Friday, July 8, 2016


An antidote is defined as the substance that counteracts a disease or poison. Life is full of all kinds of disease and poison; some of it being literal, and much of it being metaphorical. If you’re reading this blog post and you’ve read what I’ve written here previously, you know that I’ve struggled a great deal with many challenges that have been depressing and difficult—as we all do in some way. Getting through each day can be a strain, sometimes more than others, but one thing I’ve learned through the years is that gratitude truly does counteract the intensity of hardship and struggle. As it says in one of the songs from the movie White Christmas (one of my all-time favorites during the season) “If you’re worried and you can’t sleep, just count your blessings instead of sheep.” Counting blessings doesn’t necessarily help me sleep, given my messed up body chemistry, but it always helps me get some perspective.

I believe part of why assessing how blessed we are is beneficial stems back to the fact that we are humbled enough to acknowledge that all we have comes from God. When we take the time and make the effort to consider how much God has given us, and how much that’s good in our lives, we cannot help but realize that He is IN our lives, and therefore we are not alone. The other powerful facet of gratitude is simply to help us keep perspective. Being grateful for all that’s good doesn’t magically erase all of the challenges, and it’s important to be realistic about what we are up against. But consciously stepping into the paradigm of assessing and appreciating what’s good offers perspective and grants strength and comfort. I know it to be true, because I’ve practiced it for many years.

A very long time ago I became aware of the concept of a gratitude journal. I’ve heard it come up from many different sources, with different suggestions of how to do it. I think what works best is an individual preference. While I’ve done well at this here and there, I’m often not good at following through on just writing down what I’m grateful for, but I’m pretty good at mentally recounting those things. However, I’ve read studies of how the act of writing something down shifts the way our brain perceives it, so I’m offering a challenge for you to get yourself a notebook or journal dedicated to a gratitude list that you can add to regularly—and therefore refer to it when you need a boost—or perhaps at least designate a file on your electronic device where you can quickly jot down the things that are good in your life when they come to mind. 

Since I know that we all have our own individual struggles, I’m proposing that we begin a list right here. I’ll start by listing some of the things I think about every day that help me remember how blessed I am. I invite anyone reading this to add to the list. Write as many things as you want, or just one. Leave as many comment posts as you feel inclined. Perhaps together we can generate some positive force of energy that might ripple out into our lives and the lives of those around us that will help us feel stronger as a community in facing our challenges.

I’m EXTREMELY grateful to all of you who read this blog, which makes my efforts actually worth something. I’m especially grateful to those of you who have left personal and touching comments here on the blog, or who have commented on my Facebook pages about it, or who have emailed me with support and encouragement. Your efforts mean so much to me. Although I have not always been able to respond to your comments, I want you to know that they don’t go unnoticed or unappreciated. Thank you!

This is a big one for me in the overall summary of something I think is so easily taken for granted. I’m grateful for peace and prosperity, safety and protection. Even with financial struggles, accidents, etc. we cannot deny that we are a remarkably prosperous people—those of us who live in the first world, as they define it. If you have a computer, a roof over your head, enough to eat, and feel relatively safe, you have much to be grateful for. These are things we often don’t think about; we just lives our lives and take for granted that this is the way it is. But it isn’t this way for so many people in the world.

I’m grateful to live in THIS time and in THIS place. I’ve written historical novels and sometimes going to previous time periods where life seemed less complicated feels so appealing. The present can often feel so daunting and overwhelming—because it is—and the world can be a scary place. However, we have so many blessings in being those who were born here and now. 

Expounding on the last one: I’m SO grateful for indoor plumbing, electricity, central air, and all of the electronic devices and appliances that go along with that. What would I ever do without them? I’m so grateful!

Sometimes when I’m feeling especially down over the pain I’m in, or the lack of sleep I suffer from, I will close my eyes and mentally list all that I have that makes it easier to endure these challenges. I’m grateful for my comfortable bed, my lovely bedroom, the supplements and medications that help ease my symptoms, the TV and DVR and computer that make it so easy to access information and entertainment that helps keep me distracted when I literally can’t do anything else. 

I’m grateful for access to good food. This is a big one for me. Since I can’t eat gluten, dairy, eggs, soy, or corn, I often feel hungry and crave things I can’t have, and my choices are so limited on what I CAN have. Since I don’t feel well, it’s difficult to cook for myself, and it takes a lot more effort than the way I used to cook. HOWEVER, I live in a time and place when there are so many good things available to me, and I have come to truly appreciate a good, safe meal. I also have to add how grateful I am to think that my children have never gone hungry. I’ve always had something to feed them. My father knew real hunger in his childhood, during the depression, and so many people in the world DO know true hunger. And most of us can’t even imagine what that’s like. How can we not be grateful for that? 

I’m grateful for all the parts of my body that are free of pain and functioning properly. When pain and illness are a part of my daily life, it’s easy to only focus on what hurts. Pain has a way of screaming very loudly for attention. But I often remind myself—and take the time to express my gratitude to God—for everything that works just fine and doesn’t hurt. If you add up all the body parts and body systems, the percentage is hugely in my favor. It could always be so much worse! 

And speaking of my body, I have to acknowledge how grateful I am for the way it has held together through so much difficulty. Sometimes I can feel like my body has betrayed me and let me down, but in actuality, my body has survived cancer and a life-threatening disease. It has kept me going when I needed it to in spite of being deprived of so much of what it needed through many long years of not knowing what was going on. It has given me five beautiful and amazing children. I can look in the mirror after a shower and see a lot of scars and ugliness; I can focus on the extra pounds and flabbiness of the descending end of middle age, and the evidence of having incubated those babies. Or I can see much evidence of survival and strength. I can love my five-baby belly because it was stretched to unreasonable limits and it deserves to be flabby for its efforts. I can look at the scars that exist where my breasts used to be and see the battle scars which prove I was blessed enough to survive the attack of one of the great beasts of our time. Thank you, Body! You’re awesome! Just hang in with me until my life’s work is done, and then you can rest. 

I’m grateful for my gift of writing. It’s been a blessing and a curse, but it’s part of who I am, and I’m so grateful for the joy and fulfillment it’s given me, as well as the way it has helped our family financially through many challenges. You might read this one and think: But I’m not a writer, or an artist, or an athlete, or whatever. But EVERY person has SOMETHING unique about what they do and how they do it. Find it, embrace it, let it help you be your best self.

I’m grateful for TRUE friends; the kind that see the real you and never judge or criticize, even when they disagree with you. What a vast difference there is, and how clearly I’ve come to see it! The value of true friendship is remarkably priceless!

I’m grateful for a beautiful family! No one is more aware of the weaknesses of my family members than I am. We are all so grossly imperfect and in some ways dysfunctional. But we love each other, and we respect each other’s differences, and I’m grateful for every one of them—my grown up babies, and the new little grandbabies, and the husband who has been with me for the long haul. It’s been a rough road, as family usually is, but there is nothing more valuable or worthwhile than the commitment and dedication we have the opportunity to offer to those we love most. 

