“I was nearing age forty when I realized I couldn't walk without serious pain. Couldn't stand or sit or cook, either.

I'd let myself go, my entire life: the things I loved to do, my health, my relationships. Everything was crumbling.

Until that moment, I'd built a fairly cushy identity as a branded Catholic spirituality writer. Meaning: if you go to a Catholic parish and talk to the pastor or someone who's very involved in ministry, chances are they've heard my name.

I became the expert on the spirituality of grief, which I wrote about and traveled to speak to groups about for almost ten years. But the day I noticed I couldn't function without pain in my limbs, I decided to walk away. From all of it.

This came about gradually, though. Three years before, I was questioning why my creative work had come to a halt. Publishers were no longer wanting my manuscripts, calling my writing style "too heavy," a clear criticism. The freelance work was dwindling, too, since COVID hit and struck the niche markets pretty hard. Many of the places I wrote for folded overnight; the ones that remained said to me they could no longer pay their contributors.

I had taken long walks before the day I couldn't even stand without stabbing pain. When I did, I'd ask, "Why are these doors closing for me?" And the response I heard inside my heart was this: "You're playing it too safe."

My pain became a signal for me to change my life, to change course. It was my body's way of telling me it had been through enough, that the life I was managing was never going to move beyond survival.

But I knew I was meant to thrive. I knew I was meant for more. So I stepped away from all the contacts I'd made in Catholic publishing and media.

I deactivated all of my social media accounts, which I'd built up over the course of ten years (with a small following, nothing major). I stopped writing for the Catholic marketplace. And I took the first step toward writing what I call "the book of my heart:" my first memoir.

I knew memoir was a hard sell. It's a tough market, and I haven't broken through it yet. But I've spent over a year writing and revising it.

Starting over has been a struggle, mostly an internal one, for me, because I can't see evidence of this decision to switch gears.

I haven't established contacts and networks with people in the larger publishing industry. No one knows who I am or what I do, and I wonder most days if what I write and how I write is even good enough to stand out. But there's something inside me that says to press on. So I do.

I know I have to believe in my creative work and in myself before I try to write for a changing and fickle market.

Sometimes stepping away and looking within gives a person clarity and strength. And when I find myself doubting that something will break through, it seems there's just one person who reaches out to tell me that an essay I wrote spoke directly to their life, that I put into words an experience they couldn't articulate.

So: press on.”

~~~

Jeannie Ewing shares how struggle, pain, and suffering are signals to change your life. They are signs that where you are now is not where peace and joy are found. When you listen, they will guide you on a new path. Her story also highlights how revealing your stories can heal the open wounds of another person.

What are you taking away from Jeannie’s story?