I never thought I’d get out from under the loneliness I was experiencing. I went from being super close to my mother and father and brother and nephew to losing my entire family in one night. Then my boyfriend and I broke up. I was holed up in a crappy apartment unable to get out of bed on some days. I drowned my sorrow in food and lived in the past. I didn’t know if I could go on.
One night, unable to sleep, obsessing about my mother’s murder by my father and my brother’s judgment of me for not condemning my father in the way he thought I should, I grabbed a pen and paper and started writing. I wrote a poem. I had never written poetry in my life. I shocked myself with the vulgarity, anger and perverse sexuality that appeared on the pages of my journal. I realized the beauty of it later. With those words I released my inner demons, that I had squashed, and yet were leaking out in all areas of my life. They were finally being purged from my body. I detached as I looked at the words on the page. It was somehow okay to allow the poet to write these dark things while at the same time not claiming ownership of the words that had been written. I know it sounds crazy. I was crazy from my grief.
The next night, during another sleepless episode, I grabbed my pen and notebook again. Ten short poems came up. I wailed and shook as I wrote them, bending into a fetal position and begging for comfort. Poems flowed out with themes of babies being murdered, seeing my father’s ice blue eyes staring me down as if to tell me he’d kill me next, putting a gun in my mouth to end my pain.
I didn’t ever put a gun in my mouth. I didn’t ever get close enough to my father again to accuse and berate and do the things to him that I did to him in my poetry. I worked up the courage to share my poems with a trusted friend who was moved deeply. Then I took the poem that tore at my heart the most and fleshed it out into a scene that would become the beginning of my now critically acclaimed one-person show.
I was brought back from the depth of despair through sharing my story through writing and then performing my one-woman show. Once the truth was out I found a way to share myself intimately with my friends again. I stopped isolating myself for fear of being found out. I found a way to work the darkness out of my system through my writing. Each time I wrote and rewrote I found something new, something lighter, something fresher and my heart opened for the first time in years.
This is why I am ready to expand my work into teaching you how to do the same thing I did to move past the pain, the isolation and loneliness into a life that came to include intimacy, creative-expression and sharing your voice and wisdom in the world in a bigger way.
Can you do me a favor? As I expand my business to include articles, videos, reports and programs on how you, too, can heal from turning your personal story into a one-person show that inspires others I need you to tell me where you are in the process of healing. How can I serve you?
It’s been over 18 years since my mom died. I can hardly believe it. It’s been over ten years since I started performing my solo-show. I’ve shared my story with well over 10,000 people now. Thank you so much for allowing me to usher you into the next stage in your process-whether it’s to let go of an event in the past so that it no longer crushes your spirit or whether it’s helping you to change the stories you tell yourself that have been keeping you stuck in inertia or status quo or fear. Maybe you are ready to hit it out of the ballpark and just need permission.
I believe in you.
Be Bold. Be Brave. Tell Your Story.