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I come from a tight-knit family. We love each other deeply and keep in touch, whether via text or in person, often. So, when one member is hurting or celebrating, the rest of us feel it right there with them. Last fall, three huge events happened in our family’s life that were met with a strange mix of joy, grief, and fear: I gave birth to my first child, my oldest nephew passed away two weeks later, and my mom – our rock – was diagnosed with a serious case of bladder cancer two months after that. To say my emotions were in overdrive is an understatement.
On October 8, 2016, my life abruptly changed. The man I’d loved for more than 15 years took his own life. I was shocked, devastated, and lost in a sea of emotions while simultaneously trying to collect myself enough to face my two small boys, who were nine months and three years old. It was a moment that induced a fog that I had never experienced before. I have heard it described as “widow brain” but it was much more than that. It was the detachment and numbness that happened while trying to process my new reality, but it was also all the sadness, confusion, anger, and hurt that came with it.
Being aware of what might trigger my anxiety and being proactive is the best way I’ve found to keep myself healthy.
I have been beating myself up for months, you guys. Months where it felt every single thing I was doing was wrong.
After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.
Self-love is not just bubble baths and face masks, it goes far beyond that.
Within milliseconds, he twisted her head about, yanked her neck out, and paralyzed her. Just like that. I roared a long-winded murderous scream, so loud and full, that I know a part of myself died in those seconds.
Lessons on life + love can come from unexpected places - like the Secret Service.
I finally cried and let go of the dream of “maybe someday” with him. And the weight began to lessen.
Art was for other people. People who didn’t make money. People who didn’t take life seriously, wore sandals, and had all the time in the world to sit around and play with paint all day. A decade or so later, something shifted.
I don’t know for certain that my writing is of any importance to others, but still I write.
When my husband asked me to marry him, it really was a fairy-tale perfect, Instagram-worthy proposal of proposals. He did everything I could have dreamt of...and I missed it.
Ten months into the best relationship of my life, I freaked out. I remember the moment it happened too - as if a switch was turned on and I needed to get out now. Thoughts like we can’t do this anymore; how do I know he’s the one; we have to break up were repeated over and over in my head like a broken record.
In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.
I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.
Alcohol made me feel alive and cool and part of the crowd. It was not until a close friend hit a tree head on after drinking and driving that I was able to put the alcohol down.
On November 11, 2013, I woke up with a horrendous headache and a terrifying feeling. I couldn’t remember much of anything from the night before. There was this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt a nudge to check the trash can and there I found three empty bottles of wine. How had I gotten to this point?
Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.
There is tremendous power in telling your story and letting go of the shame of sexual abuse.
To the survivors of sexual abuse, and their loved ones, know you are not alone, this is something that will be part of you, but it in no way needs to define you.
Learning how to mend a broken heart in the midst of grief and aftermath of suicide.
Shaun's suicide was devastating and heartbreaking beyond measure. It caused a pain that until you have experienced it, you cannot fully understand how hard it is to face the never-ending grief that comes from losing someone by their own choice.
Throughout history, mental illness has been romanticized as much as it has been vilified, with every great intellectual seemingly blessed and cursed by a biochemical imbalance.
My brain has been going 90 miles per hour since the minute I took my first breath. It is a cluttered, jumbled mess of thoughts, worries, and to-do lists that I have been trying to de-clutter and unravel tirelessly throughout the years.
By the time he was two months old, all I could hear were his screams. They coated the insides of my ears and echoed in my brain during any unaccustomed silences. His screams.
“You still kind of suck.” The words rang loudly in my head as I stared at my petite body in the H&M dressing room mirror.
For years of my life, I struggled with a debilitating eating disorder that took so much away from me and my loved ones. Thankfully, I found healing from this mental illness and learned how to develop a more peaceful relationship with both food and my body.
So if you're looking to feel a bit more organized, without spending your evenings cursing your lack of artistic skills, here are 4 of my favorite free printables. File, print, and ahhhh.
Our gut has saved our lives for hundreds of generations. So why do we struggle with listening to it? Because we’re taught as children to ignore it.
I cried every day my baby was away. Time is such a thief; as mothers, we watch our babies grow and change and move away from us the moment they leave our bodies. I was missing precious time.
My mom was a runner. I don’t know when or why she decided to run, but once she began it became a very important part of her day. Up at dawn, she put on a tattered baseball cap, equally worn t-shirt and shorts, and Nike Air shoes. She carried a stick and a pocket full of dog treats. A dirt path around a quiet, desert golf course was her domain as the sun began to rise. She didn’t have an easy life. There was little peace in her life apart from running. This was the one thing she did for herself. An introvert, she rarely socialized outside of family. Life had ups and downs and she had concerns about various family matters, finances, and other things. But for an hour each morning, these were put aside as she allowed herself to feel the emotional freedom that comes from the movement and breathing that accompany running.
Every Sunday my family gathers together for family dinner. We pile all the food onto the table and check in with each other. On a warm summer night, the windows will be open and our neighbors will be wondering what we're laughing about. In the winter, the woodburning stove is lit and crackling. The ambiance changes with the seasons but a constant is that, whether in joy or stress, my family week after week comes to the table to spend time together.
