My Story

I used to write often. In high school, I was part of the most amazing community of writers in my literary magazine class. I learned countless, valuable lessons from our teacher who brilliantly taught the art of “showing and not telling”, a concept I now teach to students.

At Northwestern, I took writing courses through the Center for Writing Arts. I enrolled in as many courses as possible freshman year. Author Chris Abani ,whose personal life is inspiring in itself, taught one of my favorite courses.  I also loved the prerequisite courses for the creative writing program-fiction, nonfiction, and poetry.  I would spend hours in the Northwestern library playing around with synonyms until I found the perfect word choice for a poem. I loved it. Seeing beautiful words on a page brought me pure joy. You see, I am not a visual artist. I cannot paint, draw, design, or make crafts. But words are my art. I love taking a blank page-a canvas-and weaving a story with words.

The day I was accepted into the creative writing program at Northwestern is one of my best memories from Northwestern. Being part of the creative writing program in my junior year was wonderful and difficult, but I loved writing a long form poem under the mentorship of a supportive professor. I wrote my poem in the voices of Rachel, Leah, and Leah’s daughter Dinah from Genesis 34 and emphasized different issues women face (feeling unloved-Leah, barrenness-Rachel, and being voiceless-Dinah).  My professor supported the development of this poem because she knew I was passionate about the subject matter and the best writing stems from our authentic interests.

As I moved into my senior year though, anxiety crept in. Thoughts of "How can I make a living with writing? Did I waste my time studying something that won’t make money? Am I even a good writer?" got the best of me. Before I knew it, I was no longer writing. And I haven’t written a poem or story since that I can remember.

This summer that changed when two significant events took place around the same time. I was diagnosed with a neurological voice condition after struggling for a year to talk and be understood.  During the 2019-2010 school year as a teacher, I was supported and loved by the students and faculty, but it was difficult. When a doctor at the Vanderbilt Voice Clinic finally diagnosed my condition and told me they could treat it, it felt like life started up again. I had been getting through each day the best I could, but now I would be able to communicate my ideas and thoughts clearly? It was a breakthrough and beacon of hope.

A few days after being diagnosed, my grandfather was placed in the cardiac ICU. My grandfather was someone that if you met him, you would never forget him. He said whatever he was thinking without regard to how someone might respond. Generally, it was hilarious such as “Catherine, when you were little, I called you a garbage disposal because you would eat everyone’s fries.” My grandfather, who was a poet himself (as a hobby), loved words more than anything. Since his time as a “plebe” at the United States Military Academy West Point, he studied words in personal dictionaries to the point that those dictionaries are so tattered as to be unusable now (See this West Point article).  He knew more words than anyone I know. 
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He also introduced me to the arts at a young age. I specifically remember a trip to New York with my grandparents when my sister and I were little. I will never forget walking the streets of New York wearing a fancy coat and feeling like a movie star. I remember the wonderful masks the actors wore in The Lion King and the chandelier falling during The Phantom of the Opera.

Singing and performing has been a passion of mine since that time, but I have not sung very much in the past few years. My grandfather would always ask if I was doing any singing, and I would reply, “No, not right now but maybe in the future.” With teaching and graduate school, my life was too busy. 

Then my voice condition began in June of 2019. Talking was difficult, and my singing was not what it had been. Throughout the year, he would ask if I was doing any singing.  The answer was no; I was not doing much singing because it was difficult, but if I kept doing speech therapy (as a doctor had told me), I would sing again. After a year of speech therapy, I finally decided to get a second opinion.  That decision changed everything because the specialists at Vanderbilt, the top specialists in the country for voice issues, diagnosed my condition correctly enabling me to get a correct and effective treatment. I was so relieved to have an answer (other than “just do speech therapy”) that my voice returned to normal temporarily (not even kidding!), and in that time, my grandfather was placed in the cardiac ICU.

I was able to visit him in the hospital thanks to the kindness of the nurses and doctors there. Visitations were extremely limited due to COVID restrictions, so it was out of kindness that they allowed me to see and sing to him.  I wanted to sing and let him know that the doctors finally knew what was wrong, and that I could talk and sing again. I knew it would make him happy.

I drove to Vanderbilt for the first voice treatment on June 26, the day after singing to my grandfather. He passed away briefly after I left Vanderbilt.  In a way it was as if he had “waited” one day to pass away so that I would be able to go up to Vanderbilt and get the treatment.  He, more than anyone, wanted me to get better and to be able to sing. The treatment worked, and I was able to sing at his funeral, something I knew he would have wanted.

My grandfather always encouraged me to use my gifts. He set an example by using his gifts to the fullest (not in the arts but in business, politics, and fundraising). When talking about my grandfather with my husband, Matt, he said, “Your grandfather loved to hear you sing because he knew it made you happy. It made him happy to see you happy.” I think this is how God feels when he sees us using the gifts he gave us.

Both of these events have led me to make a resolution, a goal for myself, to use the gifts God has given me because in using our gifts we fulfill our God-given purpose to glorify Him.

When the doctor at Vanderbilt diagnosed my condition, gave me the right treatment, and restored my voice, I knew that I had to start singing again.  I felt similar to the character Pollyanna in the classic children's novel when after "losing" and regaining her legs she says, "I don't think I shall ever want to ride anywhere any more. It will be so good just to walk. Oh, I'm so glad! I'm so glad for everything. Why, I'm glad now I lost my legs for a while, for you never, never know how perfectly lovely legs are till you haven't got them..." (Porter 269).  I now know how perfectly wonderful it is to be able to talk and to sing. And I never want to let a joy like singing fall to the wayside again. 

Similarly, I cannot let writing fall to the wayside anymore. Writing is a sort of “gift” in that when I write, I fall into a sense of “flow” where the words fall effortlessly to the page.  Everyone has gifts like this that are so natural and God-given that it’s beautiful to watch at work.

I start this blog as a way to "use my gifts" and get writing again both to improve as a writer myself (by writing consistently) and to share tips that I learn as I study the craft of writing. Like anything, the more you write the better you write.

As a writer, I love to see the poetic beauty in life, and I don’t think life could get any more poetically beautiful than this point someone made: writing gives me a voice no matter the condition of my physical voice, and “losing” my physical voice led me to rediscover my writing voice. Although I wouldn’t have wished to have a voice condition, I am a different person, a better person, because of it. Not only did it lead me to back to writing, but it also made me more grateful, more determined, and ready to make the most of every moment God gives me with a fire for life and a heart to make His name known.

The truth of 2 Corinthians 4:17 has never been clearer to me than now: “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” My light and momentary troubles with a health condition are nothing compared to the eternal glory that God is working within me. That’s the amazing thing about God- no matter how difficult our trials seem- we begin to see over time how His story, while different than we may have crafted, is more glorious and wonderful than we could have ever imagined.

And now, at the end of my current story, we’ve reached the beginning of my present story. A story of beginning again as a writer. I’m so glad you are here to join along in this journey, and I hope to hear from you sometime!

Here’s your first challenge: After writing my story, I would encourage you to write your own. Through crafting our stories in narrative form, we see the ways God has truly worked everything out for good (Romans 8:28). What an encouraging and wonderful truth.

I look forward to sharing stories, poems, reflections, and lifestyle blogs with you and perhaps reading some of your own work too.

Always,

-Catherine

Sources:

Porter, Eleanor Hodgman. Pollyanna. Page Company, 1913.