Danielle Hines's Blog, page 2
March 25, 2024
Breaking the Cycle + Sweetwood is an AUDIOBOOK 🎧📚
I have been tangled up with you for years in a very arms-length, don't-get-too-close-to-me kind of way. Never have I felt worthy. Never have I felt safe. And this has been my own doing. It has been through my own unwillingness to open up, to be myself that I sit here now with this ball of hurt in my heart.
You caught me sometimes. You'd ask me how I was in a moment when I was two breaths away from a breakdown. You'd text me because my blog post sounded just a little too dark. And all the while, you were conquering the world—living a life I knew a sliver of. There was this place in the middle where we would meet each other. I'd almost always be awkward, and you'd almost always be rushed, but we would help each other there.
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It's not you, it's me.
I have held back since we met. I have twisted myself up in order to keep from opening my heart. In actions, I could show you. In words, I rarely could. And when I told you about that past life we shared, you nodded. You understood. I told you I felt bound to you and that you had me at your service for life. You said, "I'm so glad you showed up."
But as I write this, I see the problem; I see the pattern. I have this predilection for blaming myself. It's something I learned in childhood, and yet, how can this all be on me? It feels so safe for me to dig through all my shortcomings and lay them at your feet. It feels familiar to crouch down so that you can stand tall.
I gotta break this cycle.
Far too many hours have been spent evaluating my worthiness—hours that could be spent creating. And I won't take too much time to regret it; I'll just do better instead. I will walk, write, and wail this out until I become the vessel for the answer to this lesson.
Yes, I know. Within me lies the problem and the solution. I am the question and the answer. And I thank you for showing up. I thank you for helping me look at something that was just so hard to see. As much as I would have loved the idea of waiting in the wings for the entirety of this lifetime—life, it seems, has other plans.
**originally written October 2017**
An update to this post is that I am learning to see people clearly—to accept them as they are without my wishes, wants, or biases. This is allowing me to walk away without excess emotion or regret. It’s allowing me to embrace reality. Thank goodness.
Sweetwood is NOW an AUDIOBOOK!
Thanks to Hannah Vandeven, The Sweetwood Series is available in audio format wherever you buy audiobooks.
The Sweetwood Series is a romantic suspense series—all in one book.
Sweetwood Secret is a second-chance romance.
Sweetwood Scandal is a small-town romance.
And Sweetwood Christmas is a feel-good holiday romance.
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February 14, 2024
Stand Up with Love
"We know better now. We won't be going to you anymore. It's time to go over your head and straight to the source. This way, our questions are actually answered. This way, we won't be manipulated."
This is the reply I almost typed to a teacher at my daughter's school, but ultimately, I didn't.
The issue is the dress code. More specifically, the issue is how the dress code is (mis)handled by some teachers with some students. Middle-school-aged children are being centred out and shamed for their clothing. While I understand there are rules and that these rules need to be followed, I also understand that these children have fragile body images, are in the throes of puberty and are simply living in the modern world.
It is almost exclusively girls being dress-coded, and of those, the vast majority are girls who have grown and developed at warp speed.
As if these girls aren't already tender enough...
They wear the same clothing as a less-developed friend, and *they* get centred out. Seriously? And, oh, what are we teaching our boys, by the way?
So I reached out to a fellow mother- one who I knew would not judge, who had reasonable expectations of a dress code and who was unafraid to stand up for her kid.
And now we join forces. Mothers in arms. This mom reached out to three other moms, and we plan to discuss how to handle the situation.
Having already made my point to the teacher mentioned above (and receiving a head-shaking reply with zero accountability), I realized this is not about being right. It's about gaining clarity and promoting positive change to the people who can implement it. I have no interest in making people feel wrong. I simply want a more accepting and compassionate environment for my children.
You can stand up with love and be heard. I'm learning this. And, hopefully, modelling it for all my kids.
Bypass the noise. Get the facts. Promote positive change.
Woo!
*Originally written in Spring 2018
The Sweetwood Series Audiobook is OUT!
Available wherever you buy your Audiobooks! Sweetwood SecretWhen her younger brother goes missing, New York City journalist Holly Blake is beckoned back to the small Georgia town of her youth.
After losing both her parents the previous year, she is desperate to find Lucas—the only family she has left.
But searching for her brother means two things Holly had not bargained for: reuniting with her ex-fiancé Max, the local sheriff, and following a trail that leads straight into the tangled web of lies and dangerous games played by one of the richest families in the state—the Sweetwoods.
