Chronically Elle

Tag: writing

  • My Girl

    Revised Workshop Piece

    By Elle Noecker

    Growing up and moving on at the same time…

    Ellie

    They say your life flashes before your eyes the moment you knock upon death’s door. How beautiful it is to think that you get to relive your entire existence right before it comes to an end? I imagine my body shutting down for good while my mind thinks it all just begun. Machines beeping to the rhythm of my ever slowing heart rate in a hospital room perfumed with sterilizers and sadness.  

    But my mind will be elsewhere and I’ll believe it’s telling me the truth. We will be reunited. Lying below the Christmas tree while laughter rings like jingle bells and the only beeping I’ll hear is from the oven signaling warm cookies are ready to be eaten by the fire with a glass of milk and my soul girl at my side.  

    God, I pray she sees the same.  

    Tigerlilly

    Gentle hands reach down and enclose my tiny body. The hands are warm and soft. I too, am quite soft, covered in feather like fur– but this moment is my first time experiencing warmth.  

    Every day of my life so far has been the same. A cycle of struggling against my much larger siblings for food, feeling the briskly conditioned air bite at my ears and nose, and then curling up against metal bars as I fall asleep, tiny belly empty.  

    But now, my body is enclosed by human palms and I am suspended in the air. Though the tile floor lays seemingly miles below me and I should be fearful of falling, I have never felt safer. My wide eyes fall shut and my body begins to vibrate just enough for the safe hands to notice. Light fingers stroke my head. For a moment, I forget about hungry nights and metal cages. For a moment, I think I know peace. We start to move as the large human carries me away. I never look back.

    baby Wissy before adoption!

    Please take me home.

    Ellie

    Reality is an ugly thing. Its walls close in around me until my lungs are compressed so hard that I am unable to produce sound and my sobs fall silent. I just had to hang up the phone on mom. My final goodbye being through a cellphone screen was never how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to be there at her side. And it wouldn’t be any time soon, it would be years from now when I’d have graduated college and her fur would be the color of the snow that covered the ground the day we met.

    But mom and dad just dropped me off last week and her coat is still vibrant. I know I had to leave but it’s too soon for her to do the same.  

    My chest aches and my eyes are flooded. I whisper into the air the only words that make any sort of sense right now:

    “I love you, I love you, I love you.”  

    Tigerlilly

    I hear the phrase repeated three times as a new set of hands reaches down to lift me. I’ve been in a box for a little while now, it’s dark. But I have been curled up on a warm blanket drifting in and out of sleep. I don’t know where I am. But I know this isn’t the shelter. Wherever I am, it no longer smells of ammonia, litter, and the kibble I never got to eat. Instead the air is permeated in pine, peppermint, and particularly enticing paper. And as this small human picks me up, I recognize the scent of the blanket on her hands. I put the pieces together. The blanket in my box belongs to this child, a young girl in pink pajamas who I estimate to be five years of age. Human years are unfamiliar to me, but I know this child. I am not sure how, I have never seen her before. But her tender embrace assures me that we are family. I jolt as the girl clutches me so tight to her chest that I am no longer comfortable in her narrow boney arms. But I don’t mind. When she finally sets me down on the carpet I eagerly explore my new home.  

    I have food with no competition for the first time ever, a clean litter box, piles of toys but I’d rather play with the shredded paper scattered all over the living room floor. In the corner rests a plush pink bed.  

    After the first day of the rest of my life comes to a close, the little girl called Ellie and I fall asleep in the living room under the massive pine tree. I press my small body against hers as my soft purrs coax us into deep dreams, though both of ours just came true. There is a feeling in my heart that fills my skinny abdomen. It is warm and calm. I haven’t been to many places, but this feeling tells me there is nowhere I would rather be.  

