Cathartic

I love the word "cathartic." It is so perfectly specific.  I like a word that doesn't have a good synonym; a word that when I need it, I need it.

Catharsis is cleansing and purging and emotional and relief and breathing again. It is overwhelming, like drowning in healing. It is intense and vulnerable and freeing. It grounds me, centers me, rebirths me, makes me new.

"Purgative" just doesn't carry those same connotations.

I was thinking yesterday about the things that are the most reliably cathartic for me.  The things that make me feel something so deeply that it reboots everything inside of me that has gone off-kilter or cynical or self-piteous or numb.

I believe that the following are my top 4, in no particular order.

-Hard rain.  Driving, hurts-when-you-stand-in-it, overflows-the-rivers rain.  And hard wind.  Wind strong enough to press your weight into, and were it to stop short, you'd fall flat on your face.  Wind that whooshes and rushes and howls.  I like weather that makes me feel small; I like to be overwhelmed.  It makes me feel like even my biggest, scariest, deepest, most out-of-control emotions will get carried away with the tide.

-Giving things away.  Or throwing things away.  Things I thought I wanted or even thought I needed.  Things "everyone" has or "should have."  Books I thought I'd read or re-read.  Clothes I thought I'd wear.  Candles I thought I'd burn, coasters I thought I'd use, frames I thought I'd hang, kitchen gadgets I thought I'd use - all of which ended up being things to clean around and live around.  When I practice the discipline of letting things go, I give myself room to feel.  I can breathe in the space and freedom of their absence.

-Driving.  Driving someplace far enough away from my every-day routine to let my hair down for a minute.  A highway or a back road:  all the windows down, music that suits me, head tilted back, my hand out the window, making waves.  Feeling the notes and the air and the nature on my skin and just - breathing.

-Running.  Running until it hurts everywhere.

What experiences or sensations are cathartic to you?  What provides you with psychological relief through the expressing of strong emotions?

Amendment

I would like to add Melissa McCarthy to my dinner party.  Please and thank you.  

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xrRWYouKy0[/youtube]

OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT.

I Instagrammed this last Thursday.

That is my signature.

On a final contract with Broadman & Holman Publishers.

On its way to Lifeway Christian Resources.

And just like that, it's official.  I am writing a book.

Actually, I lied.  I'm not writing a book; I'm writing THREE books.

I've alluded to these books for a while now, as this process has already been a long one, but now that the blood ink is on the page, I'm coming out of the closet.  A lot of you suspected I was in there, and you were right.  I am coming out of the first-time-author closet.

The books are based on last year's "Ten Things I Want To Tell Teenage Girls," and they are fun.

That's the thing about stepping into the publishing world upside down and backwards (I'll share this story with you eventually):  I get to write my fun book first.

If I had started with a manuscript, you can bet your ever-lovin' mind that it would not have been about teenage girls.  But since I didn't start with a manuscript (I started with a blog post that mounted into a tidal wave which I am gratefully choosing to ride), I get to do my cheeky, sassy, hyperbolic, "lets have a conversation about vapor-thin American Eagle tanks and Facebook statuses more dramatic and narcissistic than Lady Macbeth and the implications both of those things have on womanhood - real, strong, noble womanhood" book first.

It is so. much. fun.

Here's what you need to know:

- The first book is written to you, my peers:  teachers, youth leaders, moms & dads, aunts & uncles - people who happen to be influencers of teenage girls.  People who have had it "up to here."  People who read the post and immediately sent it to the teenager in their life.  People who said,

"I wish someone had told me this 20 years ago!"

"This is what I've been trying to tell my teenager for YEARS."

"This isn't just for teenage girls; this is the best advice I've read for women anywhere!"

"This should be mandatory reading for all high school students."

You loved it, you shared it, you get a book.

- The second book is written TO teenage girls.  For the girls who read the post and said,

"I am a teenage girl and this is SO TRUE."

