It has been forever since I’ve been here and connected with readers in this way, and I figured what better time to do it than today, when I’m having a mental Monday. What does that mean exactly? Well, for me, Mondays have always been the bane of my existence. No particular reason for it, it’s just the day of the week that feels like it drags forever, and my brain is overwhelmed with all the things I have to do before Sunday when I crash and refuse to be anything other than a feral raccoon that wants to be given snacks and left the fuck alone. I feel like the past three years have pushed me in so many directions and at this point, I have a lifetime membership on the Hot Mess Express (choo choo motherfucker).

I released The Fall of Baba Yaga in January of 2023 and had full plans to release part two that fall. That obviously didn’t happen, and I’m finally ready to talk about it.

I want to preface this first, it hasn’t entirely been my story to tell and I’ve waited some time for all parties to start healing before we discussed my sharing the parts that deeply affected me personally.

As a parent the best we can do is guide our children to be good humans, respectful, kind, and have given better than we had. My oldest daughter has always been fiercely independent, was sure she’d be running the world at age 5 and the first time her partner hit her, she hid it and she continued to hide it from us for over a year and when we did find out, it was almost always long after the fact and usually not her that told me. I felt anger like I’ve never felt before, and a hurt in my heart that, if I’m being honest, has never truly healed. Why didn’t you tell me? Why won’t you listen? I begged her to leave, we fought, and she wouldn’t speak to me for a while. She felt like I couldn’t understand what she was telling me and I couldn’t understand or fathom why she would think I would shut up and drop it; all my brain processed was that someone was hurting my baby. In May 2023, after a bad altercation I picked up my grand-daughter who was three at the time and brought her home to live with me.

My daughter wouldn’t leave.

And overnight, it felt like I had to take a crash course on raising a toddler, something I had not done in a very long time. It was very challenging when stepping in, like you don’t want to overstep, but you are also solely responsible for this tiny human and add in the situation my child was still in, this little girl needed me to give my best. She lived with me for just under 8 months, became my whole world, and when she went back to her Mum, I hated myself for being so angry that I had to give her back and how unfair it felt. I should be happy she’s going to be with her mama (who is my child). For the first week I cried every morning because my internal clock was wired to her time. I’d find a random toy and lose my shit. Add to all this: still be there for my child, who was pregnant with my second grandchild at the time. I’d love to say the abuse ended but it did not. It took six months after my grandson’s birth for things to really come to a head and end.

My creativity just disappeared. I did marketing for my book, signings, etc, but everything else went out the window. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t breathe. My health severely declined, but I still kept pushing myself and the sicker I got, the more stubborn I became. I made promises to my editor, but the story just wasn’t there. I have an extremely hard time asking for help; I have always taken care of myself. When I finally waved my white flag, I went to doctors, emergency rooms and rinse/repeat. I had X-rays done twice, but nothing. I did bloodwork. It looks normal, it’s just a virus. Six months later, in early 2024, I was still not better. I went back, and a CT scan was ordered. One of my lungs had fluid in it. I felt vindicated, but also miserable. Things would continue this way over and over well into 2025, when I had a scare with my heart. I still couldn’t write, my heart wasn’t in it, and I was scared it wasn’t ever coming back. This all sounds very dramatic, and I felt I was being completely dramatic, but at the time, everything had piled up, and I was becoming a miserable bitch.

I made the decision to go back into Therapy. My daughter had finally left her situation, but things were very strained between us. She was grieving the idea she had of her future and angry at everyone and everything. Growing up the way I did, my viewpoint on the matter wasn’t wrong, but also wasn’t right, and she didn’t want to hear any advice I had. She needed me to listen, and I wasn’t capable of it. So off I went to talk my shit out and figure out how I can move forward with so many conflicting feelings and be serious about how I saw it ending.

June of 2025, I went to Belfast, Ireland for Belfast Books and Ballgowns as an attending author, and it forever changed me. My Battery was recharged, I felt better than I had in a long while. The people, connections I made, the beauty and joy I felt while I was there reminded me why I have always loved being creative. It’s a part of who I am and I had misplaced her for too long. I made lifelong friendships, and as of now I can announce that I will be returning for BBB27. I came home motivated and excited for what’s next.

My body decided otherwise, and 2025 ended with me extremely sick and very fed up. I had thoroughly burnt myself out, and nothing was working. This post isn’t for sympathy; I don’t need it. I just hope to have some understanding, and also to let anyone who has felt the way I did, that this helps. Our bodies can be our enemy, but nothing hinders us more than our mental well-being. Nobody is harder or meaner than I am to myself when I feel stuck, behind, overwhelmed, exhausted and say Fuck it as the answer to anything.

I have felt alone and angry and resentful that the body that gave me my babies is constantly failing me. I felt like I was failing at EVERYTHING. I would scroll social media and couldn’t help comparing myself to others, being so happy and proud of each and every one of them, but also feeling like I was doing something wrong. I questioned everything, constantly overthinking everything I said and explaining to all the people in my life my decisions. No is an answer. I had to learn that at the ripe old age of 42.

I decided to slow down, pull back and not force myself to do anything, That meant saying no A Lot. It meant jokes were made about being boring and no fun. But it also meant falling in love with being an artist in all the ways I love and I could start writing again. I’m so incredibly grateful to my readers for holding on with me while I hid and worked through life. I couldn’t talk about a lot of it, I wasn’t the main character in that story. I’d like to think I was the character that always seems to be there and truly pisses you off but you love them.

Lupus and Inflammatory arthritis run the show, and I have to stop pretending otherwise and pivot my life accordingly, regardless of what my head tells me. I am in pain every. single. day. There hasn’t been a day since 2020 when I haven’t gotten a fever at least once a day, or my body isn’t swollen, sometimes to the point where I don’t want to leave my house. My mobility has been affected to the point I now need injections in my shoulders, hips and SI Joints. It hurts. I get infusions every month, and taking enough pills at this point could probably start my own pharmacy. ( Side Note, calm down, I’m not actually selling prescription drugs) I’m embarrassed to have my photo taken, and I’m exhausted constantly. I’m not lazy; it’s not because I’m not taking my writing seriously enough. I want to be present, I want to do all the things, and it hurts when I can’t. I consider making my bed an accomplishment, especially on the days when that is all I get done. I do the best I can and, in turn, hope for the best.

Book Two is coming this year, I swear it. This book is very different from the first and is a labour of love. It’s darker, and I found it very cathartic to just let the characters run amuck. Once I have a date, I’ll announce it.

If you’ve gotten this far. Thank you for reading my truth and Ted talk. I spent a little too long milling over how much to share and how much I was willing to admit to the internet. I didn’t include names to protect my family from any further emotional damage but was given permission to discuss what I have felt and the struggle I personally felt and had to work through. I’m lucky my daughter is still here. Every single day I’m proud of her for getting herself out. Not every mother or child can say that. If you find yourself in this situation, talk to someone, anyone. Please.

I’ll end with hugs and a whole lot of love to anyone who may need it. Be kind to yourself and give yourself grace.

Kisses, Magnolia