For years women asked me when they could hold my words in their hands. The 52 Mondays series of seasonal mindfulness journals was my first attempt at this. In particular, a first attempt to move through fear to put my words into the world in some tangible, hold-in-your-hands way that reflects my heart and way of seeing life.
I had no idea when I started writing my journals that they would carry me through the final days of my son’s life. And now that they’re done, and he is gone, I need to keep writing.
I want to make my life a work of art. Making art is messy.Krista xo
Unshackled: Remembering My Way to Freedom
Several years ago I starting working with an agent and walked away. It wasn’t time.
Winter 2018/19, around the time my son wrote out his will and tried to end his life for the first time, a publishing house reached out to me with a book deal. I needed to be present for my son. It wasn’t time.
And then September 2019, I decided it was time to start writing but a serious car accident derailed my plans. And three weeks after that, my beautiful son ended his life.
After my son died, a small whisper told me that maybe if I could just get through the first 100 days that I’d be OK. I didn’t know if the voice was right or not, but I started counting.
Some mornings I would wake up and feel like I’d explode if I didn’t get some of the swirling rage and pain and love for him out of me and onto paper. So I would write.
My aim was to write raw and honest. Unshackled.
I’e always wanted to write this way, though. Back at the start.
These days I’d simply call it “telling the truth.”
I often resist writing yet it’s one of the ways I find my way forward
— gently and on purpose.
MY book (IN PROGRESS): coming spring 2025
In January 2021, I signed a contract with Homebound Publications to bring my first book into the world. My book’s initial estimated birth-date was spring 2023. But 17 months of PTSD and severe panic disorder, profound grief, and learning as a family how to live without Jairus meant I needed to push the dates to allow ample space to heal and grieve. Grief cannot be forced or rushed. My revised publication date is spring 2025.