"I am a teenage girl and I cried when I read this; it is exactly what I needed to hear."

"I am a teenage girl and I hate your guts, shut up, you don't know me!"

It touched a nerve.  You loved it, you hated it, you hated me.  You get a book.

- The third book is for everyone who said, "What about the boys?"

They get a book, too.  Dan is writing that one with me/for me.  So maybe I should say, "If we don't kill each other in the process of attempting to complete a project together as a married couple, then you get a book."

- There are stories. Stories about my impulse purchase of neon purple leggings, my first trip to the tanning bed, and a subsequent trip to a tanning bed in which my friend, Nicole, and I almost attacked an elderly man with a hot curling iron.

Stories about the time I gave flirting lessons to girls on my dorm, about a completely mortifying rebound relationship of mine, and about the time I got a phone call from my child's teacher to tell me that my firstborn had run from the school bathroom, naked, in front of 17 of her peers.

There are lots of fun stories.

- The tentative release date for all three books is summer 2014.

So GET EXCITED. There are big things ahead, and big things here in the process.

So much love, Kate

Blogging 101: Content

(source)

I wrote a post for Fancy Little Things this week about blogging.

I've only been blogging for two and a half years.  If you're just starting a blog, that may sound like a lifetime of content, but compared to a lot of you, I'm a blogging baby.

In those 2.5 short years I've had no less than 5 posts go viral, I've been contacted by bloggers, publications, agents, and editors, and I've grown my readership to a respectable little number for a one-writer, one-woman, part-time operation.

I've learned a lot along the way - about branding, presentation, promotion, community and more - but today I'm sharing 4 tips I've learned about content, which as a writer, is sort of my thing.  I need LOADS of help with images, technology, and business, but content I got.

Here is an excerpt:

3.  Don't be afraid.  This is huger than huge.  This is what sets great bloggers apart from the sea of millions and millions of so-so mommy bloggers.  SAY THINGS THAT OTHER PEOPLE ARE AFRAID TO SAY.

You will have a natural inclination to clarify, quantify, mitigate, or weaken your statements because you don't want to be misunderstood.  Fight that.  Make your statements as strong as you possibly can.  I recently wrote a post about how it feels to be 36 weeks pregnant.  I could have said:

"I want my husband to really understand what it's like."  (BLAH.) "I want my husband to feel my pain." (Still weak.) "I would enjoy watching my husband suffer."  (A bit stronger, but wordy.)

I chose to call my post "The Pregnant Sadist."

Sadist is a strong, scary word.  A word that might get misunderstood.  A word that the little voices inside my head told me to weaken, or at least include a disclaimer insisting that my husband is in no immediate danger.

But I ignored that voice and called my post "The Pregnant Sadist" anyway.  There are A MILLION posts out there about what it's like to be 36 weeks pregnant, but there are not a million posts about how, at 36 weeks, even the kindest, most nurturing women turn into sadists.  People laughed and shared because it was ridiculous and true.  The edge that was scary to write is what made it successful.

If you want your blog to be different, you're going to have to do something different.

I've written about accidentally locking my kids inside the church, I've joked about drinking vodka early in the morning (even though I'm a tee-totaler), and about my cat being gay.  My most-likely-to-be-misunderstood post is the one that has 245,000 Facebook shares.  I still have standards, and you'll have to decide where your "line" is, but toning it down should be the exception, not the rule.

Nobody responds emotionally to weak content.

You can read the other 3 tips and the rest of the post here!

Happy writing! Be fearless. Kate

The Last Time?

I always told people I wanted "at least 3 kids." Granted, I didn't expect to have ALL THREE before I turned 28, but nevertheless.  Here I sit.  Three kids.

Sometimes when I told people that I wanted "at least 3 kids" they would tell me, "You say that now - just wait 'til you HAVE ONE."  When I was pregnant they added, "You might change your mind after labor!"  (Which, by the way, is a really stupid thing to tell a pregnant woman.)

