesses bring meals and offer discounts to striking teachers. Our community has come together to support each other and it has been incredibly powerful.

I tell you this, dear sister, because it has been a reminder to me that you never know what will change the world around you. It has challenged me to see the small impacts differently.

That’s my hope for you, every day. That you can see the small impacts. Each small impact builds to a bigger one. And one day you’ll watch small conversations and small acts of kindness build to businesses and community members delivering food and water to teachers on strike.

Believing in impact can be difficult. This week, I asked friends what they thought impact meant. I got some odd answers, like definitions from the dictionary, but I also got some really profound answers.

About inspiration leading to desire leading to action, and how impact can come from a moment that changes everything.

My friend Kevin said something I don’t think I’ll ever forget. When he was building his deck, he used an impact driver to put hundreds of screws into the decking. He told me it had the torque needed to put screw after screw in and keep his deck together.

He said, “Those who leave the most impact do so because they are adding something that holds together, not taking away. They know how to hammer home the lesson while maintaining a feeling of connection. Their lessons are easily driven in. They have the strength to turn around our false narratives, ideas, misconceptions, etc., even when it’s tough. And they’re who you go to when that’s exactly what you need.”

You are exactly who those small impact moments need. Maybe you don’t know it yet, but you’re going to be the connection that holds something together in a way people didn’t know was needed.

Take a moment this week and find a space to make a small difference. Make that space your own and enjoy what it does. Even if it feels like you’re the only one seeing it, it creates the beginning ripples of change. And that’s the impact. & All my love, Your Soul Sister Melissa Boles

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ISSUE 18: IMPACT I sincerely hope this issue inspired you, moved you, made you feel something new.

Holl & Lane was strictly created to help us connect with one another in our shared experiences, and I hope you were able to connect with another person through these stories. So, what now?

SHARE OUR MISSION - tell your friends and family about us. Let them know where to buy the issue. It helps us reach more women who might need us and our stories. Be sure to tag us - @hollandlanemag JOIN US DAILY - Our private Facebook community is filled with inspiring women from all across the world connecting with us and each other. It’s an incredibly beautiful place. Join us at facebook.com/groups/HLFamily PASS US ON - Know a friend, non-profit, library or other community who could REALLY use our stories? Pass this issue on to them so they can be inspired, too.

REACH OUT TO US - We LOVE to hear from you. Don’t be shy in emailing Sarah, the Editor in Chief, directly at editor@hollandlanemag.com. We want to hear your feedback.

REVIEW THE MAGAZINE - Leave us a review on our Facebook page, or write up your own blog post about it. We value very single comment.

Thank you for being a part of our journey. Our souls are fueled by you.

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T H E HOLL & LA N E M AGA Z I N E M A N I F E STO At Holl & Lane, we know that your story is powerful. We invite you to step into the light and know that you are not alone. The tapestry of life can be heartbreaking, and it can be breathtaking. Your strength is woven through it all.

We are a sanctuary for your soul, a refuge from judgment and misunderstanding. It’s OK to laugh, to cry, to rage, to struggle. It’s the bittersweet beauty of being alive.

We believe in the power of stories and how they connect us all with shared experiences We believe in truth because it will truly set you free. When we own our truths, the iceberg of fear begins to melt away.

We believe in community because you do not have to go through life alone. We care about you and what you have to say. Shout it out loud!

We believe in empathy because “me, too!” is the shortest way to making a connection with another human being.

We believe in inclusion and diversity because you are ALL welcome here. There’s no secret society or special password.

Your sweet soul is the only RSVP you need.

We believe in strength because it manifests itself in truth.

When you share your story - the trials, the triumphs, the tears, the smiles - your strength shines through as you embrace vulnerability and shut the door on shame.

V I S I T U S AT H O L L A N D L A N E M AG .CO M

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