Signing Off

Life has an interesting way of teaching us the things we need to know about ourselves, and 2019 gifted me some of the deepest lessons I’ve learned yet. 
 

A little more than five years ago, I was running my first entrepreneurial venture—a local counseling and wrap-around service for at-risk youth and their families. Having worked in mental healthcare for nearly a decade at that point, I was proud of my business, and it was really successful. There was such an unrelenting need for mental health services that didn’t require restrictive approvals from insurance companies or outrageous co-pays. Families needed qualified people who could help walk with them while they tried to heal and navigate society. And the difference between my services and those of others was that I knew and acknowledged one indisputable truth: everyone wants to feel heard and understood. Everyone has an important story to tell.

I knew this because I’d seen the healing power of storytelling work in treatment facilities and hospitals across Pittsburgh and Chicago. I’d watched young girls who were once ready to give up and give in, who were at each other’s throats, who were cycling in and out of the juvenile system, who’d committed big crimes, who couldn’t love themselves, who’d been ostracized, bullied, beat down, and dejected—I saw them start to build community and peer support once they had the tools to communicate their story to the people around them. 
 
We held weekly writing workshops, drawing and painting classes, reading times, and we gave them opportunities to share their art with the outside world again. My writing program ushered these young women into a new era of self-expression, and with it came insight—and with insight, came healing.

 
But once I’d branched out onto my own, the demand for my services quickly suffocated my business—which was both a blessing and a curse. I didn’t have to struggle to find success in the beginning – not as much as others – because people desperately needed help and I was willing to endlessly drive all over the city, back and forth, to help them, but I still couldn’t reach everyone without accepting insurance payments, and when I couldn't divide my morals by the needs of my business, I knew it was over.
 
At the same time, Lindsey and I were co-operating a DIY publishing service with another partner, but we both knew we had bigger aspirations. We both wanted to help people, we both wanted to lift up marginalized voices so that people could tell their story—not feel like they needed to shout it from the ostracized corners of society to be heard, and combined, we had all the experience, knowledge, and tools to help see this vision through. Thus, One Idea Press was born. A press for womxn, by women, that could be competitive with the top publishing houses, and that strived to function on multiple platforms. We weren’t going to just print and sell books. We were going to create a community.
 
And we did. Over the past five years, Lindsey and I took on a long roster of talented authors whose books have had impacts all over the world. We built one of the nation’s largest and most unique annual publishing and writer’s conferences and have hosted thousands of participants, plus a deep handful of inspiring and committed literary agents, editors, and artists. We used the press to bring important workshops to the public, to spread the healing powers of storytelling through our platform, speaking engagements, panels, and presentations. We’ve strived to serve as an example to others who might feel timid or scared to really embrace their true creative powers, all in the hopes of helping people find liberation in the pursuit of their creativity, courage enough to share their singularly unique story with the world, and brave enough to step into their light. If we could provide an example and a platform, people would come. And they did.
 
I can’t begin to express how grateful I am for this journey, for Lindsey, for all of the writers who have shared their genius with me over the years, for all of the amazing people who have supported our endeavor—this business that I absolutely love. As business partners, Lindsey and I scoffed at challenges. We were creative, innovative, and we built physical space for writers and creatives where there wasn’t space before. We complemented one another completely in that we have entirely different strengths but were united by a singular vision. The press and the conference wouldn’t be what it is today without both of us, and I will continue to treasure and support these things that we’ve built, just from a little farther away now.
 
My decision to step down from my position at One Idea Press was made with a heavy heart and after a seemingly infinite amount of contemplation. But this is the right decision for me right now. At the end of it all—after five years of building a very beautiful thing—I now know a new indisputable truth: that I never truly gave myself the chance to fully tell my story. Something different has been ignited inside of me since Blue Rooms and I’ve let it fester long enough now that I need to honor it. I need to make a definitive choice in my path, and the right path for me veers in a different direction. And that’s okay. 
 
I’ll always be around, supporting the press and our authors (who I’ll always still feel a kinship and connection with), and perhaps popping in for some events here and there. But I’m excited for what the future holds. I’m excited – for maybe the first time – to really embrace who I am, my purpose, my gut desires, and to live more freely and out loud. But mostly, I’m excited to write. My mind needs the extra space for now to focus on the stories in my head – on my own craft – and that need made me feel selfish in some way for much too long. I realize now that maybe the stories in my head have more power than I’ve been letting them. We’ll surely see.
 

Thank you for years of loving support, and I hope you stay on this ride with me.