There is something about sitting among the trees and just watching and listening that is so beautiful and cleansing. It causes you to pause and think about what it took for the forest to grow. The trees that have managed to survive the longest have undoubtedly been through so much. But the trees that had short lives and ended up on the forest floor, only to become kindling later, still served a purpose.
It is the same with us as humans. We often stop to compare ourselves to others, wondering what we are lacking, wondering why someone else is growing stronger or faster or living longer. We don’t stop to look at the beauty that we hold within and recognize our purpose.
I think all of us have felt unsettled lately, like a general un-anchoring is taking place in each of our lives. The past year or so has been full of change, decisions, and uncertain direction for all of us. Deciding on a college major. Moving. Job searching. Changing a college major. New jobs. New babies. Dissatisfaction with jobs. A major medical diagnosis.
The cycles started, the doctors’ appointments, counted days, medication trials, all of it! Our hope slowly began to fade as each month went by. Until October of 2016 – we did it! And then we lost it. Is he going to love me through this? I’m failing at the only thing I have ever given 100% to. As a wife, a mother - I am failing my husband.
I’ve never received an explanation for why my body is seemingly unable to do what it’s supposed to be able to do – produce life.
Organ donation is a hard topic, especially when it deals with children. Please consider registering to be an organ donor and know how impactful that gift is to those who are in dire need of a life-saving organ.
Organ donation is a reminder of all the good in the world. Strangers who as their final act in this life, give life to others; I’m not sure there is anything more humbling than being on the receiving end of such an act.
I have been beating myself up for months, you guys. Months where it felt every single thing I was doing was wrong.
Any self-confidence buzzing within my grasp was snatched up at the sight of stretch marks and extra weight looking back at me from the mirror. Not to mention what pregnancy and nursing did to my breasts.
We’re expecting our second baby in November and I’m planning to breastfeed once again. I’m going in with the same mindset, though – if it’s not working out for the baby or me, then we’ll switch to formula. After all, meeting my baby’s basic needs is the most important thing on my list.
Breastfeeding is a commitment - one that can be really hard for new mothers.
I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.
Alcohol made me feel alive and cool and part of the crowd. It was not until a close friend hit a tree head on after drinking and driving that I was able to put the alcohol down.
Many assume that second time mothers have it together; that being well-informed they are good to go. We don’t often recognize the courage it takes to enter that space again, this time fully aware. The creation of a life - and all that goes into it - is no less magical when the curtain has been pulled back, but the second time you are the magician’s assistant rather than a member of the audience.
To put it simply: I missed working. I missed the morning chit-chat, the random venting sessions, the ability to go out for lunch, or sit and read at my desk. I didn’t miss the deadlines or stress, but I missed the person I was while at work.
Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.
To the survivors of sexual abuse, and their loved ones, know you are not alone, this is something that will be part of you, but it in no way needs to define you.
Am I doing enough for my kids? We want to make everything better for our children, when in reality, there is beauty in not always saving them from the struggle.
I know there will be days when I want to throw in the towel, or run away, or have a mere five minutes to take care of my own needs. But from the first contraction of childbirth, my body started screaming: this is not about you.
A heartwarming story of open adoption and navigating the relationships with your child's birth parents and extended family.
Stephan and Michael knew they’d eventually want to have children together. When they were ready to make their plans a reality, the legal and social landscape had changed regarding adoption for same-sex couples from when they first started dating. Here they share with us how they traveled their path to become two dads to their daughter, Elle.
Learning how to mend a broken heart in the midst of grief and aftermath of suicide.
Domestic abuse and trauma change your internal landscape forever. A true story of surviving a relationship with an abusive addict.
Too often, we ignore that bruise on someone's face or that timid, almost scared posture of a co-worker, relative, or a close friend. After all, it's not happening to us and it might be mean to have an uncomfortable conversation about personal issues. We almost always convince ourselves it will go away or it's not as bad as we imagine.
My brain has been going 90 miles per hour since the minute I took my first breath. It is a cluttered, jumbled mess of thoughts, worries, and to-do lists that I have been trying to de-clutter and unravel tirelessly throughout the years.
I used to think I didn’t believe in marriage, but what I didn’t believe in was other people's idea of marriage. Hearing married people refer to their spouse as the ‘ball and chain,’ and getting the ever so helpful marriage advice of, “Don’t,” didn’t have me feeling incredibly confident about the whole thing.
On a mid-January evening, my (now ex) boyfriend of two years, whom I loved unconditionally and lived with in Colorado, blindsided me after he came home from a solo trip to the mountains and informed me that he “wasn’t happy”. While I initially suspected another woman, he blatantly denied it and lied to my face on multiple occasions. I later found out that I was ultimately deceived. This deception rocked me to my core; my emotions and actions that immediately followed were desperate, pathetic even. This was by far the hardest thing I had been through in my 29 years. The one person I needed to be there for me the most was the one person who put me in this horrific situation. This wasn’t JUST a breakup, this was much more than that.
