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Category: Being a Mom

Life – Writing Your Own Story, Literally and Figuratively

Life – Writing Your Own Story, Literally and Figuratively

My Life – A Raging Tornado

Life, my life has been a roller coaster, of highs and lows, some so low, I thought that there would never, ever be another problem to contend with for the rest of my life. I’ve struggled to get pregnant, I’ve gotten pregnant easily. I had a difficult pregnancy, I’ve had an easy one. I carried twins, I’ve carried a single baby. I’ve given birth to three children, one born with a genetic disability that took her life at 11 months old; I have a child with such severe anxiety, that it has been a struggle for her and the family to live something normal, and now I deal with a transgender child.

As soon as I think I’m coming to the end of the roller coaster, just as it’s ready to pull into the station, I instead, and catapulted back to the first loop d’loop to start the journey again.

My Life – Yes, Sometimes I feel Sorry for Myself

I could have become an alcoholic, or a drug addict or harmed myself, but I didn’t. I thought for a while I was handling the lows, coming through them and surviving. What I was doing was merely surviving, allowing myself to merely be a victim of my circumstances. And yes, in that I felt sorry for myself. Sometimes it’s hard not to do that. After all that I’ve seen, all that I’ve lived through, after life battering me, throwing me from one situation to another, I realized, it’s okay to feel this way. Sometimes you have to let it go and simply feel for the loss of what you thought life would be. But what’s not okay, is wallowing for too long in the low.

My Life – At the Edge of the Abyss

I’ve learned a lot about myself in the 19 years of parenting. It’s okay to not be perfect. And it’s okay to put yourself first. I’ve stood at the edge of the Abyss with the universe pushing me, pressing me against the edge, laughing as I slip on the weakened earth beneath my feet. And as it pushing me toward the deep end, the my bottom, I’ve learned one last thing about myself. I’m stronger than I ever thought I could be. And I shouted at the universe “NO! You can’t have me!”

Writing is what saved me from losing my mind, from letting the weight of the problems overwhelm me and victimize me. Twice this week I’ve heard myself saying or thinking, “We write our own story. ” Literally and figuratively that is. Granted life has a funny way of shoving us down certain paths, but what we do with these changes, is up to us. We write our own story.

My Life – My Passion is the Written Word

I write. It is my priority. It is my love and it is my passion. Someday I hope to do this as my living, not my “hobby” as I learn how to find a fan base big enough to allow me to live my dream. And what I’ve learned about that is, “You must never give up.” It’s that drive, that desire that has kept me grounded, that has made me a better mom, a better person. It builds my confidence, it makes me whole. It is what keeps me from falling off the roller coaster when it whips me around.

This is my life for better or for worse. And I’ve made my choice on how I write it. The glass will always be half full as long as you have the confidence in yourself to make it so.

See the glass as half full and find me at the following book fairs, Summer, 2017.

Printer’s Row Lit Fest

Ann Arbor Book Festival 2017

 

 

 

The Little Chick Has Returned to the Nest – Anxiety and My First Born

The Little Chick Has Returned to the Nest – Anxiety and My First Born

Anxiety and the start of the school year.

We picked all these items before school started in hopes they would ease my daughter’s anxiety about going away to school. And now her dorm room full of crap sits in my dining room, scattered across the floor and table where it was carelessly placed after unloading the SUV. The piles of junk spilled into the living room, the final car load needed a place to be stored. A final piece never left the kitchen where it takes up valuable walking space between the island and the refrigerator. If I don’t break soon, it may stay there the entire summer. Probably not…but you never know.

I’ve raised a highly anxious child for 19 years. I’ve dealt with a child who was barely able to talk to her teachers, who suffered from ADD, who was severely fearful of the wind and felt anxiety that was blinding and debilitating. She’s endured therapists, bad teachers, social workers, psychiatrists, all in the attempt to help her achieve some sort of normalcy, so that she could at some point in her life, live as a functioning adult.

This year was a mixed bag.

Three weeks before school started, she endured wrist surgery, an injury sustained during Tae Kwon Do testing when she broke several boards at the same time. After x-rays and physical therapy, there was no relief and surgery was the next option. My daughter’s first test as a functioning adult would be physical therapy on her own while away at school.