I’m grateful for this computer I’m writing on. Geez! I remember my old typewriters, and the computers of more than thirty years ago, the dinosaurs that were so temperamental and challenging. For a writer, this technology is over the top! Charles Dickens and others like him would have been blown away by the very idea of not having to dip a quill into ink after every sentence or two. 

I’m going to stop here. I could go on and on, but now it’s time for you to add to the list. Humor me and take a minute to comment. Let my gratitude feed yours, and let your gratitude feed mine, and let’s focus on all the good we have and allow it counteract the challenges and scariness of the world.

I’m grateful for you! Love you all!

Friday, June 24, 2016


In my last post I promised to write about the beginnings of THE HORSTBERG SAGA, and hopefully along the way it will answer some of the frequently asked questions that have come to me through the years. 

I began writing when I was sixteen. My sister and I cowrote a novel which I doubt will ever see the light of day. It was practice. But it did awaken in me a very strong conviction that writing fiction was my calling in life. I certainly had no idea how far that conviction would take me, nor how intensely difficult the journey would be. I can look back now and see that the first seeds of Horstberg were planted in my mind during those high school years. There was a song I loved and a novel I’d read that both intrigued me, as if there were just some tiny elements in them that were leading me to something more that I needed to figure out. A few years later when my first child was an infant, the story began to take shape and I started writing. I was a terrible writer back then, which I define to mean that the storytelling was a gift and the story was coming to my mind very clearly, but I didn’t have the writing skills to transfer what I could see and hear in my mind into anything remotely readable. But being young and insecure in a world where having the hobby of being a romance novelist did not fit into any category of normality, I stopped writing completely for about three years. I had written a detailed outline of the first Horstberg book (although at the time I believed it to be the ONLY one; no saga was intended initially) and I stuffed it away somewhere and focused on trying to find other avenues of creativity that would soothe me. I taught dance and ran my own dance studio for two years. I did counted cross stitch and a lot of sewing. I tried to learn cake decorating and did a lot of crafty things; the things that all the other women I knew were doing. When my second child was moving toward a year old, I experienced what I have come to call “A Horstberg Day.” There are only a handful of people in my life who know what that means, but if they hear that phrase, they know EXACTLY what it means. 

I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday, which I have come to learn means that it was undoubtedly a spiritual moment, and it had enormous emotional impact. I recall being near the front window of the little house we were renting, and glancing outside to see that the trees across the street were almost completely bare of leaves, and there was a flock of crows playing among the branches. The sky was heavy and dark with the threat of that first storm when autumn converges into winter. The wind was blowing and the last leaves of autumn were being tugged off the trees. I felt drawn to go outside as if I’d been hypnotized. I remember sitting on my porch and just taking in the atmosphere as if it could fill me up, the way water soaks into a dry sponge. I thought to myself that this was the kind of day that Abbi had become lost on the mountain above the valley of Horstberg, and Cameron had saved her life. It was exactly this kind of day! And then I felt it flood back into me. The plot, the characters, the absolute love of storytelling that was a part of my deepest self all flooded back into me. I knew in an instant that I had been giving into a form of peer pressure that had been squelching a gift God had given me that I needed to acknowledge and use, even if it caused an upset in my life. It felt as if I needed to write or die; I believe I would completely shrivel up inside and die of unhappiness if I didn’t fight for the right to be a storyteller. My entire life changed in that Horstberg moment; Horstberg was the means by which my gift was brought back to me and I finally, fully accepted it into my being and committed myself to this life riddled with overwhelming challenges and opposition, and remarkable creative experiences and miracles.

Of course I’ve written many, many book besides the five novels that now comprise the Horstberg Saga, but Horstberg is most precious to me. The corporation I have through which I do my business transactions is called Key to the Kingdom Productions. For me, Horstberg represents the kingdom (given the castle and the duke in the story it’s kind of really a kingdom) but metaphorically for me it’s the place I go in my mind where my characters and stories exist, and the key that takes me there is this God-given gift that has always left me in awe. I often feel like being a storyteller has been both a blessing and a curse, but I think that’s the way all truly good things must feel to anyone who experiences them. I have truly invested blood, sweat, and tears into these books. I have sacrificed and fought and struggled to get them written the way I believe in my deepest self they were meant to be written, and I have fought even harder to make them available to the public. None of this turned out the way I expected. Publishing has changed a great deal, and the story has met a great deal of resistance which differs depending on what group of people you talk to. There are the stuffy Mormons who make up what some of us in the business refer to as the Self-appointed Morality Patrol who believe that some of my historical fiction is horrible because people don’t always make the best choices and human intimacy and the associated feelings are actually acknowledged. I have been accused of writing pornography and “detailed sexual acts.” If you’ve read the books, or you do in the future, I hope you will see that these people have no idea of the definition of these accusations. I stand by what I’ve written and know that it was done with God’s blessing, the way it was intended to be written. I can’t put work out into the world that will make a positive difference if it’s written in a way that’s unrealistic, stuffy, or contrived. These characters are not Mormons and it’s ridiculous to assume they would behave as if they were. I’ve also come up against enormous roadblocks over the course of many years in trying to get these stories published. I can’t count how many times I was told (through the medium of rejection letters) that the story was good, the writing was good, but it was just too . . . different, and it didn’t fit into any particular slot. Well . . . hello . . . my whole point was NOT to fit into a slot, but to create something that rose above other fiction because it IS different. 

Now they are finally published and available, but there were no huge advances (as I often dreamed of) and they mostly sit on amazon and remain unnoticed. My heart hurts over thinking of them remaining so obscure when my heart is so invested. But I’m holding to the belief that all the love and hard work I poured into them will pay off.

More than thirty years since my “Horstberg Day” experience, I always anticipate those kind of days in the autumn when the sky has a certain, indescribable look, and there’s an unmistakable feeling in the air that winter is pushing its way through. I think of Abbi and Cameron (as well as their posterity and loved ones) and how much a part of my lives they have been. Their journey is so closely integrated into my own life’s journey, and I love them dearly for all that they taught me as they each came to understand who they really are and what God had intended for them to do with their lives. 

I think I need to go check in with them and see how they’re doing. There are some scenes that will never grow old, and I hear them calling to me. 

Love you all! Anita 

Wednesday, June 15, 2016


t’s been way too many weeks since I last posted, and nearly every day during that time I’ve tried to talk myself into doing it, knowing it would help me feel better. But it’s pathetic being too depressed to even be able to write down some thoughts about depression. I’m starting to pull myself together and force myself to do just a little bit every day that will help me feel productive. And while I certainly have some thoughts to share about my recent experiences and what I continue to learn, I feel more compelled today to take a completely different avenue in what I want to share. 

