Laurie's Journal

The High School Hallways of the Blank Page Writing a book is like walking into high school all over again. You find yourself standing there, the awkward freshman in a sea of total uncertainty, gripping your notebook like a shield. You look around, and everyone else seems like an upperclassman who has it completely together. They know where their classes are, they navigate the halls with effortless grace, and they look pristine. Meanwhile, you’re just trying not to get shoved into a metaphorical locker by your own self-doubt, or crawl into a locker and slam the door on the next four years of  HELL. Back in the day, when freshman angst hit, you’d usually take it out by Clearasiling the absolute hell out of that one wayward zit. Now, lucky me, I never really got zits as a kid. And as it turns out, because I’ve been swabbing my face with collagen since the age of 15, wrinkles don’t seem to be in my future either. I’ve gone through menopause and my skin has honestly never looked better....

The Latchkey Kids Are All Right (Thanks to a Lot of Therapy We Didn’t Ask For) Welcome back, fellow survivors of the 1980s. Take off your JNCO jeans, pause your cassette tape with a pencil, and let’s have a chat. We, Generation X, are officially the apex predators of the survival world. We were raised on a steady diet of hose-water, red dye #40, and absolute parental neglect. Our childhood motto was "Be home when the streetlights come on," which was less a safety guideline and more a legally binding contract that allowed our parents to forget we existed for twelve hours a day. We survived the lawn dart era. We survived stranger danger. We survived dial-up internet. If the apocalypse happens tomorrow, Gen X will be thriving in the ruins, trading rusted bicycle parts for canned peaches while wearing a flannel shirt. But let’s be honest for a second. While we are the reigning champions of survival , we are also the undisputed monarchs of repressing our feelings until we physica...

The Quiet Radical: When Life Becomes "Real" Again For years, my life was lived in the extremes. I was either viewing the world through a high-definition, neon-soaked lens where every idea was a masterpiece, or I was trapped in a basement with no windows, convinced the sun had retired. When you live with Bipolar disorder, you get used to the drama. You become a connoisseur of the "Internal Apocalypse." But then, something strange happens. The medication kicks in, the therapy takes root, and the pendulum stops swinging so violently. You reach the Great Quiet. This is what they call stability. But what they don't tell you is that stability isn't the end of the story—it’s just the moment life finally becomes real . The "Boring" epiphany In the beginning, stability feels suspiciously like boredom. I remember sitting on my porch, drinking coffee, and waiting for the "other shoe" to drop. I was so used to my brain being a chaotic 24-hour news cy...

  A Fall from Innocence to Raging Grit, Redemption and Beauty from Ashes: Moving from “Eve Trauma” to “Mary Magdalene Enlightenment” Life rarely moves in a straight line. We start in a place of untested innocence —a season where the world feels predictable and our hearts are intact. But for most of us, there comes a "fall." It’s the moment the floor drops out, the dream shatters, or the silence becomes deafening. Yet, it is in the wreckage of that fall that the most profound transformation begins. The Shattering: From Innocence to Grit Innocence is beautiful, but it is fragile. It’s a porcelain grace that hasn't yet met the hammer of reality. When life strikes, your eyes are opened and that innocence doesn't just chip; it breaks. But here is the secret: Grit is forged in the furnace of loss. The Fall: It strips away your ownership rights of innocence. The Raging Grit: This isn't just "toughness." It’s a fierce, internal fire that refuses to be extingu...