Many of us have friends who are friends of circumstance – the person who sits next to you at work, the mother who always arrives at child pick-up the same time as you, the girl in yoga class who hangs out near the back where you are. And due to the necessity of social convention, we keep those friends at arm’s length. As my daughter once said, "Imagine if you really tried to become true, deep friends with your neighbor and it turns out you don't like them - and then you live next to them for 25 years. It's so much easier to just smile and wave and invite them over for a birthday party." How right she is.
After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.
Self-love is not just bubble baths and face masks, it goes far beyond that.
Lessons on life + love can come from unexpected places - like the Secret Service.
I finally cried and let go of the dream of “maybe someday” with him. And the weight began to lessen.
When my husband asked me to marry him, it really was a fairy-tale perfect, Instagram-worthy proposal of proposals. He did everything I could have dreamt of...and I missed it.
Ten months into the best relationship of my life, I freaked out. I remember the moment it happened too - as if a switch was turned on and I needed to get out now. Thoughts like we can’t do this anymore; how do I know he’s the one; we have to break up were repeated over and over in my head like a broken record.
We've all seen the quote floating around our Instagram feeds: "Don't let the success of others threaten your own success." But what if we pushed further and went out of our way to support the success of those around us? Here are four quick steps to help you make it happen this week.
No matter who you are or what you do, always surround yourself with good friends. They will spot you through life’s challenges, they will give you warm companionship, and you will support them with love in return.
When we first learned about Linda and her husband, Tyler, leaving everything behind to travel the world, you could say we were a bit more than intrigued.
Domestic abuse and trauma change your internal landscape forever. A true story of surviving a relationship with an abusive addict.
You think of him whenever you've ended another relationship, don't you? The almost one. You tend to think of how he made you laugh, of how he adored you, how he understood you; of how you somehow thought you'd beat the odds together.
Now that I'm in my twenties, I don't think I'm alone in saying that the kinds of friendship I'm looking for have changed, too. So, I'd love to share a few lessons I've learned about friendship so far.
What does it really mean to be you? Finding yourself can be a tricky concept. In this blog post, read an inspirational true story about finding your self-identity and embracing who you are. Visit hollandlanemag.com to read.
Not to be dramatic or anything, but two days after returning from our honeymoon, I got a text from my husband that changed our lives: I need you to drive me to the ER.
This topic has been talked and sung about since the beginning---and yet humanity is still trying to fully understand, communicate, and master this concept of love.
We had no idea what to expect, but the moon glowed iridescent against the window and my husband was waiting outside in the hall and our son — the little lion man who was ushered in by thousands waiting for his arrival — was about to be born.
The occurrence of my first marriage is something I keep close to the vest. It’s easy, considering the marriage lasted less than two years and ended before my twenty-fourth birthday. But when I do let someone in on that part of my life, they always ask, “What happened?”
September 19th is the day my heart breaks. September 19th is the day my heart is made whole again.
I used to believe that I wasn’t afraid of anything, because my fears weren’t the obvious ones. The fear of losing someone you love, of embarrassing yourself in front of a crowd, of not being able to pay the bills.
Those fears hide in plain sight. But other fears are craftier.
Onions don't cry for themselves. They leave the grieving to us, we who cut them open for our own pleasure.
So three hours into a first date, with a guy that you just met on Match.com, you probably shouldn’t say, “I am not going to have a baby.” Especially if he put on his profile that he wants to have kids.
I always assumed that all little girls wanted to be mommies when they grew up, that they had names picked out for their future children and a happy picture of what life would be like as a mommy. Unfortunately, not all women grow up being able to physically have children of their own.
I never expected that game to mean so much to me, then again, I didn’t expect that game to birth the friendship it did. I'm sentimental, and as I've thought through that night so long ago that game has become a beautiful analogy for me.
In a world where social media and smartphones have made sharing our lives effortless, I keep in touch with one of my best friends through ink and paper.
I wish I had learned about friendship years ago. I wish I hadn't cut people out. I wish I hadn't spent so many years feeling lost.
This isn't about what happened. It's not about why my friends betrayed me or who encouraged people I'd known for years to stop speaking to me. It's not about the people who still believe that everything they did was right, and that I am some kind of delusional person who is telling stories. It's not about any of them.
I’d agreed to the Pitocin when my contractions didn’t strengthen after eight hours, the Nubain when a day had passed under the fluorescent hospital lighting and I still hadn’t slept, the epidural when the contractions weren’t dilating my cervix according to established medical timeframes. The full buffet of medical interventions I’d vowed to avoid was up for the taking, and I’d sampled many of the offerings, starving for the bliss of my newborn child against my skin. The c-section was the final course, served up like the dessert I knew I didn’t want but just had to try.
I’m an “old” mom. My son arrived just ahead of my 35th birthday and before that year my husband and I weren’t sure we wanted to be parents. However, after my father-in-law died unexpectedly, the conversations about having a family of our own became more frequent. We faced the grim reality that if we didn’t stop riding the proverbial fence we may have a child whose grandparents never knew him. So when my mom was diagnosed with stage three anal cancer in April 2015, her positive biopsy swiftly led to my positive pregnancy test four short months later. I was not at all prepared for what was to come.