For those of you who are not yet familiar with Horstberg, it is a fictional country in the heart of Bavaria, and it began germinating in my creative brain almost forty years ago. Of everything I’ve written—or will likely ever write—Horstberg is most dear to me. The journey experienced by these characters and the things they learn (all amidst some pretty intense plotlines) is as real to me as anything else in my life. As of a year or so ago, all five volumes of this series—which I have worked on amidst other projects for decades—were finally available to readers both in electronic and print form through The books have an average of 4.8 star ratings, and it’s wonderful to know they are out there. The problem is that without marketing funds available, it seems not very many people know they’re out there, so they aren’t selling nearly as well as I had hoped—which is depressing. (Reference to overall blog theme here.) 

Nevertheless, I still have high hopes for the Horstberg Saga; I believe it’s a story that’s powerful enough and unique enough to break past barriers, and I keep hoping and praying that it will. As a writer, I’ve found an interesting conundrum in the reality of finally seeing a story like this in print. It’s like when an artist signs a painting, frames it, and hangs it in a gallery. It’s done, over, finis. After sharing years and years of a complicated journey with these characters, they no longer need me—like kids who have gotten married and they now have their own homes. I can check in with them, but my part in their story is done. Still, I have a remarkable string of memories related to my time in Horstberg, and the journey will always be dear to me.

Long before I ever considered writing for the LDS market, it was my dream to write powerful historical romantic suspenseful novels for a world market. If you’ve read and enjoyed “The Gable Faces East,” “Gables Against the Sky,” “Towers of Brierley,” and the “Buchanan Saga,” then you’ll know what I mean when I say that these books are different from those that I’ve written for the LDS market, even though not all of the other books necessarily have LDS content. My goal was always to write books that would be much more clean than what was out there, and that my characters would have a strong moral compass, and that sin and crime would always result in appropriate consequences. Many readers get that and understand it; others have judged these books (and me) very harshly, and hate mail has flowed forth. I still stand by them as being a far more clean and appropriate option, but I respect those who might prefer not to read them. (But please don’t write me hate mail about it.) For this and other reasons, I’ve released these books under the pen name Elizabeth D. Michaels, mostly just to differentiate the genre. I wish I could go back and put my pen name on those other books; perhaps it could have avoided some of the hating and cruel judgment that took place. 

Anyway, back to Horstberg. Given that it IS a fictional country, not unlike Genovia in the Princess Diary movies, I was able to create my own laws and social dynamics for the country, even though I did my best to make it historically accurate to how things worked in Bavaria at the time. I would call the story a realistic fairy tale. There’s a castle and a royal family and happy endings, and there’s murder and treason and tyranny and all kinds of other drama along the way. But woven into this larger-than-life story that is capable of transporting a reader to another place and time, there are real social and emotional issues the characters go through that are timeless and full of life lessons. 

I miss the magic of Horstberg, of being able to go there and see what needed revisions or adjustments. I can still go back and read my favorite scenes, and maybe one day enough time will have passed that I can just read it from start to finish again and actually enjoy it. (The editing process has a way of making you sick of stories even when you love them.) I envy readers who have the opportunity to start at the beginning and not know what’s going to happen, or even if they DO know, or they figure it out, they can enjoy the journey of getting there through the eyes of these remarkable characters. 

For some reason I’m feeling very nostalgic about Horstberg, so in response to questions that readers have posed to me in regard to the project, I’m going to write a little about how it began and evolved through the next blog post....or two or three; we’ll see how it goes. 

If you’ve not yet had the privilege of visiting Horstberg, I’m happy to say that there’s now a website with all the information you need in one place. Spoiler alert: Don’t read the backliners (what’s usually on the back of a book) for volumes two through five until you’ve finished reading the first book! 

I’d love to hear your comments if you feel inclined to share here, or you can email me at

I hope that all of you who take the time to read what I write here will be richly blessed in your lives, and that you’re finding joy in the midst of summer.

God bless you all, Anita

P.S. My daughter Anna (amazing artist AND amazing daughter) did all of the cover art for these books. Go to the website just to see her beautiful paintings if nothing else. To see more of her work, you can go to

Monday, May 16, 2016


As a part of the healing journey that I began discussing in my last entry, I found myself drawn strongly to the scripture in the New Testament about beams and motes. 

Before I get into that, let me point out a principle I learned from the Doctrine and Covenants, which over time and with much experimenting I have found to be true. It states in section nine, verse nine—as part of the guidelines of correct decision making—that if something is not right you will have a “stupor of thought that shall cause you to forget the thing which is wrong.” A light bulb went off in my head one day that made me realize that the opposite is also true, specifically, if something sticks in your head and you CANNOT forget it, then you need to pay attention to the thought and follow where it leads. This concept has never failed me.

So . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about beams and motes. And since I’d been praying for guidance on how to overcome all of my emotional baggage and become my best self, I had to follow up on my thinking, doing some studying and pondering and praying, and see what I might learn. A powerful lesson followed that did not disappoint me, but it has been difficult to apply in my life. The scripture to which I refer is found in Matthew chapter seven. After Jesus states one of his most famous edicts: “Judge not, that ye be not judged,” He asks this powerful question: “And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye? Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye? Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother’s eye.” 

Okay. I love it when scripture is so full of depth about the human condition, and it is completely in alignment with accurate psychology of appropriate human behavior. The analogy is impossible to NOT understand. We all know what a beam is. As far as a piece of wood goes, even a small beam is pretty enormous when you imagine it sticking out of your eye. To metaphorically state that a beam is blocking your vision doesn’t leave any dispute over the meaning. A mote, on the other hand, is a speck, a tiny sliver at most. The comparison between a beam and a mote is huge. It’s like the difference between a leaf and a tree, a breeze and a tornado, a sticky note and a library. But does this not describe human nature so well? Are we not all guilty of being so preoccupied with the faults and imperfections of the OTHER person that we are oblivious to our own idiocies? And Jesus’s use of the word “hypocrite” is sobering. In all of my studying of the New Testament and the teachings of Jesus, I’ve always been fascinated with the fact that He never speaks unkindly or without love to the sinners or the beggars or the diseased. Even to the woman taken in adultery, and the woman at the well who was living in sin, He was kind and loving and He taught them with respect and humility. The only people that Jesus openly rebuked were the hypocrites and the self-righteous. In acknowledging wholeheartedly that Jesus is my greatest and best exemplar, the last thing I want is to be in THAT category. Which is why I began asking in prayer to be shown the beams in my eyes, so that I could do as the scriptures were teaching here and remove them so that I could see myself clearly before I started thinking I knew what was wrong in my relationships, or the people with whom I shared them. 