I worried when the first night away ended with an upsetting text and a phone call with my child on the end of the phone line crying, already not liking college, and it was still only Freshman orientation. I could feel the anxiety through the phone.

She wasn’t talking to her group, she wasn’t speaking to her roommate.

I sighed. It would be soon. She’ll get the hang of it.

I helped her through her first physical therapy appointment and held my breath when she went on her own. And each time, it got easier, not just for her but for me as I slowly let go. It could only get better.

 

Thinking Positive

I could only hope with a little time, with a little patience and experience my daughter would realize how far she had come. She was for the most part, living on her own, she handled physical therapy like a pro, she even drove herself home on several occasions, making her way through unfamiliar territory. I was proud of the challenges she overcame  all the while, the anxiety still present and real. She couldn’t see past it.

But it didn’t last.

Her roommate was mean. Complained of a weird smell, blamed my child as if she wasn’t showering. My kid who took 30 minute showers on a regular basis, began to doubt herself. People would comment about her behind her back while she could hear. The roommate moved out.

It shattered my kid. She never ever had anything quite like this happen to her. My heart broke for her as she called me crying, others in the hallway were making nasty comments.

But she persisted, she didn’t give up and continued on with the second semester, reveled in good grades and was invited to the smart kids fraternity.

There was so much to be proud of.

But It’s Still Anxiety

She has severe anxiety and possibly OCD, issues that can hinder if you’re not willing to do something about them. She saw a therapist at school to help with the roommate issue, I reminded her several times how far she had come. And in the end, she was willing to make things better, try to overcome the OCD and ADD and make an effort. She joined several clubs and even forced herself to go to meetings.

She started to think about a major, a minor, a possible career. But she still has anxiety. And as much as I want to toss the little chick out of the nest, I can only do it in small increments. She’s just not quite ready.

And that’s my job. Continual support of my child as she continues to grow and change and adapt. She will always have a home to feel safe in. A place to hide from the world, to soak in as much love as she can in order to face the harsh realities outside the front door.

I have high hopes for next year. She has clubs to join and will be rooming with a good friend who will be attending the college with her in the fall.

It’s never easy, but each step is confirmation that we’re in the right direction and someday, the little chick will be tossed out without realizing she had been.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Writer’s Journey Through the Internet

A Writer’s Journey Through the Internet

A New Side Trip on the Journey

It’s a writer’s journey from book conception, to editing and rewriting, through the process of trying to sell your books. Here’s my recent entrée into my up and down journey.

Of Life, Loss and Finding Joy

That Moment in Time – When it felt time to have my first child, I knew it, and approached it as inevitable. But my next steps in life didn’t follow a straight path, it jerked sideways and turned out nothing like I imagined it would. For more about my article about the loss of my daughter Stephanie Paige check out Modernmom.com or Besteveryou.com

http://www.modernmom.com/of-life-loss-and-finding-joy-123327.html

http://www.besteveryou.com/single-post/2017/03/16/Of-Life-Loss-and-Finding-Joy

All About the Books

I’ve been very luck the last two weeks. I’ve had some amazing book reviews about Black Market, the second book in the Wizard Hall Chronicles. It’s amazing to see how others view the story and the themes and in honor of the End of Women’s History Month, I wanted to share the book reviews about Black Market and how Annie Pearce embodies female empowerment. Check them out on the following website.

The Goodmenproject.com

https://goodmenproject.com/guy-talk/book-review-of-black-market-wcz/

https://goodmenproject.com/arts/black-market-blends-worlds-together-jsnk/

 

Starrymag.com

http://starrymag.com/the-black-market/

 

 

 

 

 

The Art of Publicity

The Art of Publicity

Publicity Isn’t About the Books

I’ve been around for seven years, tirelessly working to bring my books to the public, share the stories I love so much. Find a platform that inspires others and garner a bit of publicity.

As I worked with a publicist to bring my new book to market, she became aware of a new angle to find an audience. I had an opportunity to write an article about one of the most difficult times in my life; the death of my daughter. It is an emotional experience that I’m willing to share with others, because I have a unique insight. It’s also a form of publicity, one in which I benefit in unexpected ways.