The moment I found out I had cancer, I was sitting in my cubicle at the first job I had gotten after graduating from college. My biggest worry that day was finishing my Christmas shopping, as the holidays were just a few weeks from then. That was going to be my first Christmas together with my family since moving back from college in Minnesota, and I was so excited to spend time with those I loved. With one phone call from my doctor that afternoon, after a set of yearly routine tests, my entire life was flipped upside down.
The acknowledgement of pain and its chronic existence in my life resulted in an understanding that my body, mind, and soul were undeniably connected in such a way that, if I was in need to heal of one affliction, I must be in need to heal the other.
On the outside, I looked normal. But inside, something was obviously very wrong. Physically, I was a mess. Emotionally, I was broken.
Something was wrong, yet no one could tell Breanna why her body was giving out.
I have three wonderful kids and a military husband. When something hurts, I ignore it. I don’t have time for it. If that doesn’t work, I take some Ibuprofen. If that doesn’t work, I try harder to ignore it, and eventually it just becomes a normal everyday type of pain and I get used to it and move on - power through the pain. But what happens when it doesn’t get better? What happens when the pain and numbness in your left arm starts to spread, and it gets so bad you finally do something about it only to find out things are going to get so much worse before they get better?
Within milliseconds, he twisted her head about, yanked her neck out, and paralyzed her. Just like that. I roared a long-winded murderous scream, so loud and full, that I know a part of myself died in those seconds.
We’re expecting our second baby in November and I’m planning to breastfeed once again. I’m going in with the same mindset, though – if it’s not working out for the baby or me, then we’ll switch to formula. After all, meeting my baby’s basic needs is the most important thing on my list.
Breastfeeding is a commitment - one that can be really hard for new mothers.
Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.
After dieting for 10 years, one woman comes to terms with her body image and happiness.
Not to be dramatic or anything, but two days after returning from our honeymoon, I got a text from my husband that changed our lives: I need you to drive me to the ER.
I dove head first into conventional medicine with a warrior mentality of trying to conquer cancer and was completely unprepared for the number of things that could go wrong.
From the beginning, we’ve strived to start honest conversations about our shared experiences as women. Because the more we open up and share, the more we let others know that they are not alone in what they’re feeling and experiencing. There’s no room for shame or judgement around these parts. Even so, there are still topics that people consider off-limits, often holding back from sharing their hearts because of fear. Well, we’re here to tell you that we’re not afraid, and this is a safe space. Always.
Have you ever tried to drive a car while it was on empty? I imagine it was difficult. Either the car didn't start at all, or it did start but stopped shortly after you started driving. Trying to drive a car with no fuel is very similar to how it feels living with a body that has a thyroid disease or imbalance. The body serves a similar function as a car. It helps take us from one place or activity to the next. Sadly a body with an imbalanced thyroid or no thyroid at all isn't getting the thyroid hormone it needs to regulate your metabolic rate which affects your energy levels, body weight, digestive function, muscle control, and bone maintenance just to name a few.
What do you think when you read the word “anorexia”? High fashion models? Crazy teenage girls? Another diet? Or the latest Lily Collins movie? How about a ten-year-old girl that ended up with a lifelong journey for recovery? Eating disorders are considered addictions, but unlike the addict, who can abstain from the substance, I can’t. I must face both my fear and my “drug” every 2-5 hours, every day.
There are a lot of opinions out there on what a good birth should look like. I believe that no matter what her choices are, a woman should never be brushed aside – never be ignored. The fact is, there are still a lot of unknowns when it comes to the birthing process, and maybe we should all humble ourselves a little and listen.
They say that everyone grieves differently. There is the obvious sadness, and of course all the other emotions - denial, anger, bargaining... acceptance. I have felt all of those and seems like more, but I can finally say I am reaching acceptance. Finally.
I am sick. You may not know that by looking at me, but I am. My illness is invisible. There are those out there who would say mental illness isn’t real, or isn’t as important as other medical ailments – cancer, heart disease, multiple sclerosis. And to them, I ask: Why? Why is my illness unimportant? It affects my mind and my body on a regular basis.
I couldn’t focus. Every day seemed harder and harder – I was losing my ability to accomplish my daily tasks and I couldn’t understand what was happening.
Nothing seemed to work. I’d get up and walk around, and when I sat back down the first thing I would reach for is my phone, my crutch when I was bored. The thing was, I wasn’t bored. My brain was being challenged, I was learning new things, and I had a lot to do. But I couldn’t seem to get anything done.
On Wednesday, April 19th I was checked by my midwife and she reported that I was 2 centimeters dilated and 50% effaced. Naturally, I got super excited and assumed delivery was imminent. I was wrong. No bloody show, no broken water. My midwife wrote me a prescription for a tincture to help induce labor. It consisted of blue and black cohosh root, ginger, and Lobelia. Two days later and one empty tincture bottle... still nothing. At this point, I was more than ready to get this show on the road
Amy Bleuel founded Project Semicolon in 2013 to honor her father who died of suicide 10 years earlier. About the symbol, she wrote: ‘A semi-colon represents a sentence the author could have ended, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.’ Project Semicolon's tagline - "Your story is not over" - gives hope and inspiration to countless people.