I’m not going to get personal enough here on the World Wide Web to go into detail about what I discovered. My beams are mine, and some of them definitely tie into that “wound” I discussed in my last entry. The point is that I know what my beams are, and I have worked very hard to remove them from my vision, to overcome them, and to be a better person, and more accurately self-aware. I’ve found that a truly accurate self-awareness is key to finding true joy in this life, and it’s essential to having any kind of truly healthy relationship in any aspect of life. This concept is further expounded on in Ether 12:27 in the Book of Mormon. Whether you’re a Mormon or not, the powerful teaching here is undeniable. “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.” 

To summarize my view of this concept: If we humbly and with faith ask God for His help, He will show us our weaknesses and help us turn them into strengths. Hence, He will show us the beams and every little mote in our eyes and help remove them so that we can see ourselves and our lives clearly in order to make them better. 

So, after diligently assessing my beams and motes and working hard to remove them in order to improve my vision, I was confronted with the next part of the equation. Jesus said that we could then see clearly to cast out the mote from the eyes of our brother (obviously meant to imply any person, male or female, with whom we share relationships). Okay . . . well . . . it didn’t take much thought to realize that most people have no interest in having you tell them about the mote in their eye. Even if you have complete confidence that you are seeing the situation clearly, that doesn’t mean the other person believes that you do, or that they even care. I’m still struggling over this part of the equation, especially in light of what I wrote about previously—the fact that I have trouble using my voice to appropriately express what my deepest instincts are telling me. 

While I’m still working to iron out my own enormous imperfections, I’m also trying to find my footing in my foundling discoveries of being able to apply all I’m learning to make my life and my relationships better. Many people have gradually slipped out of my life (even before I made these discoveries) and I’m actually glad for it. In looking back I can now see how many friendships I had were not based in emotionally healthy dynamics, and friendship should be based in truth and absolute trust or it isn’t truly friendship. Many relationship are for life (or forever) and it’s difficult to feel myself changing dramatically while people around me remain the same and it’s clearly evident they’re not interested in the ways I’ve changed and the reasons for it. In fact, I’ve found that by learning to communicate in a more forthright and appropriate way, some people respect me more and relationships have improved; with others it’s the opposite, and some people are clearly uncomfortable with the new me. Overall my life is still the same; I’m still me, and the most important characteristic of me is that I have a sincere desire to be loving and charitable toward others, and to live my life in a way that would be pleasing to God. The biggest change that’s taken place inside of me is that I know I need to be more loving and charitable toward myself. The charge to “love thy neighbor as thyself” is a two-edged morsel of wisdom. Some people love themselves at the expense of others (usually unaware that they’re even doing it) and other people love others at the expense of themselves (also unaware). In order to achieve balance, we must be charitable toward others and ourselves and genuinely see that we are all children of God, all struggling, all weak, all with varying degrees of beams and motes that block our vision. It’s my hope that with some effort we can all learn to see more clearly, and learn to live our lives accordingly. It’s certainly an ongoing process. 

Thursday, May 5, 2016


In my last entry, I finished it up with a lengthy quote from the book “Hungry” by Dr. Robin L. Smith. So, you don’t have to go look it up, I’m going to copy it again here. You can skip past it if you read the last entry recently, although repetitive reading of such deep and powerful words usually can’t hurt.

“It’s a real challenge to find people in our lives who are willing to speak the truth. Not to overstep their bounds, but also not to collude by going along with situations that are destructive without compassionately reflecting what they see. Are you willing to speak the truth in that way—to yourself and those you love? Speaking truth with tenderness and compassion is the only real way to create genuine and intimate connections with ourselves and others. Unfortunately, most of us are not taught to responsibly or respectfully speak the truth. In fact, we are taught exact opposite. Most of us learn to nurse our lies the way you would an evening cocktail you’ve craved all day long. . . . 

“‘You shall know the truth and it shall set you free.’ I remind people that the promise of those words isn’t that the truth will make us happy (although sometimes it does). The promise is that truth will make us free. Truth is freedom. Truth is love. Truth allows us to grow and heal. Light and darkness are needed for growth. We need both day and night, waking and sleep, work and play, speaking and silence, giving and receiving. Truth abides in all.

“When we know ourselves, trust ourselves, and surround ourselves with loving, healthy, and honest support, we are able to create the life we are worthy of living. There is something almost intoxicating about being in the presence of compassionate truth-seeking and -speaking people. It’s an incubator for growth, healing, and wholeness.” 

To help you understand the impact of this principle to me, allow me to share a great discovery about myself that I was guided to a few years ago, and the timing of being led to this book exactly when I needed the strength and validation it gave me.

I came to understand years ago that the trials of life are often meant to teach us lessons about ourselves so that we can become better people if we choose to seek out the lesson and apply it. Through years of physical suffering and other intense life challenges, I have actively looked to God to show me the lessons He would have me learn so that I could be able to put certain trials behind me. I’ve certainly learned a great deal, and I will continue to strive to become better, whether the trials relent or not. One thing I’ve learned is that it’s not a simple equation of learning equals deliverance. It’s more that a continued trust in God equals peace no matter what’s happening. But that’s a different conversation. 

Anyway, as I was diligently asking to be shown what God might want me to learn, I had a number of different experiences. One of them I will refer to as discovering “The Wound.” I had heard the concept that each person has “a wound” deep inside that is the core of their personal issues, their unhappiness, their struggles with life and relationships; that in many cases, most problems in a person’s life are symptoms of “the wound,” and that many or most of their problems are tentacles that branch off of “the wound.” I kept thinking about the idea, as if it were clinging to my brain by some power beyond my own; it was as if God were trying to tell me that if I could figure out my own personal “wound” I could truly start to unravel the great mystery of me and why I am the way I am—for better or worse. 

I was astonished with a startling reminder that God really is there, He really is listening, and He really cares about me as an individual when the answer came to me (after much time and prayer and pondering) with clarity and strength. The truth filled my every cell, and it was shocking by the way it shook me emotionally to the core. Evidence of the truthfulness of this personal revelation came in the way that I could look back through my life and see how my “wound” had impacted my decisions, my relationships, my career, and certainly the way I saw myself—which was greatly distorted due to the nature of the “wound” and how it had tainted my view on the world around me and my place in it. This process took many months; in fact I really don’t know how long, but it seems like a very long time. And in truth I’m still learning how to deal with it, but I’ve learned a great deal about what it means and what I need to do to overcome it. Knowing and doing are dramatically different, however, and changing half a century of seeing life through the wrong lens is no easy undertaking.

Getting back to the point, I realized that my “wound” was the absence of my voice. I had been robbed of my voice. Of course, that needs some explanation in order to make any sense at all. I can physically speak, obviously. And it seems strange that a writer and public speaker would be a person who had trouble using her voice. Truthfully, to become a writer and public speaker was a long, hard battle that was all a part of trying to claim my voice; I just didn’t consciously realize exactly what was happening while I was in the heat of that battle. 

