I savor each and every comment I receive, and many times one of your comments is the spark that gets my fingers pounding the keyboard. A hefty portion of comments relate to my apparent ease with sharing my story through an unfiltered lens.
It took over a decade of drafts, revisions, writing groups, writing classes, and rejections to get Stretch Marks here today. And as disappointed as I am that it has taken what feels like an eternity to publish, I have no doubt that this is the right timing. This is the story I wanted to tell but couldn’t, because I was either in the way or hadn’t kept my proper distance.
I grew up, got perspective, and got knocked around some more. The passage of time helped slough away most of the bullshit I’d attached to being infertile. Time allowed me to listen to the feedback from agents, editors, and readers. It helped deepen my compassion and improved my writing.
When I began to look back through my journals again a few years ago, without an agenda or goal, I was finally able to cry for the angry, insecure, frightened woman who spent five months in Ciudad Juárez freaked out of her mind.
Time granted me the grace to step aside and find my voice.
It wasn’t easy, but it was well worth it.