Sweetwood ScandalFollowing his ex-girlfriend to her hometown of Wellington, New Zealand, Jacob Sweetwood is on the hunt for the thousands of dollars and the antique ruby ring Ava-Rose has stolen.
After weeks of dead-ends and a puzzling meeting with Ava-Rose’s father, Jacob heads back to Blairsville, Georgia. There, he finds comfort and solace in the company of Nancy Cooper—the straight-talking, beautiful owner of The Fox and Fig.Soon, though, Ava-Rose is back in Blairsville with no money, a story that is difficult to believe, and an undeniable tie to a scandal that threatens to upend the entire Sweetwood Syrups empire.
Sweetwood ChristmasAs Gabe and Zena embark on their separate assignments under the same roof, they are often drawn together. And the more they uncover, the more they are convinced Adora is hiding something. Will the two be able to bring the truth to light in time to reunite the elder Sweetwoods and have a happy holiday ending of their own?
December 14, 2023
Lean into the Power of the Season You're In
Listen, I'm so out of practice with interviews and such, but this was fun.
And Erin was generous.
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Her platform is incredibly relevant, and her intentions are kind.
We had a wonderful conversation about goals, artistic expression, and the demands of life as a single mother.
Enjoy!
More from Erin...Today’s episode features an interview with author and writing coach Danielle Hines. Danielle shares all about her experience as a writer and editor and gives incredible advice for “how to get out of your own way,” Danielle shares her personal story with authenticity and vulnerability. If you’ve ever worried about how long your journey to self-expression and following your dreams may take, this is the episode for you!
In the Episode:If you have an impulse to tell your story, Danelle says you should follow it! “The impulse to tell your story means there’s someone out there who needs to hear it”
Hear about how Danielle’s journey as an author began thanks to NaNoWriMo as a way to cope with the end of her marriage.
Danielle shares that she finished her first novel “by sheer force of will” and we unpack what it feels like to try to race to the finish line of good enough
How Danielle kept writing even while spending next 10 years rebuilding her life after the release of her first book and the end of her marriage
Danielle is a firm believer in the outcomes of strong mental health care!
Part of our interview explores the other fiction writing Danielle has done as a ghost writer, and she generously shares her experience in the publishing industry, the intention and purpose behind ghostwriting versus authored works.
Even when you slow down the pace of pursuit when it comes to your dreams, Danielle has advice for how to nurture that flame in small ways, especially when it comes to finding community to keep you afloat.
Never discount the compound effects of small consistent actions!
You won’t want to miss the compassionate exercise Danielle walks thorough for people who say “I want this….but I can’t”
Danielle shares the difference between big publishing houses, indie publishing and self-publishing
Finally, Danielle shares what to do when you recognize that your small step season is ended, and you’re ready to transition to focusing on something bigger
Thanks for reading Little Love Stories! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
November 28, 2023
The Space Between + A Sweetwood Review
They sat in the garden facing one another, unable to look up. He wore sunglasses in any case. When she tried to see his eyes, she could not. Perhaps it was better that way. The space between them was heavy—laden with fear—though they carried it differently. She wanting to run. He wanting to hold her close and never let go.
She never thought of herself as afraid of love. She was an open heart beating with wonder, she thought. But the last time...the last time, it all ended in a moment—a moment two years ahead of actually parting ways. So what if they had already had their moment? What if they were now biding their time to say goodbye?
Her friend had said, "You are smarter than this. Your heart wants to understand, not to judge. You will have to be honest about your fears. It's the only way to feel at peace."
Pushing past the lies in her brain, she breathed into the truth in her chest. It was too easy to blame him. The work here was to face all of it and let the chips fall where they may. With fear at the helm, she would keep running, but love? Love may just let him in.
She walked a tightrope in her mind. The fear of falling was palpable, but there was a voice. There was a voice so soft it made her think of pillows to cushion her landing. It reminded her of a mother's whispers to her baby, of a father's promise to his son. This voice was quiet. She had to strain to hear. Or perhaps she simply had to become quiet, too?
She closed her eyes and focused on the air leaving her lungs. She watched her fears fight it out in her head. She gave each one away in silent prayer. And in the end, she chose Love.
They sat in their garden facing one another, unable to look away. His eyes were clear and kind, and she had the thought: 'Maybe his eyes always looked this way?' The space between them was light but narrow. And now, they could not get close enough. She wanting to melt into his arms. He wanting to hold her close and never let go.
