Meet Me Monday: The Stories That Found Me.

 

If you had told me years ago that one day I would spend my time collecting people’s stories, I probably would have laughed. Back when I was writing my blog from 2007 to 2011, the world felt a little different, and so did I. But looking back now, I realize something important while so much in my life has changed, the heart of why I write really hasn’t.

Even then, I was drawn to people and their stories. I wrote about women in business in Kingston, sharing their dreams and the courage it takes to build something of your own. I hosted meet-and-greets so people could connect with the faces behind the businesses they supported. I reviewed the arts, sitting in darkened theaters and watching talented performers bring stories to life under warm stage lights. In many ways, the things I loved most about writing then are the very same things I love now.

There was also a time when travel writing became a big part of my work. I was doing full-time travel reviews, exploring places and sharing experiences with readers. It was exciting and adventurous, but somewhere along the way I realized that I had become so focused on the traveling itself that I had drifted a little from the deeper reason I loved storytelling in the first place. I would still love to return to that kind of work again someday, but with a different lens one that reflects my life now. 

Living with a disability has changed the way I see the world, and it has changed the way I experience it too. Travel looks different when you move through the world with challenges that many people don’t see. I think there is something powerful in sharing that perspective, not just for myself, but for the many others navigating similar journeys. There are stories there that deserve to be told as well.

For a time, though, writing had to take a back seat.

Life moved forward quickly, and solo motherhood filled every corner of my days. My focus became raising my boys, keeping our lives moving forward, and showing up for them in every way that mattered. But even in those busy years, something inside me ached for writing. I missed it in a way that is hard to describe, like a limb that had been removed. There was a quiet emptiness where that creative part of my life had once lived.

Still, the storyteller in me never fully disappeared.

In 2020, I wrote and published my first children’s book. It was a dream that had been living in my heart for a long time, and finally bringing it to life felt incredibly special. The book became the beginning of a series called Henry and Harold,  Adventures with Albert, a story about a larger-than-life monster who is both protector and imaginary friend to Henry and Harold. What makes Albert even more special is that he was once their mom’s imaginary friend too.

In the stories, Albert takes the boys on adventures—big, imaginative journeys filled with excitement, heart, and lessons about understanding the world. The next book, which is nearly ready to be published, follows them as they get lost at a baseball park in Seattle, with ferry rides and a few unexpected twists along the way. There are twelve books written in the series, each one centered around children with disabilities and the importance of helping them feel seen, understood, and celebrated for exactly who they are.

One of my favorite little pieces of magic in the process is that the artists who illustrate the books are twins too. Somehow that detail feels meant to be.

Still, even with the joy of creating those stories, there was another kind of writing I missed deeply. When we eventually moved home, I found myself navigating a lot of change—especially with my health and the challenges that came with losing much of my vision. There were moments of heaviness and sadness, moments where the world felt smaller than it once had.

And in those moments, I realized just how much I missed connecting with people. I missed conversations. I missed hearing about women’s dreams and struggles. I missed sitting down with someone and discovering the incredible story hidden behind what they might consider an ordinary life.

So I began writing again.

At first, it was simply restarting the blog. Then I reached out to the local paper and asked if I might have the opportunity to write about women in our community, to get my role I had years back. That work was meaningful, but I realized something pretty quickly: my dream had always been a little bigger than that. I had always imagined creating a podcast where women could come and share their stories openly talking about the journeys that shaped them and the strength it took to get where they are today. 

In the meantime, I began reaching out to women from all over, inviting them to share their stories on my blog.

And something beautiful happened.

They showed up.

Women began reaching out, trusting me with their journeys, their businesses, their struggles, and their victories. They shared stories of starting companies from kitchen tables, of rebuilding their lives after hardship, of discovering passions they never expected to find.

I hope, in some small way, I have shown up for them the way they showed up for me.

Over time, the work grew. Now I find myself sitting across from incredible women who built businesses from scratch, actors pouring their hearts into local productions, breast cancer survivors who fought battles most of us will never fully understand, and community members whose stories deserve a wider audience. 

And the funny thing is that almost every single one of them says the same thing.

“Oh, my story is just normal.” 

But it never is.

Some of the most powerful stories begin quietly, with a woman baking in her kitchen, someone starting over later in life, or a person finally believing their voice matters enough to share.

Then there are the arts, which will always hold a special place in my heart. I’ve had the privilege of writing about productions at places like the Paramount Theatre, Bainbridge Performing Arts, Jewel Box Theatre, The 5th Avenue Theatre, and the historic Port Gamble Theater. Sitting in a theater and watching performers step into a role is a kind of storytelling all its own. Sometimes it makes us laugh, sometimes it makes us cry, and sometimes it leaves us sitting quietly in our seats because something about it felt deeply real.

Those stories matter too.

Sometimes my work takes me to restaurants or hotels, where I’m invited to experience what someone has built and share it with others. Sometimes it’s a meet-and-greet where a business owner finally gets to meet the people who have supported them along the way. Those moments remind me how connected our communities truly are.

What I’ve learned most through all of this is simple.

Stories are everywhere.

They live in the quiet woman running a shop on a small street.
They live in the actor waiting backstage before the curtain rises.
They live in the mother balancing family, work, and dreams she refuses to give up on.

People often ask how I find the stories I write about.

The truth is, they usually find me.

A message appears in my inbox. Someone says, “You should talk to this person.” A casual conversation over coffee suddenly becomes something more, and before I know it I’m sitting across from someone whose journey has the power to inspire countless others.

And that is the part I love most.

Because being a writer in a community like ours isn’t really about the writing. It’s about listening. It’s about paying attention to the extraordinary things happening in ordinary places and giving those moments the space they deserve.

So if you ever hear me say that I’m looking for stories, I mean it. There are so many voices out there waiting to be heard, and sometimes all it takes is someone willing to sit down, listen with their whole heart, and help share them with the world.

Somewhere along the way, without ever really planning it, I became a bit of an accidental story collector.

And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  If you have any ideas, questions, please email me at thewriteinfluence@gmail.com