The article really wrote itself. Words flew from my brain and out my finger tips and on to the screen. I was nervous to open up and put it all out there, but I did it and it reminded me of the struggles, of the love and of the loss.

This is about turning tragedy in light and love. I put it all out there and opened myself up, freeing myself.

I had no idea in my quest to get noticed, would be helped by writing what I knew. Faced with my past and the memories that linger was a welcome pit stop on my quest to write books for a living. I got something so much more.

It was a story that needed to be told. Memories, feelings, scents, so vivid when I retell the story. I needed to finally stand up and speak out and tell the story.

Lessons in Life

There’s so much more out there, and not so much time. But on the anniversary of my daughter’s death looming closely, I realize that I shouldn’t hide what had happened, I should embrace this as part of my life, and yes, even use what I’ve experienced to help sell books.

It is what shaped me and makes me who I am. All I can do is open up and let it all hang out.

Find me in cyperspace at the following links:

Modern Mom: Of Life, Loss and Finding Joy http://www.modernmom.com/?s=sheryl+steines

Besteveryou.com: Of Life, Loss and Finding Joy  http://www.besteveryou.com/single-post/2017/03/16/Of-Life-Loss-and-Finding-Joy

Goodmenproject.com  Black Market Review https://goodmenproject.com/arts/black-market-blends-worlds-together-jsnk/

 

International Women’s Day – Why it Matters

International Women’s Day – Why it Matters

Because Women Matter

We are wives, mothers, single women, human beings. We go to college, work full-time, play sports. We’re artists, CEOs, writers, maids, data entry clerks, stay at home moms. We are caring, we are strong, we are relentless, we are tough, we are soft. We are all these things because once upon a time there were others like us who could not be.

There was a time, when it was expected that we would become wives and mothers, unable to own property or get credit, or work outside the home.

But today, my friends varied in their interests. We are teachers, body guards, office workers, writers, social workers, architects, planners, thinkers. Most have children, some have chosen not to; others could not.

I’ve met women survivors of rape and incest, mothers who buried their children, women who rush through life involved in the constant care of children with physical limitations or mental disabilities, and women who give up everything to care for loved ones hundreds of miles away from their home and life.

Women matter, for all the contributions and sacrifices to those we love. We matter for the choices we’ve made and for the choices that will still need to made. Women’s history month reminds us that we as a collective have power, we as individuals have strength. We have come a long way from a time when we couldn’t own property, vote, get credit, go to college or play sports.

This is my remembrance of those who came before me, who fought for my right to my health, to my career. To the artists, writers, suffragettes, ordinary women who took a stand, were beaten for their beliefs, tossed in jail as punishment for speaking out. Susan B. Anthony, Sandra Day O’Connor, Sally Ride, Lucille Ball, Rosa Parks, Margaret Mead, Serena Williams, Judy Blume. So many I have no more room.

For more inspirational women see he National Women’s Hall of Fame: http://www.nndb.com/honors/867/000046729/

And lastly, this is a love letter to my girlfriends. We share our struggles, we support each other, we celebrate and cry together. For without all of my lady friends and not so lady, very salty friends. My shy gals and outgoing leaders, remembering women of the past and speaking up for the future is important to us and legacy we leave to our children and grandchildren.

Be kind, be full of love.

 

 

 

 

Our Contributions are Our Legacy

Our Contributions are Our Legacy

Contributions

I hadn’t realized there was a month dedicated to understanding and celebrating the contributions of women over the course of history. March is Women’s History Month. It’s a big undertaking, to remember the women who fought for the right to vote, or to go to school, play sports, become scientists and doctors.

Keenly aware of the women who stood up for their belief’s and affected change, I feel as though I’m the recipient of  their beatings, their jail time, I don’t take for granted that their struggles have allowed me to work for a living, or be a stay at home mom, or try my hand at being writer.

We Share the Struggles

Women, share many of the same struggles. And yet, we can be critical, and judgmental, as we take sides between differing philosophies. What we should be doing is embracing the choices.  Because not every mom breast feeds or stays at home with their children. Whichever choice we make, should not leave us guilt ridden or ashamed.