♥
A Sweetwood Review!
November 16, 2023
Trying to Outrun the Truth
The post below was written four years ago during a fairly intense time in my life. I was facing a lot of truth about myself and the unhealthy patterns and coping mechanisms I'd been living out for years. I was trying to outrun the truth. I had been running... avoiding... compartmentalizing... dissociating... and throwing myself into the pains and problems of others, appointing myself their only saving grace.
Thankfully, I woke up. And I'm so glad I wrote this piece because sometimes, I feel so far beyond the woman I was that I forget how much strength she had. It is not easy to do this work. But then, I'm not sure that avoiding it is that great, either. It can certainly look better on social media, but the day-to-day lack of being at peace with oneself is exhausting.
I pray that we all muster the strength to be honest with ourselves because our lives will be better for it—the world will be better for it. There's nothing special about me. I was lucky enough to have the resources to do this work, so I did it.
D xoxo
--- ---
Deep in the work of healing, I have good days and bad.
The bad days consist of a suppressive kind of fog that leaves me with the sense that I dangle on the edge of a cliff—naked and alone—struggling to pull myself up to safety. These days are painful, and it's a physical pain—like a full-body ache that is heaviest in my chest.
The other day, I explained this sensation to a friend, and I assumed she would know exactly what I meant. She had, after all, spent years in intense therapy healing from PTSD. But she didn't get it. And it wasn't until later that I realized she had been fairly heavily medicated throughout that time in her life. It stands to reason that the meds dulled her pain and allowed her to go through therapy without such a big physical distraction.
This made me understand even more deeply why we avoid this work- why we remain asleep, telling ourselves it's not that bad while layering our lives with distraction upon distraction. I get it. Because this shit suuuccckkksss.
But the good days are good. And sometimes, they come lined with truly helpful epiphanies.
A few weeks ago, I found myself missing someone so much that it hurt. I'd heard grief described as love with no place to go, and, at that moment, this made a lot of sense to me. And I wanted to do so many things with my love. I was used to offering care, comfort, shelter, an ear, and now... nothing. And then a voice said, "Danielle, you do not trust Love to do its job."
Whoa.
And I realized... this is what co-dependency is. Because I have lately concluded that codependents are inherently kind people with incredible capacities for love, they were never shown their worth, nor were they loved as they deserved (as we all deserve). This huge missing piece evolved into an anxious, needy drive to prove one's worth to get that love.
When you haven't experienced true Love, you have no idea what it can do without your interference.
So I sat back and breathed. I let myself cry, but I also made a pact. I would trust that my love was enough and that I didn't need to do anything unless I truly felt moved to. Ever since then, my head and heart have felt lighter. I am unburdened and free to feel how I feel.
I should say here and now: I am in regular therapy. I am also blessed to have friends who are trained counsellors, and I seek their advice often. Lastly, I have a spiritual practice that helps me reconnect to myself. I am not doing this alone.
Learning to let Love do its job has been one of the most grace-filled experiences of my life. And it goes on...
❤️
Get Sweetwood on Kindle for Less!
Right now, The Sweetwood Series is available on Kindle at a reduced price. This is the perfect book for anyone in a reading slump or wanting something a bit lighter as we approach the holiday season. ❄️
November 3, 2023
As Long as He's OK + A Cozy Read You Need
From my WIP...
Hailey was sitting on the edge of the bed when her sister, Sarah, awoke.
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“You didn’t oversleep,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
Sarah rubbed her eyes, slowly clearing the metaphorical cobwebs. “Ok,” she said. “So, what’s up?”
Hailey looked serious. “I know you never look at your News app, so I figured I should let you know what happened.”
Sarah panicked. “What? What is it? Is it mom?”
Hailey shook her head. “Mom’s fine. It’s that older man you had me visit… the one with the raccoons.”
“Mr. Ivankov?”
“Yeah,” she said. “His house burned down Tuesday night. No one died. Apparently, he wasn’t at home when it happened.”
Sarah visibly relaxed for a moment and then, “And Fred?” Her ex-boyfriend lived next door to Mr. Ivankov. This is how she knew him. And though Fred claimed to constantly be annoyed by the older man and his hoarding habits, Sarah knew they were close—both in proximity and in relationship.