To put it simply, I was raised in a home where I was not allowed to express my own thoughts and feelings, therefore I was raised to subconsciously believe I did not have a voice. I show no disrespect to my parents in making this statement. They were both good-hearted and amazing people, who have now passed on, and I absolutely know I was loved and cared for and they did the best they knew in raising their children. The problem was that when it came to raising children I believe they were mostly just reacting subconsciously according to the way they’d been raised, and so it had gone for many generations. In my upbringing I learned no problem-solving skills, no communication skills, and since both of my parents had their own brand of insecurity and poor self-esteem, I learned that by example as well as by behavior. These behaviors were perpetuated by other family members, and of course I was drawn to people who subconsciously validated my lack of voice. Hence, a young gullible, naive, insecure woman entered adulthood with a complete inability to speak up. People with stronger personalities seemed to be drawn to me because I wouldn’t contradict them, no matter what my instincts were telling me. As the Spirit brought clearly to my remembrance dozens—perhaps hundreds—of encounters in my life where I had remained quiet when something inside of me was screaming in protest, I realized how much I had ALLOWED myself to be mistreated and misunderstood. That was it. That was my big “wound.” I had been robbed of my voice. 

Of course, you can’t fix something if you don’t know about it. But once you know about it, you have to take responsibility and do something about it. Well . . . you could go into denial and shove it down deeper, but that’s certainly not going to help if you’re sincerely striving to become a better person. In acknowledging and identifying the “wound” I was confronted with an onslaught of grief. I couldn’t regret what I couldn’t go back and change, but I was horrified to look at how messed up my life was as a result of my “wound,” and I had to grieve for the possibilities of what might have been different. Of course, we’re all wounded, and we all just eventually have to grow up and get over it. I had to forgive all the people who had unintentionally hurt me. I could only think of maybe two or three people in my entire life who might have actually intended to hurt me, having a conscious recognition of my weaknesses. The rest was all truly unintentional. But it was my responsibility to forgive everyone. And perhaps most importantly, to forgive myself. 

I’m still learning how to find my voice and use it, how to acknowledge when my feelings and instincts are alerting me to the need to speak. Or—as I have learned—the need to stay silent. Sometimes remaining silent is the most powerful choice, but it’s important to acknowledge that it’s a conscious choice, to understand that silence is the right thing, not the weak thing; that silence is sometimes a courageous choice, not a cowardly one. 

The “wound” is still healing, and it requires much nurturing and a vast retraining of the deepest parts of my psyche. But I’m working on it. Hence I go back to the quote at the beginning of this entry. I am seeking people and situations in my life where I can speak truth and stand in truth and allow truth to be my foundation. I’ve been told—and I believe—that the truth will set me free. I’m moving forward with that belief.

Here’s to the truth, the real truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Anita

Friday, April 22, 2016


Due to my ongoing health challenges, I have only been able to attend church a handful of times in the last few years. This has been a strange experience for me, since I’ve always been a church-going person, and it’s always meant something to me. These days I hear a lot of dispute over spirituality vs. religion, and many people speak out against the need to be part of a religious body in order to be spiritual, and religion sometimes gets a bad rap. I’ve certainly heard of many examples of how the structure and dictates of religion (many different religions referred to here) have caused damage in a person’s life, and these cases are valid. Of course, a person’s experiences and perspective are all relative. Some people use religion as a tyrannical tool in the lives of their family members; some religious leaders have certainly abused their power and have lost sight of their place in the big picture, hence causing damage when instead they should be about the business of saving souls. I could expound a great deal, but suffice to say that you can be a spiritual person without being religious, and you can certainly be religious without being spiritual. It’s my personal belief that a balance of both is the greatest key to happiness in this life, as long as you have the good sense to listen to your own conscience and instincts in regard to both, and achieve the correct balance. For me, the very fact of not being able to attend church meetings has not made me less religious, and I have certainly grown spiritually through this season of life. Both are still very important to me, and I continue to seek out truth and apply it to myself for the purpose of becoming closer to God in my own personal relationship with Him. I see spirituality as a oneness with God, and religion as being part of a community and belief system that helps achieve that goal. Unable to actively be a part of that community has not been easy, but it has not lessened my convictions. Sometimes the way that certain people distort religious beliefs can make being part of the community challenging. But we are all imperfect, and we are all on this journey together, and the most important thing is our own personal devotion to God.

In the absence of being able to leave my bedroom on Sundays, I have sought for ways to bring some form of inspiring messages and personal worship into my life—especially on the Sabbath. I’m often not very good at it due to the ongoing depression, which makes it difficult to engage in anything, but I still try to make Sunday different from other days. I don’t do anything related to business or finances, for one thing. I watch a lot of television in order to cope with my life stuck in this bed, but there are certain things I just don’t watch on Sundays, wanting to create a different atmosphere in my life as much as possible. What I’m really working up to is that I’ve been guided to some really amazing and inspiring things as a result of my search for something uplifting on my long, lonely Sundays. 

At this point I have to bring up the thirteenth article of faith. If you’re a Mormon like me, you have to be terribly familiar with it, but like many of our teachings, sometimes we only see the surface of it and we benefit greatly by looking deeper. Unfortunately, I know of many Mormons who choose not to embrace much of anything if it isn’t produced, created, or written by Mormons. This implies somehow that Mormons have the corner on all things good and inspiring, which is absolutely absurd. Of course there are many amazing and uplifting things I can find on at any time. But that is far from the only source of such things. To quote the profound article number thirteen, “...If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” Note the word ANYTHING. The world is full of truth and goodness and wonderfully inspired people who have great things to say. My life has been changed for the better more times than I can count by the words—whether written or spoken—of people who do not share my religious beliefs. And I would like to start sharing here on my blog some of the great things I’ve learned.

For starters, I have come to really enjoy the television program “Super Soul Sunday” on the OWN network. On this Sunday morning program, Oprah Winfrey interviews people who have written inspiring or spiritual books, or who have had life experiences that offer an uplifting message. There are some people she’s interviewed who hold no interest for me. I can watch five minutes and delete the recording because I don’t feel like they’re coming from a place of genuine humility in their experiences, or I simply can’t relate. But more often I’ve heard discussions with people who have great insight into the human experience and our connection to God—even if their definition of God and/or their beliefs vary greatly from my own. Truth is truth, and even if people don’t agree on the whole definition of truth, that doesn’t mean they don’t have truth to offer. And many of these truths have offered me great morsels of wisdom and light that have helped me put together the puzzle pieces of my scattered life. 