Only two weeks away from my due date and I’m so ready for this baby! Overall it's been an easy, joyful pregnancy and I’ll always be grateful for that, but these last couple of weeks have been tough.
When we last spoke, I sadly had four failed IUI’s (intrauterine inseminations) under my belt and had just publicly gone through a very devastating miscarriage of our identical twins following our first IVF frozen embryo transfer. And while it was heartbreaking and we miss our twins every single day, we discovered from that heartbreak that we indeed could get pregnant.
Not all diseases or illnesses are obvious. There are so many people who suffer, chronically, without anyone ever knowing. Just by looking at me, you wouldn’t even know, but I am one of those people.
One of the strange paradoxes of life is society’s simultaneous insistence that you should “accept yourself for who you are" and also that you should constantly try to improve.
My first memory of my mom’s drug usage was when I was 10. I was taking a shower in her bathroom when I pulled a perfectly folded towel off the rack and a mirror, knife, and small white baggie came with it.
Throughout my pregnancy, my OB appointments have been somewhat of a disappointment. Once you get over the initial rush of your first ultrasound, doppler, and measurement, the appointments start to feel rushed.
No matter how much you read or how many sisters or friends have babies, nothing can prepare you for the crazy shit that happens to your body.
What I'm realizing as the weeks slip by and I step more fully into this new version of me, is that the indulgent bubble bath at the end of the night is only enjoyable if I stop calling myself 'lazy' while I take it. The home cooked meal only counts as self care if I don't stand in the mirror obsessing about my stomach afterwards. Self care for me is looking a lot like the way I give myself permission to do and enjoy the things we want.
Here at Holl & Lane, we truly believe in the power of story. Whether you share your story with the world, or you keep it private, writing your own story, the pieces of it, the moments, is such a valuable tool. Something else we believe in? Writing your story in a beautiful keepsake - something you’ll want to pull out time and time again. We’ve rounded up 9 beautiful journals just begging to hold your life within their pages.
I started small. I focused on what I was eating. I’ve never had a problem with adjusting my diet, so I figured the easiest step was to focus there first. I re-downloaded the My Fitness Pal app and started paying attention to my portion sizes. I started watching how many calories were in the foods I had been eating. I didn’t starve myself, I still enjoyed food, I just did it in a healthier way. This was my sole focus for a month. And I began to see very slight changes in my body and how I was feeling.
Any self-confidence buzzing within my grasp was snatched up at the sight of stretch marks and extra weight looking back at me from the mirror. Not to mention what pregnancy and nursing did to my breasts.
After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.
Something was wrong, yet no one could tell Breanna why her body was giving out.
Self-love is not just bubble baths and face masks, it goes far beyond that.
Within milliseconds, he twisted her head about, yanked her neck out, and paralyzed her. Just like that. I roared a long-winded murderous scream, so loud and full, that I know a part of myself died in those seconds.
Lessons on life + love can come from unexpected places - like the Secret Service.
I finally cried and let go of the dream of “maybe someday” with him. And the weight began to lessen.
Art was for other people. People who didn’t make money. People who didn’t take life seriously, wore sandals, and had all the time in the world to sit around and play with paint all day. A decade or so later, something shifted.
I don’t know for certain that my writing is of any importance to others, but still I write.
When my husband asked me to marry him, it really was a fairy-tale perfect, Instagram-worthy proposal of proposals. He did everything I could have dreamt of...and I missed it.
Ten months into the best relationship of my life, I freaked out. I remember the moment it happened too - as if a switch was turned on and I needed to get out now. Thoughts like we can’t do this anymore; how do I know he’s the one; we have to break up were repeated over and over in my head like a broken record.
In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.
I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.
On November 11, 2013, I woke up with a horrendous headache and a terrifying feeling. I couldn’t remember much of anything from the night before. There was this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt a nudge to check the trash can and there I found three empty bottles of wine. How had I gotten to this point?
Her mind is clear as the air, her limbs light as the wind,
Her spirit made anew.
Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.
The future brings many worries and unanswered questions. What if we trusted ourselves instead?
There is tremendous power in telling your story and letting go of the shame of sexual abuse.
To the survivors of sexual abuse, and their loved ones, know you are not alone, this is something that will be part of you, but it in no way needs to define you.
Between work, community involvement, catching up on social media and various obligations, we have forgotten our severe need for rest and mind renewal.
Let's have an honest, raw conversation about social media, body image, and what it can do to a pretty stable, normal self-esteemed adult.
Self-love is nurturing and tending to the entire self. Self-care is certainly a part of self-love, but it's not all of it. It's less of getting your gas tank filled and more of getting a whole car tune-up. I think of it like this: there's a difference between how I act when I care about a person and when I love a person.
You think of him whenever you've ended another relationship, don't you? The almost one. You tend to think of how he made you laugh, of how he adored you, how he understood you; of how you somehow thought you'd beat the odds together.