“No other homes were damaged. Fred should be fine. I just wanted you to hear it from me and not some half-story from someone else.”
Sarah nodded. “I get it. Thank you.” She rubbed her forehead. “That poor man. He must be devastated.”
Hailey clucked her tongue. “Yes, I’m sure. But, Sarah… that house! He was completely careless. All those newspapers? Letting undomesticated animals, cute as they are, roam his house? The gas lanterns? He was asking for it.”
Sarah considered this. There was a definite sadness in the old man. He wasn’t even that old. Sarah had been surprised to find out he was only in his mid-sixties. He looked at least ten years older. “You mean like a death wish?”
Hailey shrugged. “Maybe. Or a fresh start?”
Sarah narrowed her eyebrows. “But he has been in that house since he married, and he adored his wife. Her death left him heartbroken. That’s why he was doing all the hoarding in the first place.”
“Yeah, I don’t need to be right about this, Sarah. I’m just giving you my impression.” She rose to leave. “I know you’re not going to be able to help yourself. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
Sarah didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know what her sister meant. Of course, she’d have to check in on Fred and ensure he was ok. He didn’t have anyone else. Who knew how he was feeling right now? “I promise,” she said softly. “And Hailey?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
— — —
She told herself that texting wasn’t enough and that a phone call wasn’t either. A house fire meant showing up, meant being there in person to offer comfort. That’s how she justified driving straight to his house after work. Of course, this did not take into account Manfred’s more general aversion to physical touch nor his complete distaste for people dropping by unannounced. Tears stung her eyes the split second she was honest with herself- she was worried about him, missed him, ached to just be near him.
Curse this vulnerability. She wore every damn thing on her damn sleeve.
She rounded the corner, pulled the car over and immediately saw the remains of Mr. Ivankov’s house. Blackened metal, ashen wood- it was gone, all gone. Sarah’s hand went involuntarily to her mouth in shock. She had not expected it to be so transformed, nor for it to still be smoking. The heat coming off the wreckage made a visible blur at the edges. Sarah gulped down a cry. The sight hurt her heart— the destruction of it, the sheer loss. She knew that he’d be worried about his animals, and she hoped that wherever he was, he was ok.
It took her five minutes to muster up the courage to get out of the car. She had practiced the look on her face, the first thing she’d say, how she’d handle it if he had another woman there. She had tried to anticipate everything. But what she had not foreseen was the crushing knowledge that she was still this far gone.
It had been a possibility that floated just beyond arms reach, something Hailey accused her of so ungraciously until just then when she was halfway to Fred’s house. Sarah still wanted Fred. She wanted him fully and completely— wanted to be his girl, his friend, his family, just like she had been before.
She’d chosen her clothes carefully, nothing too bright and nothing that Fred had complimented her on. Ultimately, she went with a fitted black cotton and a denim jacket. But as she walked to his door, she shook her head. He would never notice anyway. His mind was on other things. What had she been thinking?
“Sarah! Goodness, it’s so lovely to see you, dear. I’ve missed you,” said a clearly taken-aback Mr. Ivankov. His arms spread, welcoming her to embrace him.
She stepped to him without a thought. “Oh, Mr. Ivankov! I am so, so sorry about your home. I’ve been thinking of you constantly since I heard. How are you?”
He kissed her temple and pulled her inside. “Come in, come in. I’m fine, child. Shaken up, but fine.”
Sarah was feeling so many things at once: surprise at his being here in Fred’s home, relief that he was okay, awkwardness at being in this house again, and nervousness at seeing Fred again. There was no way she could mask all of that. She decided maybe it was best not to try. “Forgive me, but what are you doing here? I mean…”
He waved his hand in acknowledgment and smiled. “I know, I know. Manfred is not my biggest fan. But I had nowhere to go. I can’t seem to reach Wendy, nor Geoffrey, though I’ve been trying for days.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
Mr. Ivankov shrugged. “They take off sometimes. I’m not too concerned. It’s just that I could use their help.”
They walked through the small hallway to the living room and sat down. Sarah wondered where Fred was. “Of course, you could. Why didn’t you call me?”
He cleared his throat and looked away. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me— wasn’t sure if I’d just be a reminder of your old life.”
Sarah wrung her hands and leaned forward. “I should have visited you. I’m sorry for staying away.”
“Well, you’re here now,” he said softly. “Can I get you some tea? Manfred is out, but I know he won’t mind.”