I’ve been on both sides of varying issues and in the end, my choices reflected my family condition, the needs we had at that moment in time. I need not feel guilty over the choices because they came from a place of love, concern, need and desire.

Where I fit In

I’m taking the time during Women’s History Month to learn a little something about the contributions of the women who came before me. They strived for a better life, a thoughtful, learned life; a life of strength in competitiveness, a life in love. I can honor them by leaving my own mark. Making my own contributions, to humankind and I do so, by sharing my experiences as a mom and woman. By sharing my struggles and  my successes, I might become a sign of hope for others in their time of need. We can accomplish so much more when we come at it with love and support. My legacy is in my books, and in my blog. If it inspires one person, I’ll be happy with my contributions, big or small.

https://www.daysoftheyear.com/days/womens-history-month/

Bittersweet is Life

Bittersweet is Life

On March 29, 1999, I watched my daughter Stephanie Paige Steines take her last breath. She was born with a neuromuscular disease of unknown origin. It is something that stays with you the rest of your life, only time makes it hurt less; I no longer cry starting a month before her death, and that day, sometimes it passes without recognition. I always remember though.

stephi 001

While her health deteriorated, her muscles became weak, her breathing difficult, her eating nearly impossible, I had a weird dichotomy of experiencing the other side, the wonder of her twin, my daughter Kayla, as she grew stronger, hit her milestones, thrive.

But with each milestone achieved, there was something not completely right, there should have been two reaching these ‘normal’ goals.

After Stephi died, there was always a whisper of sadness through everything that Kayla did and though I promised myself that Kayla would never have to live her life because her sister died, she’d only have to live her life because Kayla was, the whisper, the hint, a piece of the whole was always there.

I hadn’t realized Kayla experienced that emptiness until almost 17 years later. Seeing other twins at school hurt, she wanted to scream out, “I’m a twin too!” I will never forget the time I was in a room with four other adults, and three of us gave birth to twins. As the two moms spoke of their twin issues, I wanted more than anything to chime in. But to talk of the loss carries a dark cloud over the conversation and it’s not always the right time or place.

The loss is not just my loss, it’s also Kayla’s. Even though she were 11 months old when Stephanie died, we both feel it especially during great achievements, a great moving forward, always knowing, someone else should be there too.

I feel it now as Kayla is ready to graduate high school, as she’s ready to enter college. I’m not just sad because my baby is all grown up. I’m sad because we are missing someone.

There is so much pride for all Kayla has been able to accomplish. Overcoming crippling anxiety, scoliosis, ADHD. She’s graduating with amazing grades, a high ACT score and was accepted into three colleges. She’ll be attending this fall on her way to full adulthood.

Time makes it less difficult and there are less tears, but it can never wipe away the sadness. I only hope I can make through graduation without the ugly cry.

100_0436Kayla 7th grade

 

Up at Night

Up at Night

Up at night
Thoughts are filled with you
Turmoil, fear and worry

Love is pain
Dark black whirlpools squeeze and suffocate me

No rest through the worry
No joy on this journey

I can no longer remember you before
Your face has changed
Your words are strong, defiant
I have a difficult time recalling you

A piece of me is lost in a turbulent sea
And forever, nothing will be the same

I lie awake at night
New worries, anxiety creeps and crawls inside
Trepidation on this new path
It’s chocked and tangled with weeks
This direction is new, foreign, scary

It doesn’t always turn out as we plan

Battered and Bruised by the Water

Battered and Bruised by the Water

The high cliff overlooks a river that snakes through the countryside. It’s nestled into the valley, covered in trees and the water, it beats roughly against the rocky coast. I stand on the highest hill, a silent observer to the water as it splashes and swirls before dropping several feet into that whirlpool at the bottom of the waterfall.

The water churns, and undulates, alive with pain, anger, love and loss. Each harsh wave erodes the rocks, removing a piece forever. Mom she’s gone. I hear myself say that over and over again in my head, on a loop that I can’t shut off. My voice lacks all feeling, a reflection of my true self, because it was one more piece of news than I can’t absorb, interpret or accept. 

