In 2012 I took the leap, and moved from California to Costa Rica. Yet living in this paradise on earth, I have been forced time and again to face the fact that we live in an imperfect world, and to find ways to come to terms with this in order to live a more sanguine life.

Exploring the unknown isn’t new. Many people before us have dipped their toes (or full-on cannon-balled) into waters outside their comfort zone. But the beauty of exploration is that it doesn’t have to be undiscovered territory. Everything is new if you haven’t experienced it before

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.

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.

Nobody likes grief and nobody wants to witness a tragedy. Especially not one we fully understand – like miscarriage. But given the statistics – one in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage ­– we all know someone who has been through, or will go through, this heart-wrenching loss.

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 am gasping for air. Desperately searching, my hands move quickly, fumbling through the sheets. There is a hollow feeling in my chest, a sinking in the pit of my stomach. Hot tears are streaming down my face, the bitter taste of salt. Panicked pleas for help ring in my ears: it is my own voice, though it sounds frightened, foreign. I believe my son is here in my bed: I must still be breastfeeding, I must have rolled over on him. I frantically search for his lifeless body. I imagine blue limp skin.

So, let me ask you: How would your life look like if you could create it the way that you want? You are in charge. You can create your life to your wildest dreams or your worst nightmare, you choose.

When we think of taboo topics we often think sex, abortion, and religion. However, we often forget that the matters of the mind can also fall into this category. Mental health has been stigmatized time and time again and it is about time we made a change.

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.

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.

Stepping onto the path, breathing deep, and feeling the rush of soil, green, and bark. Nature is our greatest teacher. Personally, I find myself connecting with Nature on a deeper level each time I enter a forest, more than any other ecosystem. I grew up traipsing through the forests of Western Pennsylvania, surrounded by oaks and hemlocks. Since then, I found myself living in different parts of the country. Each time, I find a forest.

Divorce is a death. A death of a united family. A death of future dreams and hopes. This death brings with it a heavy grief, weighing on the parties involved like a heavy blanket. As a friend, how can you support someone you care about experiencing such an emotional loss? Your tongue gets tripped up on the words you can’t quite string together the way you wish they would. You’re not sure if you’re making matters worse or if your compassion seems genuine or coerced.

Piano had been my thing since I was seven, when I’d come home to a second-hand upright in the living room and a stack of pink lesson books in the bench. In high school, I practiced for hours instead of hanging out with friends or trying out for the school musical. Occasionally, my mom let me call in sick to school so I could hammer out an hour of technique followed by two or three hours of polishing pieces for competitions. How could I major in anything else?

As part of my work, I write about the art of speaking gracefully and whether we should speak up or stay silent when it comes to online bullying. Now I’d like to take the discussion on language further -- to explore how words and phrases have the power to heal or harm when it comes to gender stereotypes.

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.

I was raised almost entirely alone for the whole of my childhood. I don’t just mean that as in I was a loner or kept to myself; I was raised on eight acres of land with little to no exposure to the world. Due to the teachings of the cult my mother was a member of, I was never educated. I taught myself to read, and learned all my basic writing skills on the internet. In the time between, I played alone in the woods. Whenever I did attempt to interact with kids my own age (usually by going to the town pool) I was teased mercilessly for my lack of common knowledge

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.

As children we are taught how to solve algebraic equations and chemical formulas, yet we are never taught how to love, be kind and how to survive life.It is our duty to teach others, no matter their age or gender, how to embrace difficult situations and become a stronger person because of it. Often the most valuable lessons we learn are not easily taught in a classroom, they are learnt through experience and mistakes and through others.

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. 

After trying for two years to get pregnant and having no luck, I wasn’t expecting anything but a big, fat negative when I tested the morning before heading down state to celebrate my birthday. I wanted to test “just in case” since I had a feeling a beautiful, blue bottle of Riesling would be in my very near future. And then, with an empty uterus, I would uncork the last year of my twenties, having high hopes for the next year in which we’d hopefully end up pregnant before thirty.

Even when I managed to fire and glaze a vessel, it didn’t seem right to be proud or excited about my creations. I knew they weren’t well done, but they were mine, something made with my own two hands. Though that should be enough, somehow it wasn’t. I found myself constantly giving disclaimers when people looked at my pots – “I’ve only been doing it for 10 weeks!” or “I know these are terrible!”

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 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.

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.