10 minutes after delivering Madeline I looked Dan square in the eyes and said,

"Just so you know, that wasn't so bad that I couldn't do it again."

After we'd lived with a baby for a little while, and especially after we received Madeline's diagnosis, people continued to ask, and my answer never changed.

"Yes, I want more.  Yes, I want at least 3 children.  Yes, I'm sure."

"Just wait," they said. "Wait until you have two," they said. "Then you'll see," they said.

I smiled politely and suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

PSA:  Please, parents, stop telling people in different stages of life to "Just wait."  It's kind of patronizing and rude and it never, ever makes anyone feel better about anything.  Stop saying "Wait 'til you have two, wait 'til you have three, wait 'til they start walking, wait 'til they start throwing tantrums, wait 'til they're teenagers."  If you want a cookie, just ask for one.  But stop telling everyone else to "just wait..."

Thank you. Now back to your regularly scheduled blog post.

In the delivery room, holding Sam for the first time, I knew:  I'm not done.  I'm not done being pregnant.  I'm not done having kids.  This family is beautiful and perfect, but it is not finished.

As I sit here, 36 weeks pregnant with my third child, for the very first time in my life, if someone asked me if I thought I'd have more kids I'd have to answer honestly,

"I don't know."

I know that I don't not want more kids.  But this is the first time I've not known with certainty that I do.   This is the first time I've even been able to entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, I won't be pregnant again.

And now, the what-ifs that tag along behind "the unknown" are here en force.

As our little boy gets bigger and bigger, as this pregnancy draws nearer and nearer the end, I can't help but think:

Could this be the last time I feel a baby do a somersault inside of me? The last day he bumbles around for 30 minutes straight? The last time I sit on the couch and watch my belly twitch? The last time I feel the  l o n g,  s l o w  rolls? The last time I push down and find a foot, or feel a knee bend beneath the pressure of my hand? Could this be the last time my womb is full?

I don't know. It might be.

That is maddening to me.

Pregnancy is hard for a lot of reasons, but to think that this might be the last tiny baby that I whisper private whispers to, the last baby that lives on the inside of me before he lives on the outside of me, the last baby that sticks his toes up into my rib cage - it makes me stop.

I know that, sooner or later, this too shall pass - this season of baby-bearing.  God knows I won't miss 98% of it.  At the risk of sounding terribly, awfully, embarrassingly vain - I mostly want my body back.  My breasts have been completely out of control for the last five years (and don't even bother making cheeky comments like "share the wealth," because believe me when I say:  if I could afford the surgery, it would have been done yesterday).

But to think that this could be my last tiny little baby makes me forget about the giant bras and maternity pants.  It makes me forget, if only for a minute, the discomfort and fatigue.

Because I'll never know whether or not this is the last walloping kick before he's born.  The last walloping kick ever?

This is the trouble of having to live life forwards instead of backwards - we just can't know.  I could never have known "This is the last time Madeline will fall asleep on my shoulder." I don't even know when that happened, but somewhere along the way - it did.   I could never have known, "This is the last time I'll swaddle Sam.  The last time I'll nurse him."  I'll never know when it's going to be the last time he will call me "Mmmmmm" instead of Ma-ma  -  then Mommy, then Mom.  It just...happens.  They grow up.

I suppose I'm feeling extra nostalgic, not because this is my last baby, but because it might be.

And so - I'll just soak it up.  I'll cry because I'm so happy with this little boy floating around inside of me.  I'll try to memorize every sensation and know that, in 30 years, despite my best efforts, I won't be able to recall it, not perfectly anyway.

I won't wish him born, or wish to not be popping quite so many Tums, or wish for my face to stop puffing up with swelling and baby weight.  I'll just love it - because I can only live life forward, so I'm going to live it.

(7 months pregnant with Madeline.  At the time I thought this was a "big" belly.  Oh, firstborns.)

(5 months pregnant with Sam.)

(8.5 months pregnant with little brother.)