All of us can connect with a cause that is meaningful to us. Here are 4 tips on how to get started.
In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.
I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.
Alcohol made me feel alive and cool and part of the crowd. It was not until a close friend hit a tree head on after drinking and driving that I was able to put the alcohol down.
On November 11, 2013, I woke up with a horrendous headache and a terrifying feeling. I couldn’t remember much of anything from the night before. There was this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt a nudge to check the trash can and there I found three empty bottles of wine. How had I gotten to this point?
There is tremendous power in telling your story and letting go of the shame of sexual abuse.
To the survivors of sexual abuse, and their loved ones, know you are not alone, this is something that will be part of you, but it in no way needs to define you.
Domestic abuse and trauma change your internal landscape forever. A true story of surviving a relationship with an abusive addict.
Too often, we ignore that bruise on someone's face or that timid, almost scared posture of a co-worker, relative, or a close friend. After all, it's not happening to us and it might be mean to have an uncomfortable conversation about personal issues. We almost always convince ourselves it will go away or it's not as bad as we imagine.
Throughout history, mental illness has been romanticized as much as it has been vilified, with every great intellectual seemingly blessed and cursed by a biochemical imbalance.
I became a full-blown heroin addict. I was so unhappy and so broken. I tried to fight this addiction on my own for 10 years.
Hi. My name is Melissa, and I am a survivor of rape.
Hi again. My name is Melissa, and I am a survivor of a suicide attempt.
Hi. Still me. Still Melissa. And I am a survivor of postpartum depression.
Now, maybe you hear that and think I've been dealt a crap hand in life, but I'd argue just the opposite. I live a damn good, love-filled life, and through those experiences I've learned exactly who I am.
When do I get to tell aloud the story of the boy in college, the friend, the classmate who I invited back to my dorm? The one who I kissed excitedly. The one who slid my pants off.
The one who smiled when I said, No, don’t. I don’t want to.
I have a toxic relationship with my father. I didn't really know how to start this post so I figured I might as well just start with something honest. Something real. And at the age of almost 37, I still find it hard to say those words out loud.
From the beginning, we’ve strived to start honest conversations about our shared experiences as women. Because the more we open up and share, the more we let others know that they are not alone in what they’re feeling and experiencing. There’s no room for shame or judgement around these parts. Even so, there are still topics that people consider off-limits, often holding back from sharing their hearts because of fear. Well, we’re here to tell you that we’re not afraid, and this is a safe space. Always.
What do you think when you read the word “anorexia”? High fashion models? Crazy teenage girls? Another diet? Or the latest Lily Collins movie? How about a ten-year-old girl that ended up with a lifelong journey for recovery? Eating disorders are considered addictions, but unlike the addict, who can abstain from the substance, I can’t. I must face both my fear and my “drug” every 2-5 hours, every day.
I found you online last week. Social media is kind of cruel like that - offering instant access to the skeletons from your closet with a quick click of a button. I’m not even sure why I looked. Curiosity, I suppose. You look so different. You’ve gained weight, and your hair has become so white. You look old. You look happy. And it hurt.
Amy Bleuel founded Project Semicolon in 2013 to honor her father who died of suicide 10 years earlier. About the symbol, she wrote: ‘A semi-colon represents a sentence the author could have ended, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.’ Project Semicolon's tagline - "Your story is not over" - gives hope and inspiration to countless people.
My journey to sobriety has been twisted, stubborn, and miraculous. Once upon a time, I could take a drink or leave it. Sometimes, I try to remember what may have flipped that switch.
The heart of the work we do at Holl & Lane is our belief in the transformative power of words. Hearing someone's story and sharing your own create deep connections and help heal loneliness in our lives.
I thought I had lost my words. It was one of the emptiest, most terrifying feelings, and I could feel the weight of it on my heart. I thought I had lost my words, and I didn’t know where to find them.
I wasn't looking for anything in particular when Adam* unexpectedly came into my life. At the end of May, only two weeks after ending things with Matthew* before they even really got started, Adam arrived in the small town I was still adjusting to.
My first memory of my mom’s drug usage was when I was 10. I was taking a shower in her bathroom when I pulled a perfectly folded towel off the rack and a mirror, knife, and small white baggie came with it.
One thing that is so important to us on the Holl & Lane team is giving back. While we're not able to give much, I've made it a goal to donate to a new charity with each of our last few issues. $1 from each sale of our issues goes to a charity based on the theme of each issue.
It's been one year since I wrote my piece for your magazine and what a year it has been. January last year was the beginning of my recovery and last month I celebrated one year into my recovery.
We spend our entire lives getting ready. From the moment we wake up, we are in the process of readying ourselves for the day.
Beginnings have always scared me. And I don't mean in that super fun thrilling kind of way. I mean absolutely terrifying. Like seeing a clown jump out of the woods kind of terrifying.
Life is an incredible road that everybody travels down differently. Some drive with intense speed to reach their destination while some would rather take their time on a more scenic route.
