A drawing I recently made.

One of the most important things my grandmother taught me was “it never hurts to ask.”

I have spent the past few weeks thinking about where I go from here in life. I turned 55 in July and there is still more I’d like to do, but I also have to recognize my own limitations in what I can and cannot do.

At our core, humans are animals who evolved to think. Sometimes, I think I think too much. A lot of things overwhelm me. I know it’s a result of my trauma, but some things, like social media in general, are powered by algorithms to purposely anger and overwhelm humans in general. It’s a factor of the technology evolving faster than we can as a species. I don’t want to be a part of that algorithm. I want what I write to be something others look forward to reading.

My goal from now on is to stick to what I know and do what I can. A large part of “doing what I can” means I cannot work a 40-hour week. I can’t really hold down a job anymore. I masked this so much all the years I worked. It cost me so much mentally that I suppose I’ll still be unwinding it all 20 years from now. I’m grateful Paul recognized when I was headed toward a serious breakdown and told me to stop working. If I hadn’t, I don’t think I could have survived much longer.

About six weeks after I stopped working for a paycheck, I was already thinking about ways I could still contribute to society and maybe bring in a little bit of cash. I had ideas of where I wanted to go, but my mom’s accident six weeks later, put me back into survival mode. It wasn’t pretty.

I wrote a few stories about my mom – there’s more to come – but each day was met with a new and unexpected challenge. I had to ask for a lot of help because I didn’t understand so much of what was happening.

When I worked a job, there were sets of things I needed to do each day. For example, at the newspaper, it was write a story a day and get a photo to go with it. This simple task was difficult to do. I did the job, but it eventually became overwhelming. I had to add in video and an editor who threw tantrums and berated the editorial staff on an almost daily basis. I had to move on. I later learned I had trauma from this job because it played out like a domestic abuse situation. When it came to that job, just getting out of bed and going to work took so much mental energy, there wasn’t a lot left over for a work and the demands that come with it.

When I look back on all the jobs I’ve had, the vast majority lasted around two years. I made it five and a half at the Star-Herald. The first 2-2.5 years were okay thanks to understanding editors. I couldn’t predict each day or what was going to happen, mentally, to me. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t “normal” or how other people were able to handle shit that I could not. My first two editors unknowingly helped with this just by being decent human beings, so I was able to manage what was falling apart in my head.

I can have a good day and write two podcast episodes. Other times, the lingering effects of a flashback can put me down for several days. It is slowly getting better, but I still struggle. EMDR has been life-changing in that respect.

Going back to the newspaper, I masked my failing mental health by writing that extra story on my good days and saving it to a flash drive so my editor wouldn’t see it in my folder and grab it if the paper was short stories for the day. It helped when the bad days came. It was a shitty coping skill, but I didn’t have a name – complex PTSD and trauma – for what was happening to me. It was just me trying to survive and do a good job.

As I look to the future and be realistic about my limitations, my only source of income will be in the places I write online. I don’t like to ask for money, but if you feel you can afford to support my work, there are options for that. You can also subscribe and share my stories if they find them interesting. That’s completely free.

My podcast is called Storytelling on the Plains. It’s me and my friend, Conner, talking about the history of the people, places and things, in western Nebraska. If you visit the Storytelling on the Plains website, there are links at the bottom of each page to the various podcast places where you can find me and subscribe on different podcast platforms (Apple, Audible, Youtube, etc.), which helps to boost my numbers and maybe find other people who might like to listen.

The podcast also has a Patreon page, where you can subscribe for free or by payment. Either subscription helps boost my visibility. Most of the episodes are free there.

I am also writing again on Substack. Right now it’s a mix of old and new stuff, but I am working to get only new stuff there. I know some people who read here also subscribe there and for that, I am grateful. My memoir will likely go up here behind a paywall. I just haven’t figured out how to do that yet. You can also subscribe for free or for a $7 monthly fee.

While I would prefer to leave Amazon, it is a useful tool, especially since I live in a rural area without even a bookstore. My Amazon wishlist is also another way to support me. It’s filled mostly with books I want to read for future podcast episodes as well as things I’d like to have to make my life a little easier.

Lastly, I do get an occasional call from Flatwater Free Press to take some photos in the Panhandle to go with a story someone else is working on. I enjoy doing it, but I am not in a place right now where I could go back to doing the kind of investigative pieces they do, so the photos are a good compromise for me once every six weeks or so.

If you want a one-stop place for all these places, I have created an account on Link Tree to make things a little easier.

Nothing will change in the way I do things. I will still write as I can and share my stories, my triumphs and setbacks, and my thoughts with anyone who wants to read them. Anything is appreciated, even if it’s just a thank you.

Jane Goodall once said, “What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.” Writing is how I make a difference. I hope you continue this journey with me in whatever form it may take.