WIP 2016, Sheryl Steines

white_water_rapids_by_ollieeeeee2011-d55whc3

I’ve been afraid of deep water, (I’m 5’3″ so it doesn’t take much), since I was six years old. Before six, I had no issue with the water, stick me in a blow up ring and let me float on by. At six, I took swim lessons, in a lake. I will never forget the day we jumped from the floating dock into the water, water that was definitely deeper than the top of my head.

Not the first one in; I watched others jump in; it seemed that the others before me, were immediately lifted out of the water to sun dry on the wooden dock. When it was my turn, I jumped and stared up and through the greenish, cloudy lake water, I could see the sun in the sky and I remember thinking, “When am I going to be lifted out of the water?” I panicked, the panic seeped inside and from that time, water was the enemy.

I’ve taken swim lessons at an adult, trying to allay those fears, not wanting to pass them to my children, but the fear and anxiety is so deep within me, I’ve given up hope that I will ever enjoy the water.

I’ve been writing poetry and essays of late, writing my memoirs in a way that’s pure emotion as I discuss the life I’ve led so far and why it might be important to another person. My theme for the bad times seems to be the churning water. How it pulses, undulates and suffocates, much like I feel when I’m in a large body of water.

JK Rowling wrote about her depression in Harry Potter through the dementors, the life sucking creatures that ate your souls and left you as merely a shell, much like depression does in real life. She didn’t write a literal interpretation, choosing instead to give you the image, in a beautiful, grotesque way.

Water, for me, is the perfect representation for the emotions that envelope me through several past life experiences. It swirls and comes alive and batters me against the edge of the lake.

Eventually the water will flow down river into a quiet pond, but right now, it undulates, rumbles and terrorizes.

I work on my autobiography because I hope, someday, somewhere, someone will read it and gain perspective and a sense that in the end, it will get better. The river eventually ends.

Becoming Lola – Meditate

Becoming Lola – Meditate

mediation Meditation. There’s no secret to practicing, you don’t need to be a Buddhist monk to participate. It’s not magic, and most likely it’s something you’ve done without realizing you’re doing it.

Have you ever been so stressed that you take a moment to take a slow, deep breath and equally slow release of the breath? A moment to slow down, to be in the present. This is meditation.

Life is stressful. Full time job, over scheduling ourselves and our children, sometimes our lives feel as though they’re imploding in on itself. I feel it too.

I’ve been on a quest the last year, to remake myself. Find my inner happiness as I try to accomplish a goal I set for myself when I was seven years old. To be a writer.  But as we all know, sometimes life gets derailed. Careers, a terminally ill baby, an anxious child, a transgender child.

Stress builds up to the point you feel as if you are ready to explode and as I work toward my goals, and try not to let myself get derailed, I came up with a plan to remake myself. I call it Becoming Lola after I made a joke that I wanted to dye my hair red and change my name.

To deal with the stress, I took a meditation seminar at my yoga studio. The goal to open our chakras, let our natural energy flow freely instead of bottle up. Regardless of what you think about this, doesn’t matter for the moment.  What I discovered through the guided meditation, through listening to the doctor’s voice, by paying attention to my body, and imagining these centers opening up, I walked out of there with a quiet mind and an open heart.

My recent introduced me to Buddhist Monk Bhante Sujatha, practicing for over thirty years. He travels the world guiding others to the practice of meditation and when he’s home at the monastery he founded, he guides practitioners in how to begin and continue with the practice. When he’s not doing that, he raises money for incubators, used in impoverished countries.

I told Bhante my story. How one hour-long session, affected me so much. He told me I had the Buddhist light within me and encouraged me to continue practicing.

It takes only five minutes of time. Five minutes to breathe in, let the air fill your lungs and release it. Five minutes to simply be in the moment with no thoughts, no lists, not responsibilities except to listen to your body and quiet the mind.

I made a pledge to be open to all sorts of healing, to ease the pain in my body and in my mind, to give myself much-needed rest. It cost nothing and takes little time to heal yourself if your open to the possibility.

 

 

 

 

 

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