Buckling Under

I knew it'd be hard, I just didn't know it'd be this hard.

I get it. I understand. I feel it down deep. I now know why, every time I play Chutes and Ladders with my girls, somebody cries. I thought it was because they were children and didn’t like to lose. But in Chutes and Ladders, it’s the way you lose, that burns.

At first everyone’s all chatty and chirpy. My seven year old Lucy hits her first ladder, making her way to the top. As she gets closer to winning, satisfaction sprawls across her face. She laughs at jokes, and even just facts that really aren’t jokes at all, way too hard. The sweet delight, the twinkle of impending victory. Dreams coming true.

Then she takes her pointer finger. Flick, spin. The cheap piece of plastic flutters fast, round and round. This is it. Wrap it up, fam, game night’s over! She grabs her game piece. Slide, stop. Slide, stop. Her eyes move side to side as her mind counts, anticipating the square where she’ll land. Then her eyes stop. Oh crap. A chute.

Slide … stop. Sliiiiiiiiiide, stop. She looks up at me hoping her Mommy isn’t paying attention so she could stop one short, but I’m paying attention and while I’m often generous while playing games with children, I also let the chips fall where they may. “It’s the chute, baby,” I say. “Go on.” She slides. Stop. Shoot. Chute. She traces the chute all. The way. Down.

Tears!

All that progress, gone. The victory, out of sight. Tears, fall, hot and bitter.

But then the tears keep flowing for way too long and Poppy and I are like, seriously? We’re trying to have some fun, can we wrap it up? Her wails ruin the game night vibes while I shovel in another handful of popcorn. “Lu, come on, that’s the game.” I say. “It’s supposed to be fun, chin up.”

Well, sure, that’s the game. But it still burns. Sure, she volunteered (with enthusiasm!) to play, but she thought she’d be the one to hit all ladders.

I get it. I understand. I feel it down deep.

---

---

I’ve worked so hard to get to the ever unraveling top, and some days it feels like all I hit are chutes. Two steps forward, six steps back. Progress gone. Or a stand still, at least. For years, a decade, it seems.

My writer friends, though. Hitting nothing but ladders. Spin, slide, stop. Up, up, up, easy.

Or course, it isn’t easy. They hit plenty of chutes. I’m just not paying as much attention when they do.

Some days I wake up all chatty and chirpy, the hope of ladders lingers in the air. But other days, out of the blue, I buckle. Right under.

“It’s the pressure,” my agent says over the phone. “I don’t know how you do it. Two books within the same year? Unheard of.” Then she goes on to encourage me, to give me clarity about my biggest fears. A strong hand pulling me out of a muddy pit. I breathe better, and make my family some hamburgers for dinner.

But the pressure is still present, and feels like Danny DeVito is sitting on my chest. I’m not gonna die, per se, but it’s unsettling. “I’m going for a walk,” I say to my family. They nod. “Bye Mommy!” I head out the door.

“Why does it have to be so hard?” I ask God, huffing along. “Can’t one thing come easy? Just one?” I step off a curb. “Can’t I hit the ladder, just one time?”

I get quiet. A bird chirps loudly and I look up at a nearby tree. But I don’t see him. Then my spirit stirs and I hear, deep down, a little something. “I let it be hard, so that one day, you’ll be able to encourage others with your story.”

I laugh to myself a little. “Okay, then,” I whisper. What else can I say?

Another day I sit in my favorite chair, my mom calls. “My heart feels heavy thinking about you today, I wasn’t even sure I should call. What’s happening?”

I don’t say much, I just cry. The loud kind of cry you can do with your mama. The total freedom to not hide your vulnerabilities, boohooing until there’s nothing left.

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus,” she says quietly. “Look full in his wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,” she pauses, “the things of earth will grow strangely dim,” I’m listening, sniffling, “in the light of his glory and grace.” We sit together quietly. “Now come on,” she says. “You can do this.”

I get a promising email and hit a tiny ladder. My mood opens up, just a bit. My publicist schedules back to back media interviews for a couple days and they’re good and thoughtful and I have fun. A friend calls me and while I’m certain she was trying to encourage me, it sounded as if I was to blame. I’m just trying to survive! I slip. Chute.

I pull up my phone and make an appointment with my beloved coach/mentor/counselor/best friend (my words, not hers), Lianne.

“That’s the game,” I tell her, “I know that, but it still burns. I volunteered (with enthusiasm!) over ten years ago to start writing, but I thought I’d hit nothing but ladders.”

She listens, she speaks into my doubts. Danny DeVito gets up to make himself a sandwich. “It’s the chutes,” I say. “Working so hard to make progress, and sliding back down. I want to learn how to handle it better, because I think I now know why all my favorite writers are often so mentally ill.”

“I went back into my notes,” she said. “It’s funny, because you asked to meet with me in 2018, then 2020, now 2022. It’s like you need a tune up every two years.” I laughed, it was true. “But we started working together, back in 2014, can you believe that? Eight years ago.” I clutched my pearls. Eight WHOLE years?? Impossible! “And when I visited my notes from back when we first started talking, I asked you what your greatest fears were and you know what you said?” She paused, I listened. “You said you feared you would never be able to have children.” Just then, Poppy giggled downstairs. “And you feared you’d never become a published author.”

Ladders. Two little girls giggling (and crying) at my kitchen table on game night, hounding me for snacks.

Ladders. My two books on my shelf, the second one that I am so incredibly proud of, releasing next week.

Oh.

That’s the game.

And it’s supposed to be fun.

Chin up.

---

Less than one week to pre-order my latest book I’m Not Ready for This. I’ve been doing hilarious readings all week during lunch, and Friday is the last day to pop in, say hello, and get a chance to win a signed copy. Try this episode first, my friend called and said she cried laughing.