So he wasn’t home after all. Sarah tried to hide her disappointment, but then her stomach was also turning at the idea that Mr. Ivankov was playing a role that only months ago she would have been playing. It would have been her opening the door and offering tea. Things were so confusing and backward.
Sarah popped a candy in her mouth and reminded herself that even if she couldn’t see him today, he was alive, and he was well, and that was something to be grateful for.
Curl up with the Sweetwoods...Days are getting colder and shorter here in Canada. It's the perfect time to get cozy with a fun, suspenseful, romantic read.
Order your copy of The Sweetwood Series HERE.
--
Sweetwood Secret
When her younger brother goes missing, New York City journalist Holly Blake is beckoned back to the small Georgia town of her youth.
After losing both her parents the previous year, she is desperate to find Lucas—the only family she has left.
But searching for her brother means two things Holly had not bargained for: reuniting with her ex-fiancé Max, the local sheriff, and following a trail that leads straight into the tangled web of lies and dangerous games played by one of the richest families in the state—the Sweetwoods.
Sweetwood Scandal
Following his ex-girlfriend to her hometown of Wellington, New Zealand, Jacob Sweetwood is on the hunt for the thousands of dollars and the antique ruby ring Ava-Rose has stolen.
After weeks of dead-ends and a puzzling meeting with Ava-Rose’s father, Jacob heads back to Blairsville, Georgia. There, he finds comfort and solace in the company of Nancy Cooper—the straight-talking, beautiful owner of The Fox and Fig.
Soon, though, Ava-Rose is back in Blairsville with no money, a story that is difficult to believe, and an undeniable tie to a scandal that threatens to upend the entire Sweetwood Syrups empire.
Sweetwood Christmas
When Zena Sweetwood is asked by her uncle Octavius to help him reason with his wife, her beloved aunt Adora, who wants suddenly wants a divorce, Zena is certain this will be an easy fix. They’re so in love, after all.
Soon though, it becomes clear that Adora has her mind made up—having hired slick Manhattan attorney Gabe Da Silva to stay at their north Georgia mansion to draw up the papers.
As Gabe and Zena embark on their separate assignments under the same roof, they are often drawn together. And the more they uncover, the more they are convinced Adora is hiding something. Will the two be able to bring the truth to light in time to reunite the elder Sweetwoods and have a happy holiday ending of their own?
Thanks for reading Little Love Stories! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
October 19, 2023
I Never Knew How Strong I Was + A Book Club Offer
I used to do this thing where I would post memes that spoke to me as a passive-aggressive way to show people I was hurting. It's a very human thing to do when we want to feel seen. Does this work, though? I don't know... unless you're dealing with someone who is truly empathetic and/or healed, all you're doing is bouncing your pain off others only to have theirs bounce back off of you.
Take the above image, for example. Goodness, there is so much pain in this. Someone has been wronged, struggled, and attempted a kind of forgiveness that still leaves them unheard. The loneliness inherent in this is nothing short of heartbreaking. It calls to mind the image of someone putting up a brave front. Someone controlled, maybe, or repressed—someone who cries a lot and can be harshly self-critical. And yet, it also depicts someone who longs to feel better—who wants to let go and move forward.
It's easy to judge people who display their humanity on social media. And to some, that level of vulnerability is almost repulsive. But I'm getting to a point in my life where, as long as no harm has been done, I want to hold space for people who reach out in this way—who reach out in any way. We live in a world that is all too ready to point fingers and not nearly adept enough at opening its arms.
I never knew how strong I was...
Yes, you are strong. Your strength is innate because you are born of love from beyond the beyond—because you are never alone. You are surrounded by angels and guides whose only will is to witness you remember who you really are. And it is so easy to forget our true nature. But your willingness to let go of illusions is everything. So, if you didn't know how strong you were and now you're getting an idea, awesome. Amazing. Keep going.
Until I had to forgive someone who wasn't sorry...
Forgiveness is a process that cannot and should not be rushed. If you were wronged, you deserved better. If you too caused someone pain, you have amends to make. This is not something to be attempted lightly. This is a delicate sifting that can become really, really messy. And when you try to come at someone *nicely* without having done the proper work, the vibe will be off. The result will be resentment. The truth is, you don't need their 'sorry.' You need your own love, respect, and honesty. How you find those things is up to you. But it is, most definitely, a journey inward. Take heart.
And accept an apology I never received.