"I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul." This was a line from "Invictus," a poem I had not studied in years, yet I found myself thinking about it one morning on the way to hot yoga.
They say that worrying as a new parent is normal, that you’ll worry about your child for the rest of his/her life. That may be so, but I was experiencing something I couldn’t imagine feeling for the next 18+ years of my life.
The fact is, I'm not mad at you for changing. I know it seems like I am. But I know it isn't your fault. It isn't your fault that we're sick and that we can't do life the way we used to. Neither one of us asked for this. And the truth is, you've handled this thing amazingly. I hate to think of where I would be had you not shown so much strength over the last seven years.
Oh, body.
You’ve been healthy and sick
Disabled and strong.
Everything in between.
I will never forget the day my friend re-sized my body and air-brushed my skin in one of her pictures.
Any self-confidence buzzing within my grasp was snatched up at the sight of stretch marks and extra weight looking back at me from the mirror. Not to mention what pregnancy and nursing did to my breasts.
After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.
In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.
I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.
After dieting for 10 years, one woman comes to terms with her body image and happiness.
Let's have an honest, raw conversation about social media, body image, and what it can do to a pretty stable, normal self-esteemed adult.
“You still kind of suck.” The words rang loudly in my head as I stared at my petite body in the H&M dressing room mirror.
For years of my life, I struggled with a debilitating eating disorder that took so much away from me and my loved ones. Thankfully, I found healing from this mental illness and learned how to develop a more peaceful relationship with both food and my body.
From the beginning, we’ve strived to start honest conversations about our shared experiences as women. Because the more we open up and share, the more we let others know that they are not alone in what they’re feeling and experiencing. There’s no room for shame or judgement around these parts. Even so, there are still topics that people consider off-limits, often holding back from sharing their hearts because of fear. Well, we’re here to tell you that we’re not afraid, and this is a safe space. Always.
The opportunity for change, whether in body or mind, is not always apparent. For me, this lesson begins with a classic story involving New Year’s Eve, a group of friends, and an unbelievable diet and workout plan. New Year’s Resolutions have never been something I have emphasized in my life. Work out goals and their results have never stuck around for me. After being disillusioned with the many diets and workout plans I had already attempted, I was ready to let go and dive in without expectation (as if it would be that simple). My physical transformation would catalyze a deeper journey of self-discovery.
I realized that strong women aren’t born. They are made. But when I think of what it takes to have the kind of tenacity and resilience that makes us strong, I think of overcoming failure, heartbreak, and trauma. All of my favorite women of history have their moments where they overcame adversity to find their strength. It’s the classic hero storyline.
What do you think when you read the word “anorexia”? High fashion models? Crazy teenage girls? Another diet? Or the latest Lily Collins movie? How about a ten-year-old girl that ended up with a lifelong journey for recovery? Eating disorders are considered addictions, but unlike the addict, who can abstain from the substance, I can’t. I must face both my fear and my “drug” every 2-5 hours, every day.
I have a confession to make. I’m a has-been “beauty queen”. I never considered myself one, though. After all, beauty queens are tall with flawless skin, legs a mile long, gigantic smiles, and perfect speaking skills. I always felt like I had none of those attributes. I’ve even had people act surprised when they find out that I competed in pageants.
At the end of my pregnancy, it felt like I was going to be pregnant forever. All I wanted was to have this baby, then you have her and she’s here, and you realize you’ve got her and more importantly she's got you for the rest of your lives. Whoa. It's so real you can't really wrap your head around it and for a second you start freaking out… then you change a diaper. Then you feel your milk let down. Then she makes eye contact and she smiles at you. Then your heart grows three times its size and your baby fits right in there.
We're so excited to announce that our newest issue is now available in our shop. Featuring the theme, The Body, this new issue features stories of body image, documented through photo diaries, first person essays, interviews, and more. Body image is such an important topic for women as we've been made to believe that we must look a certain way. In this issue, we're removing that idea and celebrating ALL types of bodies and what they're capable of.
They say that everyone grieves differently. There is the obvious sadness, and of course all the other emotions - denial, anger, bargaining... acceptance. I have felt all of those and seems like more, but I can finally say I am reaching acceptance. Finally.
Amy Bleuel founded Project Semicolon in 2013 to honor her father who died of suicide 10 years earlier. About the symbol, she wrote: ‘A semi-colon represents a sentence the author could have ended, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.’ Project Semicolon's tagline - "Your story is not over" - gives hope and inspiration to countless people.
Only two weeks away from my due date and I’m so ready for this baby! Overall it's been an easy, joyful pregnancy and I’ll always be grateful for that, but these last couple of weeks have been tough.
The heart of the work we do at Holl & Lane is our belief in the transformative power of words. Hearing someone's story and sharing your own create deep connections and help heal loneliness in our lives.
Not all diseases or illnesses are obvious. There are so many people who suffer, chronically, without anyone ever knowing. Just by looking at me, you wouldn’t even know, but I am one of those people.
One of the strange paradoxes of life is society’s simultaneous insistence that you should “accept yourself for who you are" and also that you should constantly try to improve.