I once read an analogy (sorry I can’t recall a reference to the person responsible; it was decades ago) that we live in a mortal world where many different tools are needed to fix problems. For instance, the Atonement of Jesus Christ can’t fix a broken car; you need a trained professional and the right tools. And even in regard to our dysfunctional lives and emotional problems, sometimes we need the same: trained professionals and the right tools. And then the Atonement can be more accessible to us as we sift through all of our personal garbage and find a way to bring ourselves closer to the light of Christ. Point being in my case, that I’ve read many books, heard many interviews on televisions, listened to many TED talks, etc. etc. that have had a profound influence on me and have helped me put the pieces together so that I can be more emotionally healthy and spiritually strong, and I have felt God’s hand in leading me to these things. I have enough common sense to be able to discern the line where other people’s beliefs are not the same as mine, but still be able to respect and accept where their wisdom and insight is exactly what I need at any particular time in my life. 

In the future I may be sharing some particular quotes or insights that I’ve found inspiring. For now, I would like to mention a few people who have altered my life for good through the sharing of their stories and experiences. Because I’ve gotten comments here on the blog and on Facebook that there are at least a few people out there reading this who are going through similar struggles, perhaps something in my suggestions might resonate with you and make a positive difference.

The book “Hungry” by Dr. Robin L. Smith is one of the best books I have ever read. It’s strongly Christian and deeply powerful in coming to understand the purpose of trials in life. This is one of THE best self-help books I’ve ever read! I feel like Dr. Robin is one of my best friends.

I also recommend the authors Brene Brown, Wayne W. Dyer, and Iyanla Vanzant. These are powerful and amazing people who have changed my life. All of them have multiple books. I would suggest that if you’re interested, go to amazon, look through book descriptions, and see what calls to you.

Now, I will leave you with a quote from the book “Hungry” which awakened something deeply aching in me, and it describes in essence a huge part of the journey I’m on.

“It’s a real challenge to find people in our lives who are willing to speak the truth. Not to overstep their bounds, but also not to collude by going along with situations that are destructive without compassionately reflecting what they see. Are you willing to speak the truth in that way—to yourself and those you love? Speaking truth with tenderness and compassion is the only real way to create genuine and intimate connections with ourselves and others. Unfortunately, most of us are not taught to responsibly or respectfully speak the truth. In fact, we are taught exact opposite. Most of us learn to nurse our lies the way you would an evening cocktail you’ve craved all day long. . . . 

“‘You shall know the truth and it shall set you free.’ I remind people that the promise of those words isn’t that the truth will make us happy (although sometimes it does). The promise is that truth will make us free. Truth is freedom. Truth is love. Truth allows us to grow and heal. Light and darkness are needed for growth. We need both day and night, waking and sleep, work and play, speaking and silence, giving and receiving. Truth abides in all.

“When we know ourselves, trust ourselves, and surround ourselves with loving, healthy, and honest support, we are able to create the life we are worthy of living. There is something almost intoxicating about being in the presence of compassionate truth-seeking and -speaking people. It’s an incubator for growth, healing, and wholeness.” 

As I copy down this little tidbit from Dr. Robin’s book, I feel renewed by it once again as it reminds me of something that has always been greatly lacking in my life, and the importance of working toward making it better. May we all keep moving closer to our own personal truth, and may it set us free.

God bless you all, Anita

Friday, April 8, 2016


But I’m not! Since my last entry, I’ve had it in the back of my head that I need to do some serious blog writing, and time has passed and I’m overdue to post something. Then it begins to feel like a pressure or a duty, when it shouldn’t because I really love this kind of writing, and I’ve felt such gratitude for those of you who have left gracious and compassionate comments, either here on the blog or on one of my Facebook pages, or Instagram (horstbergwriter). So, why is it that it can be so difficult to do the very thing that will help us feel better? I think that is the ten-million dollar question associated with depression. If depression had rational answers to the difficult questions, those of us struggling with it probably wouldn’t be depressed.

I recognize that there are different types of depression, and I know very well that mine is a complex combination, however it is mostly situational. If my physical health were not such a dominating factor in how I live my life, I know I would feel better. That’s not unrealistic or any form of denial. I’ve been working on this problem for years, and I know that the two are definitely integrated. Although, there are days when I can feel lousy physically and still feel lighter emotionally and more motivated to accomplish something productive, so again, it’s difficult to find a rational answer. The obvious lack of logic is difficult for the human brain to process.

Another source of my hesitation has been in not wanting to make this blog depressing for those who read it. I’ve brought this up before, but alas, it feels like a concern to me. How can I write something uplifting and inspired when I don’t feel it? I’ve been managing to do some sorting and organizing in my bedroom in little bursts, attempting to make my surroundings more pleasant, and I came across a journal I had written in for a short time a few years ago. That’s typical for me. I have many journals that were written in for short periods of time. And my reason for stopping is usually the same. And that is all the sameness. It all just starts to sound like I’m writing the same thing over and over. I mention events with my family here and there, and other odds and ends, but mostly it’s just hand-written evidence of a daily struggle to feel well, and what feels like a losing battle to conquer this beast of poor health in spite of my every best effort. In this three-year-old journal (and I have similar ones that are much older) there’s mention of planning my son’s wedding and some details of life that I’m glad I recorded. But the overall tone of my writing there could be the same now. On some days I could only write a sentence or two to indicate that it was just another one of those days. 

The only real answer I can find is simply to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep getting out of bed. Keep taking care of my home and family, even if that means a lot of delegating and calling on others for help. Keep writing—both blogs and novels—little by little as I can. And right now I’m determined to make my surroundings more orderly and pleasant, because as someone dear to me pointed out recently, I spend most of my life in my bedroom (I also write in the same room) and it should have an atmosphere that will help me feel better. So, now that I’ve actually written a blog entry, I am going to force myself to sort through some accumulating junk, and I will at least feel like I’ve accomplished SOMETHING today. 

Thanks for “listening!” I wish we were all just gathered together in one room and could talk about this stuff face to face. But technology is great. It’s the next best thing to being there.

And as for spring, I’m really trying to enjoy its beauties, and as always I take time for a big dose of gratitude every day. I suppose the remedies to fighting this battle are in the little daily things that gradually add up, or at least they establish habits of being able to cope—as opposed to having a breakdown, or something. And I just don’t have the energy to recover from a breakdown. So I’ll just keep going, and try to be kind to myself, and I hope you’re all doing the same.

Love and God bless, Anita

Saturday, March 26, 2016


The last few weeks (or more) have proven to be especially rough. For reasons I’ve never been able to fully understand or put any particular pattern to, I sometimes drop into a phase of not being able to sleep well, migraines are worse, and occasional stomach aches pop up in the middle of the night. When daylight arrives and I already feel like I’ve been engaged in battle with pain and an inability to rest, I generally start out the day feeling depressed and incapable of accomplishing anything productive at all. That leads to often hiding myself in mindless television, which has an oxymoron effect in my mind; part of me is absolutely certain that it’s ridiculous to be sitting there watching reruns of reruns of one of my favorite shows, when I’m not even enjoying it or getting anything out of it, and another part of me simply can’t find the strength or the will power to even write a text or an email or make a phone call, let alone do a load of laundry, cook a meal, or actually write something worth reading. It seems that only the absolutely urgent things get done, and even that takes some serious self-talk to make it happen. 