We never know what's going on with someone else. And I have found that those who don't apologize tend to wrestle with a lot of shame. You cannot get blood from a stone is a saying often applied to someone who does not have the means to pay a debt, and I think it works here, too. When someone is too bogged down by their own mistakes and guilt, you will be hard-pressed to have them step up and do right. At the end of the road of this work is an acknowledgment that people will always meet you where they are.
As Maya Angelou said, "When people show you who they are, believe them the first time." Focus on yourself and your own work, and know that becauase we are all connected, your work is not done in vain.
I write this all as a reminder to myself.
So let's keep reaching out and let the miracle workers remind us to reach within.
And in the meantime, we are harvesting love, respect, and honesty.
And we are strong.
Photo by Daniel Frank from Pexels
I want to crash your Book Club!
Let’s answer allll your burning questions
!Make The Sweetwood Series your next Book Club Pick, and I will Zoom in to meet with you. Fill out the form at the bottom of the book’s page on my website and I will reach out to set up the rest.
October 11, 2023
Let's Meet Katie Street + A Sweetwood Review
The bartender calls me Picabo, but that’s not my name. It started two years ago when I first began frequenting the Bright Eyes Bar & Grille. I sat myself down at the bar, ordered a rusty nail and pulled out the novel I’d been reading at the time. Impressed by my order, the bartender asked for my name.
“Katie Street,” I had replied.
“Street?” he’d repeated. “Like the skier? Picabo?”
I narrowed my eyes at such a reference. I had a vague recollection of an athlete with that name doing lip balm commercials when I was a kid. “I guess?” I replied, non-committal.
“Except you don’t ski,” he laughed, looking my plus-sized frame up and down.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, Marv,” I said, taking note of his name tag. “As it happens, I do ski. Every winter. Since I was eight. I also have a brown belt in Krav Maga.”
Marv appeared to feel as stupid as his words had made him look. “Look, that was rude and really dumb of me. I’m sorry.”
I took a sip of my drink, and damn if it wasn’t delicious. Marv might be an idiot, but he made a great rusty nail. “Okay then,” I replied.
He made me another drink and told me it was on the house. “Can I call you Picabo?” he asked. And I could tell it was as much a peace offering as the drink.
“Marv, my man,” I said. “If you keep making drinks like this, you can call me anything you want.”
By now, I had become accustomed to this. People didn’t always know how to handle me. I was, according to the beauty standards of modern Western society, quite pretty. My hair was long and dark brown, I had large brown eyes, pouty lips, and high cheekbones. I was also, by those same standards, big. Yes, I was overweight, fat, plump, full-figured, big-boned (this was my favourite for its biological unlikeliness), plus-sized, large-bodied, BBW.
From the ages of ten to thirty-four, I had starved myself. And then I didn’t anymore. My body went up three dress sizes in a year, and now, two years later, it has found balance in the shape I currently am. I, Katie, am usually okay with it. It’s other people who have the problem.
Now, as I sit in my usual seat at the Bright Eyes Bar & Grille, Marv has become a good friend. He updates me on the goings-on with his wife, Jill, and their prized cocker spaniels: Biggie and Precious. He and Jill were originally from Queens but came upstate to breed and train dogs. I had met Jill a few times when she came to pick up house keys or some cash from her husband. They were unbearably sweet together.
I looked at my phone to see a missed call from my mother. Nope, I didn’t have the bandwidth for that. Plus, my gosh, it was three in the morning in Budapest! She didn’t leave a message, so I knew it wasn’t urgent. A drunk call, most likely. She and my dad would hit the town once a month and let loose. I would get a call in the middle of the night, the two of them shouting into the phone about how much they lovvvvvveeeeddddd me. Being an only child, I shouldered this and many other burdens alone.
The family business had been the biggest one, of course. But it wasn’t a burden anymore. In fact, I had doubled our profits and built it into a well-oiled machine that meant I only worked twenty hours per week. Street Smarts Tutoring was now the largest private tutoring service in New York State. I even had the space to take on some underprivileged clients pro bono. My favourites were high school seniors hell-bent on bumping up their grades. So, that had been my routine for the past two years. Work with clients on Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, and then come to the bar for a few drinks before heading home to crash.
Home, for now anyway, was actually my parents' condominium. I told myself when I moved in three years ago that I was doing them a favour by house-sitting while they were off on their Hungarian adventure. But they were doing me the favour. It had been one less thing to think about when everything else had fallen apart.