Throughout my pregnancy, my OB appointments have been somewhat of a disappointment. Once you get over the initial rush of your first ultrasound, doppler, and measurement, the appointments start to feel rushed.
No matter how much you read or how many sisters or friends have babies, nothing can prepare you for the crazy shit that happens to your body.
It's been one year since I wrote my piece for your magazine and what a year it has been. January last year was the beginning of my recovery and last month I celebrated one year into my recovery.
We spend our entire lives getting ready. From the moment we wake up, we are in the process of readying ourselves for the day.
Any self-confidence buzzing within my grasp was snatched up at the sight of stretch marks and extra weight looking back at me from the mirror. Not to mention what pregnancy and nursing did to my breasts.
After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.
Something was wrong, yet no one could tell Breanna why her body was giving out.
I have three wonderful kids and a military husband. When something hurts, I ignore it. I don’t have time for it. If that doesn’t work, I take some Ibuprofen. If that doesn’t work, I try harder to ignore it, and eventually it just becomes a normal everyday type of pain and I get used to it and move on - power through the pain. But what happens when it doesn’t get better? What happens when the pain and numbness in your left arm starts to spread, and it gets so bad you finally do something about it only to find out things are going to get so much worse before they get better?
Self-love is not just bubble baths and face masks, it goes far beyond that.
HLW is a community of people who love the written word. It's a monthly membership filled with tools to help our writers continue to do what they do best - write. And we're there to cheer them on every step of the way.
Within milliseconds, he twisted her head about, yanked her neck out, and paralyzed her. Just like that. I roared a long-winded murderous scream, so loud and full, that I know a part of myself died in those seconds.
All of us can connect with a cause that is meaningful to us. Here are 4 tips on how to get started.
Lessons on life + love can come from unexpected places - like the Secret Service.
We’re expecting our second baby in November and I’m planning to breastfeed once again. I’m going in with the same mindset, though – if it’s not working out for the baby or me, then we’ll switch to formula. After all, meeting my baby’s basic needs is the most important thing on my list.
Breastfeeding is a commitment - one that can be really hard for new mothers.
I finally cried and let go of the dream of “maybe someday” with him. And the weight began to lessen.
Art was for other people. People who didn’t make money. People who didn’t take life seriously, wore sandals, and had all the time in the world to sit around and play with paint all day. A decade or so later, something shifted.
I don’t know for certain that my writing is of any importance to others, but still I write.
When my husband asked me to marry him, it really was a fairy-tale perfect, Instagram-worthy proposal of proposals. He did everything I could have dreamt of...and I missed it.
Ten months into the best relationship of my life, I freaked out. I remember the moment it happened too - as if a switch was turned on and I needed to get out now. Thoughts like we can’t do this anymore; how do I know he’s the one; we have to break up were repeated over and over in my head like a broken record.
In my eating disorder, I held in all my emotions and numbed them out by starving myself, exercising past the point of exhaustion, and repeatedly throwing up. Now that I was no longer turning to those behaviors, everything that I pushed down flooded in like water from a broken levee.
I was making others feel great about themselves! Radiating positivity out of every nook and cranny I could, but saving none for myself. I preached body positive quotes left and right, but none were aimed inward.
Alcohol made me feel alive and cool and part of the crowd. It was not until a close friend hit a tree head on after drinking and driving that I was able to put the alcohol down.
On November 11, 2013, I woke up with a horrendous headache and a terrifying feeling. I couldn’t remember much of anything from the night before. There was this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt a nudge to check the trash can and there I found three empty bottles of wine. How had I gotten to this point?
Many assume that second time mothers have it together; that being well-informed they are good to go. We don’t often recognize the courage it takes to enter that space again, this time fully aware. The creation of a life - and all that goes into it - is no less magical when the curtain has been pulled back, but the second time you are the magician’s assistant rather than a member of the audience.
To put it simply: I missed working. I missed the morning chit-chat, the random venting sessions, the ability to go out for lunch, or sit and read at my desk. I didn’t miss the deadlines or stress, but I missed the person I was while at work.
Her mind is clear as the air, her limbs light as the wind,
Her spirit made anew.
Who knew that once I forgave myself for not being perfect, the need to be perfect would melt away? Self-forgiveness was exactly what I needed to find my way home again.
We've all seen the quote floating around our Instagram feeds: "Don't let the success of others threaten your own success." But what if we pushed further and went out of our way to support the success of those around us? Here are four quick steps to help you make it happen this week.
No matter who you are or what you do, always surround yourself with good friends. They will spot you through life’s challenges, they will give you warm companionship, and you will support them with love in return.
We often wish we could pack up our lives and move to Europe. One couple did just that.
I wasn't officially diagnosed until I was 31 years old. My symptoms had gotten so bad that I knew I had to see a doctor about it. More specifically, my husband told me that he was worried about me and that it might help to go see someone. After one 50-minute session, the doctor said to me, "You are the textbook definition of someone with depression and generalized anxiety disorder." I was so overwhelmed that I couldn't formulate a response, so I just looked at the floor, tears filling my eyes. She prescribed medication for me and told me to come back in three weeks.