Me? Inspiring?

If we were to give out awards for those most likely to downplay their accomplishments, I would win the gold medal. 

That's why it's always hard for me to accept praise from people who say I am inspiring, or that I am amazing for my achievements despite the adversity I've faced. 

I don't think I'm inspiring. But...maybe I am?

So for this blog post, I'm going to toot my own horn and maybe, just maybe, I can catch a glimpse of what others believe makes me inspiring. 

(This is going to be hard. I was taught to be humble, to not brag, to not shout out my accomplishments. Christian Evangelism, you have a lot to answer for in my life, but that's for another post). 

Here goes.

During my toxic, abusive marriage of 18 years, I managed to work full-time, raise my children, write freelance book reviews, write several articles published in American in WWII magazine, write my nonfiction book, Nebraska POW Camps, and write several novels, once which was eventually published last year.

Also during these 18 years, I battled a narcissistic abusive husband who managed to cause chaos and turmoil everywhere he went. I became trapped in a trauma bond and an abuse cycle. I moved out three times, but always went back (trauma bonds are extremely strong). I also started to develop severe health issues. I had several surgeries for my female health issues, culminating in a hysterectomy in 2012. That surgery triggered something in my body, and I started to get sick. Doctors thought it was rheumatoid arthritis, but in all actuality, it was probably fibromyalgia.

Then in 2013, I became incredibly ill with mono and had to go to the ER. This, combined with the trauma from my marriage, caused me to develop chronic fatigue syndrome (although I didn't know this until 2021). My health began to steadily decline, but I kept writing because, well, I'm a writer. It's what I do.

2017 hit and my marriage imploded. My husband cheated on me and left, leaving me to pick up the pieces and raise our daughter on my own. That same year, the press who had published my Nebraska POW Camps book approached me and asked if I'd like to write another book. Still reeling from my divorce, I said yes, and began researching the book that would become WWII Nebraska. I still owed my then-agent a novel, so I finished that up and turned it in to her and wasn't surprised at all when she said it needed a ton of work. I was so mired in grief and PTSD that it's no wonder!

So I went to therapy. I kept working on my nonfiction book, and shelved my novel. For a year and a half, I kept to myself, going out with friends occasionally, but mostly staying home in my little cocoon, trying to heal.

When I felt ready, I started dating. Ohhhh boy. Maybe someday I'll write a book about dating in your 40s. I had some great experiences and met some wonderful guys - one became one of my dearest friends! But I also had some terrible, traumatic experiences .Back to therapy I went. 

I started working on a new novel, kept trying to get it work, but my personal life was still in turmoil and it was hard. I also noticed that my health was starting to get worse. 

Just before the pandemic hit in 2020, I'd met a wonderful man, and we'd started dating. The pandemic gave us the perfect opportunity to really get to know each other since going out was no longer an option. We went on fishing trips and put together puzzles and went on long walks. I decided to sell my house because I needed a fresh start. There were too many traumatic memories in that home, so it had to go. My daughter and I moved into an apartment for two years.

I kept writing, and Simon & Schuster UK published my first novel. The Stranger from Berlin. It was a dream come true! I enjoyed the entire experience and worked with a wonderful editor. Unfortunately, the pandemic really put a wrinkle in marketing and publicity, so my sales weren't great, and it was never released in paperback. Sigh.

At the end of 2020, I decided to pursue my PhD in history. Despite all my challenges, it was always something I'd wanted to do. So I applied to my university's history dept and was accepted into the PhD program. I started classes in the fall of 2021.

By this time, my health had become much worse. I was working from home full-time during the pandemic, and after restrictions were eased, I knew I couldn't go back to the office, so I've been working from home ever since. 

But also in 2021, a new rheumatologist said, "You don't have rheumatoid arthritis. It's something else."

So. I'd been misdiagnosed for nearly 10 years and had been taking medication that I didn't need for those 10 years.

To say I was upset was an understatement. So, in November of 2021, I went to the Mayo Clinic. I needed answers, and what better place to go than one of the best medical centers in the country?

That's when I received the news that not only did I have fibromyalgia, but I had chronic fatigue syndrome. I finally had an answer for the terrible flares, pain, and debilitating fatigue I'd been experiencing.

But as I was in school, I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on that. I had papers to write and books to read. I still had my full time job to deal with, and yes, I was still working on my novel!

In the spring of 2022, my boyfriend and I decided to move in together, so I had to pack and move again - which was NOT easy on this body of mine, but we did it!

Which brings us to the present. 

Whew.

After writing all of that, you know what? I am pretty damn proud of what I've accomplished. Three books published. Numerous articles. PhD student. Domestic abuse survivor. One kick-ass mom to an awesome (now adult) daughter. Chronic illness warrior. 

If I really think about it, at any point during my life I could have just...stopped. Given up. Said, "I'm done. Life is too hard." I could have stayed with my husband. I could have refused to go to therapy and probably ended up in another abusive relationship. I could have allowed my circumstances to drown me. I could have taken refuge in alcohol or drugs. I could have let my illnesses stop me from living life. I could have stopped writing.

But I didn't.

The burning passion to write, whether it be novels or history books or articles, just won't let me alone. It's guided me from a very young age - middle school! - and it has kept me sane and focused on days when I wanted to end it all.

The burning passion to see and experience the world, to study history, whether through books or travel, won't let me alone, either. That's why in the last 20 years, I've gone to England twice, traveled to New Orleans twice, and been to Virginia. Sure, that's not a lot of travel when compared with some people, but considering my past situations? That's a lot. And I'm planning to do so much more!

Is that inspiring? 

Hell yes it is.

Am I inspiring?

Hell yes I am!