“Picabo? Where are you?” called Marv from the other end of the long, luxurious black walnut bar.
I shook myself back to the present moment. “I’m here,” I said. “But I think I’m done for the night.”
He sauntered over, waving my bill. “You sure? We didn’t get to chat tonight.”
“You’ve been busy. As you should be. It’s Friday night, Marv. It wouldn’t do for you to be talking to me all night. Get thine tips!” I said, waving my hands dramatically.
He laughed and swiped my card. “Jill wants you to finally come over for dinner. You’ve been putting us off for nearly two years, Picabo. I’m off next Sunday. Tell me you’ll come.”
He was right, of course. I hadn’t seen anyone socially in three years—not family, not friends. I had always gotten out of it and stuck to FaceTime and texting. Most of my friends had young kids and so they barely noticed. My parents were in Hungary, and I’d never been close to the rest of my family. I had a few cousins in Manhattan, but they were younger and we didn’t have much in common. I liked keeping people at arms’ length. And I needed to, at least for now.
“Sure,” I replied. “Next Sunday it is.” I got up, grabbed my purse and smiled at him as I waved goodbye, all the while knowing I would cancel the day before.
Photo by Abdel Rahman Abu Baker
A Sweetwood ReviewWriters love reviews. Readers love reviews. So I’m very grateful to all who take the time to leave an honest review of my books. Here’s Nana’s:
Buy your copy of The Sweetwood Series HERE.
October 3, 2023
The Better Parent + A Sweet Fall Read you Need
Snow in mid-October had made her cranky. She clung tightly to herself and cursed at her choice of coat. "It was supposed to be warmer than this," she said with disdain. "And it was definitely not supposed to snow."
We were setting out on a trail near my home. It was with sheer desperation for fresh air and time with another adult that we did so. We were both mothers teetering on the edge of sanity and self-doubt. The back and forth of failure and redemption swung wildly and left us both dizzy and breathless. My friend looked down at her brown leather hiking boots and cleared her throat.
"I just cannot seem to get it right anywhere I look. I'm wrong at every turn," she said sadly, tucking her black curls behind her ears. "I'm on top of Steven's homework, chores, and friends, but now he's so angry. His behaviour with me has gotten worse, not better, and it makes everything more difficult. Each day is filled with arguments and pushback, and he doesn't even care about punishments! Everyone around me has opinions of what I'm doing wrong, but they don't live what I'm living. They don't know that I have tried everything."
I turned to her as we began to scale the hill. "Of course. They can't know that," I told her softly. "My guess is that they're only trying to help, but you interpret it as disapproval and..."
She cut me off with a pointed finger and a harsh look. "It's not helpful! Not at all!"
I nodded with understanding and let the moment fizzle out in silence. So often (but not always), mothers bear the burden of doing most of the raising of children, so we bear the blame as well. We feel it, warranted or not, like a vice around our bodies, pulsing like contractions with every success and failure. We breathe with relief during the times when all is well and running smoothly and mentally beat ourselves up when muck and chaos seem to reign. The worst critic, it seems, lives between our own ears.
"Honey, no one knows Steven like you do," I offered gently. "Now, that doesn't mean you can't seek advice, especially when things are heated or unclear. But it does mean that it's you who will ultimately know what to do, especially if you're taking care of yourself and doing your own healing work."
We diverted off the trail to look at the waterfall more closely. The sound of it was a balm for the soul today.
My friend stopped and took a deep breath. "I know you're right, and I haven't been doing that. I've been so consumed with how all of this is 'on me' that I have not been taking care of myself."
"What's so easy to forget is that Steven has his own path. He has his own mistakes to make. You do not control him, and you guide him. And much of that will simply be done by example." She nodded, and I continued. "This is not a competition of whose child behaves the best because that's not even a good indicator of loving parenting! Your main job with Steven, with anyone with whom you are in a relationship, is to be willing to heal your own stuff."
"'When I am healed, I am not healed alone,'" she quoted.
I smiled. "Exactly."
We headed back to the trail and began our descent. I continued, "You're gonna mess up. I do it all the time, especially when I'm trying to prove something to someone else."
She shook her head in disgust. "Ugh, I know exactly what you mean. And there's no pleasing anyone!" I nodded, and she spoke again. "Like a while back, I made a decision not to share too much personal stuff on my social media except for some pics of the kids or of me and Brad. I did that because I had some friends complain that I sounded 'whiny' and 'too dark.' So I thought, OK, I'll keep that stuff for my close, close friends only. But then, recently, those same friends have been saying that I'm fake and trying to portray a perfect life online. And I'm like: I cannot win!"