I’ve grown to love writing these blog entries since I embarked on this project earlier this year, but even that has felt difficult to approach. My distorted thinking takes me to thoughts of how people can’t really be finding anything valuable in my senseless babbling. And now that I’ve been doing it for a while, I have begun to wonder if I’m going to start repeating myself and write about things I’ve already written about. That’s certainly taboo in a novel; except for careful evolution of dealing with an ongoing issue, a writer isn’t supposed to repeat the same information to the reader. But I don’t have it in me to go back and read my previous blog entries, so if I’m going to be able to keep doing this, I can only ask your forgiveness in advance if I start repeating myself. I repeat myself a great deal when I have conversations. I think it’s my own insecurities coming out, that something in me fears not being heard, so I have to say it again. People who share conversation with me must surely be very patient on that count. 

Anyway, I was ahead on blog posts for a while and it felt good, and then I ran out and I couldn’t bring myself to write anything. But early this morning I actually felt a glimmer of motivation and I dragged myself out of bed in the dark with the determination to write SOMETHING, hoping that it might connect with those of you devoted enough to keep reading these thoughts and feelings from my deepest self. I have a list of ideas I could write about that might actually have some kind of valuable message embedded in them, but I looked over that list and couldn’t adhere my brain to any of them. Therefore, suffice to say, that I just needed to write, I need to connect with those of you out in the great void of social media, and to feel heard.

If nothing else, I want to counter the expression of my struggles with a recounting of what’s good. I deeply believe that we need to be mindful of the checks and balances in life. If we have something negative that we have to vent about, it should be followed by something positive. If we have difficulties that weigh us down, we should seek to find gratitude for blessings in our lives that might not even think about otherwise. So, in an effort to give myself perspective in regard to how much I have NOT accomplished, let me say that I did finish a novel and got it submitted, and I wrote a short true Christmas thing for Covenant’s annual Christmas collection; I submitted that as well and with any luck they’ll like it. I started a new novel, even if that actually means I only created a computer file for it and wrote about two and a half pages. I’ve managed some minimal personal hygiene. And I did actually get out of the house with my dear friend, Amanda. Her visit last Saturday was a highlight in the midst of a difficult stretch of life, and she drove me to take care of a couple of errands and then we had lunch together to celebrate her birthday, since I don’t know if I’ll see her again before then. Her love and generosity, which is so completely sincere, always lifts my spirits. I am grateful for you, Amanda. (I know you’re reading this.) And if the rest of you reading this haven’t yet seen the one-minute video we made, you can find it on my Facebook pages. 

I also got my daughter off on her choir tour, managed to not worry about her, and have helped her adjust back to her crazy life of being on the track team, tons of homework, two church callings, and other general teenaged insanity. But I’m so grateful for her and her siblings and my grandchildren. I’m grateful for my home and my comfortable bedroom where I live most of my life, and for all the electronics and appliances that make life so easy. I’m grateful for all the parts of my body that are free of pain and functioning properly. I’m grateful that my other daughter’s very elderly cat didn’t have to be put down a few weeks ago, and that she’s holding on and doing tolerably well for a fussy old lady feline. I pray she can be with us a good while longer. (She’s nineteen now; the cat and my daughter grew up together.) I’m grateful for our other cat who is fat and hairy and kind of a snot. (Just put a picture of her on Instagram yesterday; horstbergwriter is where you’ll find me there.) I’m grateful for good food when I’m able to find/make/enjoy it. Given my food issues, I consider having food that tastes good and fills me up to be a huge blessing. I’m also grateful for my sweet visiting teachers, who are truly two of the most loving and charitable women I’ve ever known. The vase of daffodils one of them left on my porch is brightening my room and reminding me that I’m not alone. 

If I have anything of value to pass on today, it’s that it really is possible to keep putting one foot in front of the other, even if that means simply chalking a day up to vegging in front of the TV. And gratitude truly is a powerful remedy, even if it takes some serious self-talking to be reminded of the perspective of how much we are truly blessed, and how much worse things could be. 

I send my love to all of you who are reading this, and I wish for you a very happy Easter weekend. I’m grateful above all else for a Savior, and for my absolute knowledge that He is real, and so is what He did for us. Whatever this world might do to drag us down, there is always hope to be found in that. God bless! Anita

Tuesday, March 22, 2016


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Friday, March 11, 2016


Part Two: Being a sick person in a world of relatively healthy ones.

When strange health issues started showing up in my life in my late thirties, it was random and occasional and I just kept going, with the naive assumption that it would get better with time. It started out with an occasional migraine in my middle thirties, but I attributed that to the fact that I was consumed with writing novels while managing a household, four children, and some pretty intense church callings. (I had another baby when I was nearly thirty-eight.) My priorities had always been living the gospel of Jesus Christ in the best way I knew how, caring for my family, and writing—because I knew it was a gift inside of me that I needed to honor. (I need to talk about that at another time; if time passes and I don’t, then someone should comment or email and remind me.) Looking back, I think I believed—as most people do when their body is exhibiting signs of protest—that it was nothing serious, and nothing to worry about. With all I had on all the plates I was juggling, who had time to worry about health?

Little known fact: I love to dance. I realize this was not a good transition from the last paragraph to this one. (I write with a little tiny editor on my shoulder, but I try to ignore that voice for the most part while blog writing.) When my oldest son was a baby and I lived in a small town where no dance studio existed at all, I decided to give teaching dance a try. I’d always wanted to do it. What I learned in the long run was that I love to dance; I didn’t necessarily love teaching or running a business. I only did it for a couple of years, but I continued to use dance as my private means of exercising. The aerobic dance craze was right up my alley and I could turn on music and give myself a great workout. I went through phases of doing it with a friend. The point I’m trying to get at is that in spite of my occasional migraine, I felt like I was in pretty good health. Little did I know that disease was brewing inside of me and had been for a long time. The migraines were my body’s first cry for help, and twenty years later, those cries are still loud and strong. My health journey has been long and complicated and there has been much progress made, but undoing years of undetected problems is no small thing and it doesn’t happen quickly or easily. The migraines seem to be my body’s way of saying, “I’m sick.” My doctor believes—and I agree with him—that when I get healthier, the migraines will calm down. But in the meantime, they are an ongoing plague with a lack of predictability or apparent triggers. They just happen. And sometimes they happen for weeks—or literally months—at a time. I’ve had a headache to some degree for many, many years now. Referring to my last entry, if someone asks, “How is your head?” my mind goes through a quick, common assessment. It’s not a matter of whether or not I have a headache; it’s more a matter of how bad does my head hurt on a scale of one to ten. Is it JUST an Excedrin headache, or does it require prescription medication? Is it head pain through which I can keep functioning, or will it confine me to bed? 

