They'd Run to the Dairy Section If They Saw Me Near the Bananas. I'd Divorced the Preacher.
Nobody checked on me after I divorced the preacher. The isolation was brutal. But leaving that marriage wasn't just survival—it was the first step toward reclaiming my dreams. From pariah to artist. F
A Clarifying Note
When I said I’m taking a break, I meant from pushing, not from publishing.
Between now and the 28th, I’ll be revisiting a few early pieces and rewriting them from where I stand now. The work has deepened. My language has sharpened. The truth underneath hasn’t changed, but I have.
This isn’t recycling.
It’s refinement.
Sometimes growth doesn’t look like producing something new. Sometimes it looks like returning to what mattered and saying it more cleanly, more honestly, more embodied.
That’s what I’ll be doing here until I’m back.
No rush. No grind. Just clarity.
The Day I Divorced the Preacher
The day I divorced the preacher, I might as well have been excommunicated.
Not officially, of course. But let’s just say my church community suddenly lost their ability to make eye contact with me in the produce aisle.
If they spotted me near the bananas, they’d bolt for the dairy section. If I reached for a loaf of bread, they suddenly had a deep, urgent need for canned goods.
Nobody checked on me. Nobody asked if I was okay.
And I was not okay.
Because here’s the thing: happy women don’t file for divorce.
I was in pain. Deep, soul-crushing pain.
The marriage had been dead for years—I’d just been too afraid to admit it. Too invested in the image. Too terrified of what leaving would cost.
But instead of love when I finally left, I got judgment.
Instead of support, I got silence.
And Lord help me, the church ladies loved to whisper that old warning:
“Be careful what you ask for—you just might get it.”
Well, honey, I got it.
And it was brutal.
I lost the house. The security. The sense of belonging.
My girls suffered in ways I never wanted them to.
There was no internet, no support groups, no safe spaces for women making the kind of decision I made.
Just grit, gumption, and a gut-wrenching desire for a life that felt like mine.
This painting captures exactly how it felt.
Three stark barns standing in a cold, unforgiving landscape. The overwhelming quiet of a life that had been stripped down to nothing familiar.
But then—there she is.
The Red Lady.
Painted on the barn, arms wide open, defying the bleakness around her.
She appeared in my work again and again over the years, unintentionally becoming a symbol of what I was chasing:
The energy. The resilience. The joy of reclaiming my dreams.
Because that’s what I did.
I didn’t just leave a marriage—I left behind an existence that had no room for me in it.
The road from pariah to artist, to storyteller, to a woman who actually owns her life, was not smooth.
It was cold. It was lonely. It was filled with moments where I doubted if I’d made the right choice.
But I see it so clearly now.
I was never meant to stay in that marriage.
I was meant to step out, to create, to find my way back to myself.
Looking back, that one decision—walking away from a marriage that wasn’t right for me—set off a domino effect that led me right here.
To this life. To this work. To you.
Every hardship, every closed door, every time I had to pick myself up off the floor shaped the woman writing these words today.
The woman who reclaimed her dreams.
Leaving that marriage wasn’t just about survival.
It was the first step toward this life.
So if you’re standing at a crossroads right now, terrified of what comes next, here’s what I’ll tell you:
The first step doesn’t always feel like a victory.
Sometimes, it feels like your whole world is burning down.
But sometimes, that fire is exactly what’s needed to clear the path for your dreams.
And if my Red Lady has anything to say about it?
You’re allowed to want more.
Even when it costs you everything.
Especially then.
If You’re at a Crossroads
If you’re standing at a decision that scares you
leaving
choosing yourself
walking away from what looks safe
and you’re afraid it might cost you everything, I want you here for what comes next.
In January, I’m opening a complete series called Re-Imagine. Reclaim. Reinvent.
It’s drawn from my own lived experience
going from invisible and uncertain to building a life that finally fits
including becoming a Top 10 Bestseller at 70.
We’ll explore
how to choose yourself when it costs you belonging
how to survive the quiet when your community turns away
how to rebuild after security disappears
how to follow the dream that never let go of you
If this speaks to where you are, you’re welcome to join now.
Annual subscriptions are 20% off through December 31
$64 now, $80 after
You’ll receive the full January series plus every essay, story, and piece of work I create in 2025.
Join before December 31
I love the painting. I can feel the starkness.
My favorite color is red! ❤️. Bold, beautiful, RED!