"Right. You can't. So try not to worry. Your friends are dealing with their own stuff—that much is clear from their vacillation. So here we are again with our only work: to heal our own minds."
My friend unzipped her coat, having been warmed by the hike. "Thank you, I feel better. Keeping my own side of the street clean is all I really need to do."
“Yup,” I replied.
There was nothing so comforting as knowing we were not alone, nothing so freeing as a good vent session, and nothing so helpful as remembering we cannot do it all.
Introducing… the Equestrian Dreams series by Tiffany Noelle Chacon
This romance series follows Mila and Anya Kozak, two sisters whose lives are forever altered by a horse riding accident. Set in the world of competitive show jumping, Equestrian Dreams is a sweet romance about falling in love, facing your fears and building your own happily ever after. The series is a heartwarming, emotional drama with all the horses you could ever want—perfect for fans of Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken and Heartland.
The prequel novella, Off Course, is available free HERE.
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Lastly…I’m part of another giveaway!
If you have not yet ordered your copy of my latest book, The Sweetwood Series, you can get it for FREE (plus many other sweet romance novels) by clicking the graphic below.
Enjoy!
September 27, 2023
Walks with Him PLUS I wanna crash your bookclub
We walked arm in arm against the wind, our limbs held so tightly as if we were bound together. The sun of early May was bright in front of us, while the breeze was harsh and cold with remnants of April in its breath. He walked tall and strong, but his eyes gave away his pain. Our eyes are always giving us away.
The path we walked was muddy and worn, lined by cherry blossom trees leaving their delicate scent with us as we went. It occurred to me that this is how it has felt the past month: like trudging through thick and unrelenting earth, with moments of sweetness pulling us onward.
The exposing of our core issues is good, ultimately. But it can feel like the total opposite for a time. It can feel like the worst kind of drowning, where everyone and everything you love is there waiting for you at the surface, but the darkness below is all you've ever really known.
I said to him, "At some point, we have to acknowledge our wounds for what they are and how they are affecting us and everyone around us. I have done this. I know. I keep doing it and still get blindsided at times. Everyone's path is different, but for me, recovery was not only a way for me to stop blaming other people, but it also taught me to take my power back. I could see how the events of my life served me—no matter what they were."
He said to me, "I need so much work—a complete overhaul. But then sometimes it feels easier. Sometimes it feels like happiness is a choice."
"Yes." I leaned in and kissed his shoulder. "Sometimes that feels too simplistic to me, though. I think healing is a choice."
"The man you all deserve is in here somewhere," he declared, half-confident, half-sad.
I turned to him and smiled, thinking of his path and mine. "At this point, all I know is that I am willing to learn from my life. I'm making that sound super easy and positive, but it isn't. For me, it's not about you being good enough for us. It's about you making that choice for growth for yourself. I see the real you, even if you don't. It doesn't mean that I can make your decisions for you, though. That's up to you.”
He nodded wordlessly and pulled me closer to him, helping me avoid a puddle.
It's hard to believe that someone who pushes you away actually wants to be held. It's hard to believe that love beats strong, overwhelmingly so, within a chest clenched so tight beneath crossed and defiant arms. He is no different than I. He wants love just as I do. He straddles self-awareness and fear of what healing holds. It leaves him raw and nervous and, in his mind, alone.
"I want to get better," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "I don't want to blame."
"That's a choice for love, sweet man," I uttered reassuringly. "That's the miracle."
We reached the end of the path, and my son ran up behind us, pointing out a busted-out stone wall to the north of us.
"What do you think happened?" he asked innocently.
Without skipping a beat, this man beside me said: "Oh, this is where I come to take out all my Hulk aggression. I use those walls like a punching bag and come home as peaceful as can be."
My son laughed and ran off ahead of us.
I giggled too. "How sweet would that be, eh? Just take all that difficult emotion inside you and hulk it out."
He winked. "Doll, that would solve all my problems."
**originally written Spring 2017
I want to crash your Book Club!
Let’s answer allll your burning questions
!Make The Sweetwood Series your next Book Club Pick, and I will Zoom in to meet with you. Fill out the form at the bottom of the book’s page on my website and I will reach out to set up the rest.