But headaches are a symptom, a tip of the iceberg, and it took me years to figure that out. For YEARS I thought I was trying to fix my headaches, now I know it’s just an insidious, cruel, debilitating symptom of much deeper, bigger problems. 

If this tell-all experience of blogging is going to accomplish what I’m hoping for, I must eventually go into the actual details of my health issues—which could be boring and will require a great deal of explanation. But before I do that, I want to point out the emotional impact of not having good health while the world keeps moving around you with mostly healthy people. Now, if I walk down the halls of a hospital or a care center, the percentage of people with poor health rises dramatically. But I’m talking about the people who live in my neighborhood and my ward, the people I associate with in the publishing industry, the people I encounter in business or social situations. I’m not simple-minded enough to think that people have struggles they don’t show outwardly in those situations. But I still see and feel the distinct differences.

For instance, going to church every Sunday has always been a part of my life, and it sincerely means something to me. But I’ve only been to church a handful of times in three years. Three years! I try to find ways of compensating at home with certain uplifting television programs, or reading spiritual text. But “brain fog” is a symptom of more than one of my health conditions, therefore, being able to focus enough to read something deep enough to inspire me often just leaves me frustrated, and what’s available to watch on TV or online quickly loses its charm. I’ve either seen it before or it’s the same concepts over and over. I do a lot of praying and meditating, which you might think isn’t terribly difficult when you hardly ever get out of bed. But pain can be a huge block to mentally and emotionally connecting with God and your inner self. This has been one of my greatest personal battles. (I hear another potential blog post in that statement.) 

Anyway, the fact that I’m a religious (and spiritual) person and I’m in too much pain to go to church is just one indicator of how my life differs from the majority of people who live around me. I’ve seen people (including my own husband) go through cancer. I went through it too. Typically there is the horrible shock, sometimes surgery, sometimes radiation and/or chemo. I’ve seen people fall apart physically and emotionally. They lose control of their otherwise controlled and orderly lives. They grieve, they’re scared, they’re sad—and so are their loved ones. And then it’s over. Sometimes, of course, cancer kills people. Forgive me for sounding insensitive, but that still means it’s over. The suffering ends. Loved ones grieve and try to move on. The sick person is free from their pain and illness and in a better place. More often than not these days, cancer patients get better; it takes time and they’re never quite the same, but they get better. Life goes on. They start gradually putting their lives back in order. They garden, they shop, they organize their homes, they go back to work and hobbies. But me? It goes on, year after year after year. I am unable to exert even a little physical energy without paying for it later. The last time I went to Costco just to get toilet paper and two other things, every muscle in my body hurt by the time I got home, and they kept hurting for a couple of days. Equation: exertion equals suffering. I don’t go to Costco anymore. Thankfully there are people in my life who help with the things I can’t do. I’m so grateful for them! Otherwise I’d starve. And be without toilet paper. 

Of course, I can look around and see other people with diseases and illnesses and disabilities. I’m not so self-absorbed that I believe I’m the only one struggling in this world, and many people have it far worse than I do. My heart goes out to them. I have a friend with Parkinson’s and I’ve seen his life impacted so greatly. I grieve for him, although his faith is strong and he inspires me. I know a number of people with M.S. They too inspire me. I could keep listing ailments. But I just have to say these things because this is MY blog and I’m venting here. Celiac Disease is not that well known, and therefore when I offer the blanket statement, “I’m struggling with the long-term complications of Celiac Disease,” most people do not have a clue what I’m talking about. Hence that feeling—again—of needing to offer a lengthy and boring explanation. Or I just feel crazy. When diseases are common or have a label that people generally understand, they kick into immediate compassion. They already have some degree of knowledge—even if they can’t begin to fully grasp the impact. But with CD, it’s still in discovery stages (which I will explain another time) and therefore I even have to educate many medical care professionals about it. 

Emergency Room . . .
Nurse: Do you have any allergies?
Me: I can’t have gluten in any medication prescribed to me.
Nurse: Why?
Me: I have Celiac Disease.
Nurse: Oh, gluten in medications won’t be a problem with that.
Me: Gluten in medications can make me very ill. (Silently: I’m glad you’re well-trained on a variety of problems you might face in an ER, but I know a heckuva lot more about Celiac Disease than you do—obviously!)
Nurse: Hmmm (and on to the next question with a facial expression and tone of voice that implies I’m being ridiculous)
And after waiting an hour . . . .
Doctor: Do you have any existing medical conditions?
Me: I have Celiac Disease.
Doctor: That’s just an allergy.
Me: (trying to sound respectful) Actually, it’s an autoimmune disease that’s very serious.
Doctor: Hmmm (and on to the next question with a facial expression and tone of voice that implies I’m being ridiculous)

So . . . point being . . . after years of just trying to get medical professionals to take me seriously and find out what was wrong, I’m still trying to get medical professionals to take me seriously. 

But even among the general population, people have a difficult time grasping what’s wrong with me and why. I’ve had friends disappear from my life for the reason (I have to assume; they never told me) that my health problems make them uncomfortable and it’s too much to deal with. I’ve had people ask me how I’m doing, and after I say something like, “Oh, my health is challenging, but I’m pressing forward,” they’ll say something like, “Yeah, the aches and pains of getting older are awful, aren’t they?” And I want to scream: “This isn’t that! You have no idea.” But I just change the subject. This is not a person I want to discuss health issues with. 

Ironically, when I had surgeries, and/or when I had breast cancer, people were more open with their kindness toward me, more willing to help. Less awkward. But what’s going on now—and has gone on for years—just seems to make most people uncomfortable. It’s like Anita’s Health is on some unspoken list with Sewer Systems, Third-world Poverty, and Where Babies Come From.

HOWEVER, there are exceptions to every rule. There are people in my life who REALLY hear me, offer compassion, and help me get through. There are people who ask me how I’m doing and they REALLY want to know; they make that evident by the kindness in their eyes and the followup questions that are asked with sincerity. I know people are busy and they have their own challenges, many that aren’t visible, and I have compassion for that. Looking at the silver linings, I’ve gained a great deal of compassion and empathy through these experiences, and I certainly do not want to be a hypocrite over this or any other matter. I try to remember to reach out more to others, and to do so with sincerity and genuine concern. Human life is a tough gig. My journey is my own, and not to be compared to anyone else’s, because each is unique. If I had any advice to offer, don’t offer advice. (If one more person greets me and then tells me about a new remedy they heard about I could really, truly scream.) Just listen. Really listen. And express how much you care. Some of my most healing moments with a friend have been with the words, “I’m so sorry you have to go through this, and I wish I could fix it, but I’m here for you.” Some tears and a hug usually follow. That’s the best medicine.