Being Real (Hard Truths)

Today is one of those days when reality smacks you right in the face with the truth. It’s a day when your dreams as a writer collide with the reality of being a mother of a child with special needs. It’s a day that started out exciting and scary as hell when you drop the kid off to Day Camp thinking he’ll do fine only to get that dreaded call three hours later with, “Please take your child home. We’ll refund you the money for the eight weeks you signed him up with us.”

Today is the day when you realize life isn’t a bed of roses and behind all the posturing on social media and making it seem like you’ve got your shit together, you don’t. You realize you’re so far from the woman you want to be, definitely not Annabeth Markum, Laura Linney’s character in Mystic River. Instead, you’re Celeste Boyle, the sad pathetic mother and wife played by Marcia Gay Harden whose final description/frame in the book and in the movie never left me ever since I saw the adaptation so many years ago.

Today is the day when you need to get real and accept the realities of your life as a writer still at the bottom of that ladder where every single one of your peers holds their letters (USA Today, NYT bestselling author) and can boast in testimonials about earning five figures every month and make 350% and above ROI on their investment.

It’s one of those days when you know that your only saving grace is that you can write good angst and passable sex. But it’s also the day when you learn–again–that dreams are just not–and will never be–enough.