Archives

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.

September 19th is the day my heart breaks. September 19th is the day my heart is made whole again.

I remember daddy’s beard - prickly, red - brushing up against my cheek as we kissed goodnight. I remember running into his strong arms when he picked me up from school. He lifted me up so high.

I don't know how many layers we have. How deep the soul goes and how many times we can fall apart and get back up and re-invent. But I think I might keep trying to push it. To explore and shed skins and try again.

From one of the best days of my life came the deepest, darkest depression that ripped me apart layer by layer.

I was living in a town that was fairly new to me and my closest friends were scattered all across the country. Because “tribe” is not something you can add to a baby registry, there would be no random food deliveries or demanded showers. I was still on the outside looking into motherhood and I didn’t get it, but I knew I didn’t get it. And I was worried.

Some days, I’m grateful for the privilege of a full-time job with set hours and sick time. Some days, I deal with the coffee maker at work and consider taking a lighter to my diplomas. It’s hard.

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?

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.

I’ve known for a long time that grief is very individual. But I didn’t feel the full truth of it until Memere, my maternal grandmother, died last April.

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.

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.

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.

Looking back, an underlying message lay throughout all my childhood and teen years - your worth lies in your achievements and your accolades, not as an individual.

I remember daddy’s beard - prickly, red - brushing up against my cheek as we kissed goodnight. I remember running into his strong arms when he picked me up from school. He lifted me up so high.

From one of the best days of my life came the deepest, darkest depression that ripped me apart layer by layer.

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 was living in a town that was fairly new to me and my closest friends were scattered all across the country. Because “tribe” is not something you can add to a baby registry, there would be no random food deliveries or demanded showers. I was still on the outside looking into motherhood and I didn’t get it, but I knew I didn’t get it. And I was worried.

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.

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.

Six years ago, I flipped my life and moved back home from Boston to Pittsburgh. I was about to go through a divorce and start my life over from scratch. No home, no job, and no significant other. The worst thing is that I wouldn't have my friends either.

I was living in a town that was fairly new to me and my closest friends were scattered all across the country. Because “tribe” is not something you can add to a baby registry, there would be no random food deliveries or demanded showers. I was still on the outside looking into motherhood and I didn’t get it, but I knew I didn’t get it. And I was worried.

The bonds of friendship aren't forged in blood. They are created from a sharing of the soul, a belonging like no other. When you have a friend, you have a seat at the table that has your name on it.

One day I thought, “The reason people say it’s all about the journey is because it is all a journey.  My calling is to live as a child of the light. And I have a whole life to work on doing that.  In fact, I HAVE been working on it – my whole life.”

The motivation to go and see new things is great, but we find ourselves now using travel as a reset. A way to step back from the normal, see and experience something new, and use our time to reflect on our priorities.

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

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.

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.

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. 

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. 

"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.

My brain was hijacked by overwhelming fear at the age of twelve. A fear so strong that it eventually took over my whole being. At the time, I did not understand why all of this was happening to me. 

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. 

There’s so much technology around in today’s society that it's no wonder there doesn’t seem to be a need for learning braille. There seems to be this idea surrounding braille that it’s no longer useful in contemporary society, and that it doesn’t have as much value nowadays, but is that really true?

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

On good days, social media creates communities, celebration, and encouragement. On bad days, it leaves you feeling drained, angry, and like you'll never be as good as the people filling up your feed.

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.

After the wave of feminism and the slowly evolving concept of the modern man and modern woman, we are now entering a new phase: POST-FEMINISM.

Onions don't cry for themselves. They leave the grieving to us, we who cut them open for our own pleasure.

Looking back, an underlying message lay throughout all my childhood and teen years - your worth lies in your achievements and your accolades, not as an individual.

I don't know how many layers we have. How deep the soul goes and how many times we can fall apart and get back up and re-invent. But I think I might keep trying to push it. To explore and shed skins and try again.

From one of the best days of my life came the deepest, darkest depression that ripped me apart layer by layer.

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 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.

To sign up for hope is to sign up for heartbreak over and over again, yet to believe good is coming. Are the optimists and idealists stronger than supposed? There are those who compulsively hope. I stand among them. 

One day I thought, “The reason people say it’s all about the journey is because it is all a journey.  My calling is to live as a child of the light. And I have a whole life to work on doing that.  In fact, I HAVE been working on it – my whole life.”

The motivation to go and see new things is great, but we find ourselves now using travel as a reset. A way to step back from the normal, see and experience something new, and use our time to reflect on our priorities.

Some days, I’m grateful for the privilege of a full-time job with set hours and sick time. Some days, I deal with the coffee maker at work and consider taking a lighter to my diplomas. It’s hard.

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.

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. 

"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.

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?”

My brain was hijacked by overwhelming fear at the age of twelve. A fear so strong that it eventually took over my whole being. At the time, I did not understand why all of this was happening to me. 

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. 

“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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

"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.

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.

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.

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.

“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. 

I’ve known for a long time that grief is very individual. But I didn’t feel the full truth of it until Memere, my maternal grandmother, died last April.

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.

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.

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.

On good days, social media creates communities, celebration, and encouragement. On bad days, it leaves you feeling drained, angry, and like you'll never be as good as the people filling up your feed.

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.