    Ellie  

    I never claimed to be a good actor. I don’t hide my emotions well. But I can’t have anyone read my face because I know they’ll ask what’s wrong, and I’ll be left with two options: cry or lie. And when I choose the latter, I’ll still end up bawling and the person who checked on me will feel obligated to try to comfort me, and though I’ll appreciate their good intentions, I know we will both be wishing they never asked in the first place. It’ll be an awkward mess. And the other part is– they’ll never get it. No one will understand the profound loss I have just been faced with. The way a piece of me has just been ripped from my heart by the violent claws of death. I’ll bleed out until I’m empty and then some. Nothing can repair this wound. Not a “so sorry” or a “here for you.” Not a phone call or distraction. And definitely not a hug from my new roommate I barely know.  

    Hot tears slide down my cheeks and dramatically splat onto the paper below me. It’s the second week of class and supposed to be the start of the best years of my life. And those best years are nowhere in sight at the moment. And they won’t be ever. Because how can I live my best years without her? Who even am I without her?  

    Tigerlilly

    I have learned that Christmas comes once every year. I am a Christmas kitty. Ellie calls me a “Christmas miracle.” I was too young to remember exactly how I got home, but according to Ellie I was brought down the chimney by a large man in a red suit named Santa. Though I can’t recall this day, I know that Santa is my hero because he brought me to my family. Christmas is my favorite time of year. But I have also come to love birthdays. Birthdays come more often, five times a year to be exact– one for each member of my family. Birthdays are second best to Christmas because they also involve wrapping paper. And I love wrapping paper. When I was a kitten, my favorite game was when Ellie would crumple up a small piece like a ball and throw it for me to chase down the hallway. My paws would slide on the shiny floors as I would bat the paper ball around and show it who’s boss. But now, I just like to lay on it. I’d choose wrapping paper over my bed any day.  

    Ellie

    My English homework for the day is to write a poem using nature as symbolism. A particular flower comes to mind. She comes to mind. It’s two weeks now and I still can’t focus on any task at hand. How do people do this? How do people let go?  

    (tiger lilys near my house)

    Everyone tells me she’s in a better place and I know. I know. I know. But it’s not enough to ease the ache. I write my poem and send it to mom. It makes her cry. If anyone understands, it’s her. She copes by keeping it in. Being strong for me. But I know she needs her too. And I’m not home. So the house is twice as empty.  

    Mom and her best friend

    Tigerlilly

    Ellie tries to get me to play. She waves a small mouse toy by the tail, swaying it in front of my eyes like a clock. When I don’t budge, she finds a piece of ribbon on the floor from her birthday last week and slowly drags it across my paw as if I’ll decide to swipe at it. But why would I move my body when I can just stay here on the old red couch? I spent what energy I had left today making my way up the steps Mom put out for me when I stopped being able to jump up on my own. She tries countless methods but I won’t give in. Not even the scent of catnip Ellie waves in front of my nose is enough to get me off the cushion. Or the leftover wrapping paper ball that she tosses up and down.  

    When I still won’t stir, she looks disappointed but unsurprised. With a sigh, she climbs up beside me on the couch and we both start to doze off from the vibrations of my relentless purr. She just turned fifteen. And though I don’t really know what that means, I do know her hands that gently stroke my head are much bigger now than they were when she first picked me up all that time ago.  

    This is my idea of a good time. No catnip could ever beat a cat-nap on the couch with my girl. I curl up on the wrapping paper she left out just for me.  

    I think sometimes Ellie worries about me because I just don’t like to move. But I don’t want her to worry. I have food, paper to lay on, and a family that loves me. I couldn’t be happier.  

    Ellie  

    I’m in bed, wide awake at hours I don’t even want to know, tossing and turning until I decide sleep isn’t in the picture and I flip my lamp light on. My custom pillow with her photo on it resting beneath my head is still damp from the tears I shed over the past two hours. I sit up and position myself to lean against it. She still finds a way to be my support system, even in pillow form. The thought almost makes me smile.

