Credentials and Confessions

Holy moly, the digital world is packed. We're all chronically online and inundated with voices, ideas, and cat videos.

Here I am, just a mere 5 feet tall (which is one pixel in virtual language, according to my made-up conversion chart), waving my virtual hand, hoping you'll join me in my little corner of the internet.

Consider this my unofficial blogging resume – I may lack experience and formal training, but I did win Young Authors TWICE in middle school.

Amidst the virtual chaos, I've learned a powerful truth: sharing our stories heals us collectively. It's vulnerable and scary, but if there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I'm shamelessly open. I am unabashed about sharing my story, making mistakes, or being a complete goober. I am usually doing all three at the same time – making me the perfect person to share my anecdotes for your entertainment and, hopefully, your path to healing.

If that means writing something you relate to, writing something that makes you laugh, or heck, writing something that makes you cringe – I’m cool with that. I think being a human is beautiful because it’s messy and I’ll gladly share my mess.

If we’re still strangers, here’s a little bit about the come-up.

Once upon a time, on a crisp November day at 4:22 PM, a precious baby angel (me) entered the world with a singular mission: to yap. And yap she did, for a good four years, until Madeline was introduced to… trauma.

Hehe okay sorry, I live for the dramatics— I’ll be serious.

Let’s begin with a quote.
"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them." — Shakespeare

My story falls squarely into that last category. Except, instead of greatness, it was adult responsibilities that were thrust upon me, and it happened while I still referred to the restroom as a “potty.”

My mom left before I learned to tie my shoelaces, leaving my dad, my two little sisters (aged two years and six months, respectively), and me (aged 4) to figure it out. My baby sis has special needs and is nonverbal– adding a whole new layer of complexity to our already chaotic lives.

Growing into womanhood sans maternal guidance was awkward and confusing– emotionally, mentally, socially, and physically. I was dealing with my first period, coping with the changes in my body, and exploring my sexuality – all while juggling the responsibilities of being an adult and keeping up with school. "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" was on repeat for 20-something years.

For reference, I was 24 years old when I learned how to properly brush my hair without ripping out the knots.

But it was more than just the no-mom thing. There were other challenges too, like strained family dynamics and undiagnosed mental illness. Money was tighter than skinny jeans in the early 2000s, which meant my dad had to work insane hours to keep the bills paid. So there I was, thrust into the role of a makeshift parent while still grappling with my own identity and simultaneously guiding my sisters through the complexities of girlhood.

And sure, there are some stories I won’t share on the internet, anon. Some tales are best kept close to the chest, as they carry weight beyond just my own shoulders. However, I firmly believe in the power of radical honesty as a path to emotional liberation, and that’s exactly what I’m doing here – laying bare my own experiences with unflinching truth.

Everything I've come to understand about femininity, personhood, and the intricacies of being a woman in society, I've gleaned through trial and error, driven by an insatiable thirst for self-improvement. Each stumble along the way has fortified my resilience and every setback shaped me into the woman I am today – confident, imperfect, totally unapologetic, and scrappy as hell.

I also recognize that my story is not unique. We each bear our burdens and discover our unique ways of coping. In my case, words became my refuge. Whether found in poetry, literature, or the lyrics of a song, they enveloped me like a weighted blanket, grounding me and offering a haven for healing.

In reflecting on my relationship with writing, a particular song lyric resonates deeply with me. The song “Watermark” by Sleeping at Last, which speaks to the courage found in living authentically, captures the essence of my journey:

“Against the calming light, our silhouettes are changing shape,
The stories you've been told have made you brave.”

Hearing the stories of others empowered me to confront my own challenges with courage and determination. As I grew up, I learned that sharing my own words provided a similar comfort. There’s nothing more cathartic for me than pouring my emotions and experiences into words that others can connect with. It's a healing process, not just for myself, but for anyone who finds resonance in my story.

If I haven’t earned your trust quite yet, that’s okay, I get it. But I’m going to keep showing up and sharing my stories. I'm not a genius who graduated from an Ivy League school or an astronaut with an out-of-this-world perspective. I'm a regular-degular 28-year-old girlie pop who's navigating life as a baby adult just like the rest of you. But I am raw and I am honest. And I hope that is enough.

With my whole heart,
Your Maddy