I'm the baby of the family. And my brother and sister were what I like to call “traditionally smart”. My brother was in the National Honor Society. My sister was too and in the top percent of her graduating class. She even gave a speech at graduation.

Then there's me.

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.

Prior to moving to Italy, I would not have described myself as adventure seeking. A high achieving rule follower with a desire to please was more my gig. Until it wasn’t. When my hard work went unacknowledged or my love unreturned, my mind, heart, and body grew restless. I broke every rule in the name of love, making irreparable mistakes at the expense of others.

When you get married you expect it to last forever. You make a commitment to share life with someone and start a family and dream about the life you’ll lead together as you grow old alongside one another. Never do you expect that person to come to you one day out of the blue and say they no longer wanted the life that you’ve created together. That is exactly what happened to me.

Nobody likes grief and nobody wants to witness a tragedy. Especially not one we fully understand – like miscarriage. But given the statistics – one in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage ­– we all know someone who has been through, or will go through, this heart-wrenching loss.

I am gasping for air. Desperately searching, my hands move quickly, fumbling through the sheets. There is a hollow feeling in my chest, a sinking in the pit of my stomach. Hot tears are streaming down my face, the bitter taste of salt. Panicked pleas for help ring in my ears: it is my own voice, though it sounds frightened, foreign. I believe my son is here in my bed: I must still be breastfeeding, I must have rolled over on him. I frantically search for his lifeless body. I imagine blue limp skin.

We all experience love and loss. However, we usually aren't faced with the decision of choosing to love again. After choosing to stay in a marriage after an affair, I have learned that love becomes love when you choose it the 2nd time, 3rd time, and 100th time.

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.

Homeschooling seemed incredibly foreign and unusual to me, until I considered our family's already nontraditional lifestyle. My husband is in the military and tours often. We both work from home, and do small sustainable farming in our small city garden. Considering homeschooling started to seem like the next step in the lifestyle we were leaning towards. As I took the leap and dove into this different form of education, I learned an incredible amount about my sons and their interests, and also my capability.

Divorce is a death. A death of a united family. A death of future dreams and hopes. This death brings with it a heavy grief, weighing on the parties involved like a heavy blanket. As a friend, how can you support someone you care about experiencing such an emotional loss? Your tongue gets tripped up on the words you can’t quite string together the way you wish they would. You’re not sure if you’re making matters worse or if your compassion seems genuine or coerced.

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.

Music education is important for so many different reasons. Children who take music lessons, or who participate in any form of music education, have better memory patterns than those children who receive no music education. Music is a universal language, and children from any part of the world can hear the same music and be moved by it in the same way. Music education helps children with their language and reasoning skills, gives them a sense of accomplishment, and helps improve math and spatial skills.

A lot of people assume being a woman or mother in the music industry is a weakness, but I see it as a strength. When I first got in the business, I realized I just put my head down and worked hard to prove myself and make relationships. Once I did, I wasn’t focused on what I wasn’t getting because of my gender, but what I could accomplish because of it and the advantages it brought me.

After trying for two years to get pregnant and having no luck, I wasn’t expecting anything but a big, fat negative when I tested the morning before heading down state to celebrate my birthday. I wanted to test “just in case” since I had a feeling a beautiful, blue bottle of Riesling would be in my very near future. And then, with an empty uterus, I would uncork the last year of my twenties, having high hopes for the next year in which we’d hopefully end up pregnant before thirty.

Even when I managed to fire and glaze a vessel, it didn’t seem right to be proud or excited about my creations. I knew they weren’t well done, but they were mine, something made with my own two hands. Though that should be enough, somehow it wasn’t. I found myself constantly giving disclaimers when people looked at my pots – “I’ve only been doing it for 10 weeks!” or “I know these are terrible!”

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 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.

I'm the baby of the family. And my brother and sister were what I like to call “traditionally smart”. My brother was in the National Honor Society. My sister was too and in the top percent of her graduating class. She even gave a speech at graduation.

Then there's me.

I fell in love. I got married in my 20’s. Settled into a beautiful condo with our pup, Miss B. I had a great job and my career was in full swing. Life was going well and on track for greatness. Then, in a flash, or so it seemed, it all came crashing down.

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.

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. 

Expectations. We all have them, especially when it comes to our children. As parents we expect certain behaviors from them. We expect them to follow our rules, our lead. Sometimes this works, sometimes it doesn’t. And when our expectations for our children fall short, it can be devastating. 