    I grab my phone off my bedside table. When I can’t escape my own head, music can take me away. Popping in my earbuds, I open Spotify and shuffle my “Calm” playlist to try and ease the queasy feeling in my gut that hasn’t left since she did. But when the first song to start playing is “chemtrails” by Lizzy McAlpine I knew I had made a grave mistake. My calming playlist is coincidently composed of mostly sad songs. Anything with a slow melody and acoustic production. And of the course the first song to make its way to my ears is a story about the loss of a family member and the struggle to continue on the path of life without them. I’ve read in the past that Mcalpine wrote the song about her dad passing away. The person in her life who taught her to ride a bike, read her bedtime stories and held her close when she cried.  

    And here I am, choking on my own sobs over a cat.  

    Tigerlilly

    Ellie just graduated high school. I can tell because she prances through the front door in a beautiful white dress, a red rose in her hand. The house is decorated with photos of her and I watch through the window as people start filing in the backyard for a large celebratory dinner on the patio. Apparently there’s a cake, because mom came inside to find me with frosting on her finger tip. I perk up from my nap to lick her hand clean. Giggling at the sensation of my scratchy tongue (it gets them everytime) she says something softly about how bigger kitties like me really shouldn’t be eating cake frosting, but “life is short.” And I’m starting to think she might be right.  

    Later that evening, mom starts bringing inside leftover food and decorations as people start to leave our house. She carries in a large cardboard poster and leans it against the living room wall. Despite the ache in my joints that creak when I walk, my curiosity takes over as I manage to stand up and cross the room to get a closer examination. I find that the piece of cardboard is completely covered in photos of Ellie throughout her life. A photo of her as a baby from a time when I wasn’t around yet. A recent photo of her with her friends in fancy flowing dresses. An older photo where she smiles ear to ear, holding a fistful of swimming medals she won. Eventually, my eyes land on a particular photo that takes me back to a time where my memory is almost as fuzzy as the little runt in the picture. A miniature version of Ellie stands in front of a Christmas tree in her pink pajamas, cradling a miniature version of me. I start to smell the pine, peppermint, and that particularly enticing paper. My vague but fond memories begin to form in my mind like a dream. Pressing my large body against the cardboard to be as close to these moments in time as possible, I curl up and drift off.  

    (This specific photo is from my older brother’s graduation. She did this for both of us!)

    ~~~

    Through my years, I have learned the signs when my family is about to leave for a trip. They always come back, but I can tell this trip is going to be longer than usual. I know this because packing usually takes about a day. But throughout the past three weeks, bins have continued to pile up containing only things that belong to Ellie. I’m not sure what it implies, but I can feel her excited energy radiating every time she talks to mom about her new roommates and classes and future. But I know she gets sad too. Because every time she comes to find me on the couch, she holds me a little tighter than the time before. In the past I might have growled expressing my discomfort. But I can tell she needs me close, and I don’t resist because I need her just the same.  

    Ellie  

    I’m not one for dramatic Instagram posts. I’m never looking for any sort of attention or pity. That’s the last thing I want right now. But I need people to know. My childhood friends. My extended family. My former classmates. The first thing all of them ever knew about me was that I have an overweight cat nicknamed “Wiss” who is my entire world and the center of my existence. Wiss is an icon to anyone who knows me and it would be disrespectful not to give her the memorial she deserves. I’ve spent the past two hours in bed curled up underneath my custom blanket with photos of her (yes, I have a blanket and a pillow) scrolling through hundreds of photos of my girl. I make a collection of the ones that best capture her personality. Judgmental. Funny. Loving. Goofy. Smart. Not-so-smart. And everything in between that made her who she was. I manage to narrow it down to twenty (the max amount possible by Instagram) and upload them with a caption:  

    “My Wissy,

    The day you arrived as a tiny, wide eyed, Christmas miracle the idea of losing you absolutely terrified me, and I never imagined that day would come so soon. To the funniest, most family loving, big in heart and size, best kitty in the whole world— thank you for being my best friend, my comfort, my rock. Thank you for making us laugh every day and being the center of our family. The biggest blessing of my childhood. Anyone who’s met you knows how special you truly are. And though our house will never be the same without you, I feel so relieved knowing that you are at peace and comfort. I love and miss you forever and ever, Chunk. You are an absolute legend.

