I’m Sara. A writer, visual artist, vocalist, mom-person, and (working toward not being a former) professional problem-solver. I live and work in Seattle, Washington.
In 2013, shortly after my youngest kiddo was born, life became exponentially harder. Sure, having three (young) kids when I planned to have none factored, but that proved less than half the struggle.
As I grew sicker, larger, and less and less able to walk due to chronic, severe abdominal pain, worry over my mortality overtook my headspace. I was running a small coaching business at the time, and found myself leaning more on writing to process what was happening to me.
It started as bullet journaling—“a method of personal organization... using bullet points and symbols to organize tasks, events, goals, and inspirations into a single notebook”—and writing little daily summaries. But that wasn’t enough. Organically, the summaries snowballed into longer-form, handwritten journal entries. Then, one day, it hit me: I have no idea what my body’s doing. Countless doctors have no idea what my body is doing. I can’t be the only person who’s ever had a health problem that wasn’t easily solved. I should document and share this.
I began writing on Medium, sharing fragments of my experience, random thoughts that possessed my brain, memories, and more. It was cathartic. And for what felt like the first time in my life, people actually “listened” to me and engaged with me. I felt valuable, and like I was contributing something meaningful.
It gave me purpose, more than helping people make money ever did.
By the time a gastroenterologist finally diagnosed the severe abdominal pain as Celiac Disease a few years later, I’d already turned my business into an automated email course series. I stopped coaching, and reduced my available products down to one (remaining) planner for professionals. And, excitingly, I had almost 1,000 regular Medium readers of my personal “musings”—I often lovingly refer to them as.
Upon the Celiac diagnosis, I immediately cut gluten out of my diet. I went from unable-to-stand-for-more-than-5-minutes to zipping around the house, tackling projects I only dreamed of getting to if I made it out alive. I lost just shy of 100 pounds (ca. 45 kg) in a year, yet, additional health issues lingered and worsened as time went on.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve been hyper-sensitive to sunlight and heat, but my reactions became so severe, I had to remain indoors. My skin would flush, grow hives, bubble and blister when I got too hot. Even gluten-free foods started causing my skin to flush. I’d get severe stomach cramps, gut pain, gastrointestinal issues, brain fog, fatigue, and tachycardia. And, although mobile again, I was still stuck inside for 99% of the year, thinking that’s just how life would be for me—forever melancholic. But, after evacuating our home ahead of Hurricane Irma’s landfall strike in 2017, we noticed that the further from Florida (really, from the Equator) I got, the more I could be outside, in direct sunlight without issue—or, now with medications and dietary support, with lesser sun and heat-induced issues.
Feeling renewed, when we returned home about a week and a half later, we took steps to leave the state for good. After about a month of preparing our home for sale, researching, and more, we decided on Seattle as the safest climate in the U.S. for me.
Fast-forward to mid-2018, our house sold and we made the cross-country move happen. But by late 2019, my system became reactive again. Over-75-degree days had me stuck indoors with air conditioning blasting all over again—although thankfully that ends up being only a couple of weeks out of the year in Seattle instead of 50-51 out of 52 weeks of the year like it was in Florida.
I couldn’t breathe well and wasn’t able to eat much, yet my body resumed “survival mode,” and I started packing on weight again.
Then, the pandemic of 2020 came, and I went right back to stressing with three kids in online school, me serving as their co-teacher for the next almost three years.
It’s been a long few years for all of us, I’m certain. There was loss, death, illness, and more. But we’re still here. We survive every day, living on for ourselves and for the loved ones we lost, and for those surviving with us, with the illnesses we bare, and with the differences we each hold.
Life is riddled with stories each of us could tell. And as someone who’s gained so much from reading others’ pieces, I’m grateful that my remaining and growing readership has stuck with me through the many years of changes—my seeming natural evolution.
Today, I write a little about everything, it seems. Sometimes it’s productivity, other times I write about Autism as a late-diagnosed mother, married to a self-identifying Autistic man, and raising three Autistic, Assigned-Female-At-Birth kids together. I write about neurodivergence, frustrations, love, humanity, relationships, Seattle, and much more here on Life and Other Stories.
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Some of my favorite posts over there are: Silently saying goodbye, on the transience of Seattle, and on friendships. Full circle, on becoming and being who you are without “the mask.” Energy Level Thinking & Planning (paid subscribers), on planning each day’s work or focus based on your energy level, and how you can apply it to your life. Open (paid subscribers), a flash fiction piece. Out of Order, on (my experience with) Mast Cell Activation Syndrome. Only truth can hurt, on self-awareness and radical self-acceptance. Lessons, learned (paid subscribers), on Autism and communication barriers. And happening elsewhere…
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