When I was fifteen, my life changed completely. My whole world was turned upside down. I remember this day like it happened yesterday. 

The word “beginning” itself has a few different definitions (Merriam-Webster Dictionary actually defines it in 4 ways) but the main definition is “the point at which something starts”. That’s not a very poetic definition, right? It kind of kills the magic. To me, a beginning is so much more.

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.  

As I sat in a bed about to deliver my baby, hoping for the anesthesiologist to come quickly, or even more than that, to have a mother there to tell me that everything will be ok.

When you get married you expect it to last forever. You make a commitment to share life with someone and start a family and dream about the life you’ll lead together as you grow old alongside one another. Never do you expect that person to come to you one day out of the blue and say they no longer wanted the life that you’ve created together. That is exactly what happened to me.

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.

We all experience love and loss. However, we usually aren't faced with the decision of choosing to love again. After choosing to stay in a marriage after an affair, I have learned that love becomes love when you choose it the 2nd time, 3rd time, and 100th time.

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.

Divorce is a death. A death of a united family. A death of future dreams and hopes. This death brings with it a heavy grief, weighing on the parties involved like a heavy blanket. As a friend, how can you support someone you care about experiencing such an emotional loss? Your tongue gets tripped up on the words you can’t quite string together the way you wish they would. You’re not sure if you’re making matters worse or if your compassion seems genuine or coerced.

As part of my work, I write about the art of speaking gracefully and whether we should speak up or stay silent when it comes to online bullying. Now I’d like to take the discussion on language further -- to explore how words and phrases have the power to heal or harm when it comes to gender stereotypes.

I was raised almost entirely alone for the whole of my childhood. I don’t just mean that as in I was a loner or kept to myself; I was raised on eight acres of land with little to no exposure to the world. Due to the teachings of the cult my mother was a member of, I was never educated. I taught myself to read, and learned all my basic writing skills on the internet. In the time between, I played alone in the woods. Whenever I did attempt to interact with kids my own age (usually by going to the town pool) I was teased mercilessly for my lack of common knowledge

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.

One hour. Four shots of Fireball. And a new found love of left swiping.

I was immediately hooked on Tinder. It felt so liberating to swipe left, left, left, ohhh right, left, and left some more. There were very few worthy of my right swipes and later down the line, my treasured super likes. 

I fell in love. I got married in my 20’s. Settled into a beautiful condo with our pup, Miss B. I had a great job and my career was in full swing. Life was going well and on track for greatness. Then, in a flash, or so it seemed, it all came crashing down.

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.

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. 

When I was fifteen, my life changed completely. My whole world was turned upside down. I remember this day like it happened yesterday. 

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.  

One day, I woke up and all my friends were gone. It wasn’t a bad dream – it was adulthood and I wasn’t a fan. After college, my friends left – chasing new experiences after graduation.

I sat on my bed with my back against the wall while I stared into the nothingness that was my room and breathed deep. I had recently broken up with my boyfriend of five plus years and was single for the first time in my adult life.

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. 

As I stand in front of the mirror, I sometimes wonder where I’ve been and how I got here. Sometimes I wonder “Who am I?”

When I began dating Tyler at the age of nineteen, I had no clue that we were both going to face extremely hard challenges in the months and years to come. How could I? I was just beginning to understand that the heart beating wildly in my chest was my own.

To celebrate National Spouses Day, we asked you what you love most about your spouse and rounded up a few responses that gave us all the warm fuzzies. 

Single-mom isolation, gastrointestinal problems, a business in the dumps, and a box of vegetables: who would have thought that this particular mash-up could lead to a more self-expressed life? But that’s how it came together for me.

In 2008, I was diagnosed with Epilepsy after having a few major seizures, one of which landed me in the ER. 

I was the kind of woman other women feel jealous of. I was married and we had a beautiful daughter. We were both very successful in our careers and had a high lifestyle. People used to say that we were the perfect couple. 

I haven’t heard from Kay* in months. Such a change from 7 years ago when she was a young teen sleeping on our couch and I was trying to drag her awake & off to school every morning. Now she’s a young woman off living her life and pursuing her dreams. 

When the going gets tough, people always say, “Mind over matter.” Until this year, I thought this mentality was reserved for the athletic, but it came in handy during the most difficult conversation in my life.

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.