    Tigerlilly “Wiss”:10/4/11-8/19/24 🕊️🌈💕”

    Tigerlilly

    I haven’t been feeling well and mom notices. I know it hurts her that I haven’t been eating. I know her heart sinks every time I refuse the water she holds in a bowl under my white chin.  

    I sense that Ellie leaves tomorrow. She spends most of her day by my side. I haven’t gotten up since last night and as evening nears I can tell she senses I’m not well. But my girl has always been an optimist. Mom says she’ll take me to the vet as soon as she’s back from moving Ellie into college. Whether it’s frosting I shouldn’t have or a vet visit, mom always knows as well as I do, exactly what I need.  

    It’s morning now but still so early that only dim moonlight shows through the curtains. Ellie hauls a final suitcase down the stairs, tosses it to the side and lays down on the floor in front of me. Keeping my head down, I slowly open my eyes as water wells in hers.  

    Wrapping her arms around my body she leans in close and says “don’t worry. I’ll see you in three months when I come to visit.” For the first time in my life, I’m glad I can’t speak because I don’t have the courage to tell her that won’t be true. It’s her time to grow up and move on, so I know it shall be mine.

    Kissing my velvet forehead one last time, she whispers the words “I love you, I love you, I love you.”  

    last picture before leaving for school

    Ellie (2 years later)

    The first time I came home from college to visit for Thanksgiving was a little jarring. As I hauled my luggage up to the front steps, I noticed a new doormat that certainly was not there when I left three months ago. My feet stepped over the words “must love dogs” and I let out a laugh, joking with my mom that our family pulled a full one-eighty from the old welcome sign that read “Be careful: My cat is judging you.”

    For the past twelve years of my life, my instinct when I walked through the front door was to beeline for Wiss, who would be lying next to the graduation party photo collage with paws placed on the pictures. But this time, I am greeted by a clumsy little red merle Australian Shepherd puppy who joined the family in October, about one month after we said “goodbye” to Wiss. I had a feeling mom wouldn’t last very long without a furry companion.  

    I squat down to meet the new member of the family who licks my cheek with a tongue that certainly belongs to a dog. My family named him “Red,” and my love for him was immediately undeniable. But it didn’t compensate for the emptiness in my heart.

    ~~

    That first Christmas with Red was harder to grapple with than I’d like to admit. It wasn’t the puppy himself, but the lack of my girl. Wiss had defined Christmas for me since I was five-years old. She was the reason I believed in miracles.  

    I watched the chaotic morning unfold in our living room while a wild Red shredded apart pieces of wrapping paper (“Baby shark” quickly became his nickname) while mom struggled to hold on to his leash. Humorous as it was, there were a few moments where I had to look away to fight the stinging in my throat and tears in my eyes. Memories flooded into my mind from over a decade of calm Christmases with a cat who saw wrapping paper as the perfect surface for a nap, purring under the tree. This just wasn’t the same.  

    ~~~

    I have now finished my second year of college and sit in my childhood bedroom where my custom Wiss pillow watches from my bed as I write her story. Her wide-eyes that never lost their kitten-like youth remind me that she never really left. Her ashes sit in a container on the shelf in the living room, next to her painted portrait.

      I don’t think I will ever know what to do without her. But I do know that I experienced a type of love that is immeasurable and irreplaceable. And though I can’t speak for her, I think my girl would agree.

    ❤

    The Wiss Gallery:

    (After two years, I finally got my tattoo in honor of “Wiss.” The flower is a tiger lily, of course :). Now she’s literally by my side forever!)

  • Pet Loss Playlist & Poem

    When I wrote this post, I did not necessarily have the intention of publishing it, but then I found out that September is pet memorial month so I took it as a sign to share. For context, I lost my beloved cat about a year ago, and not a day has gone by where I don’t feel as if a piece of my heart is missing. I find myself writing about her constantly as if somehow I can bring her back to life. This post is very personal to me but I am sharing in hopes that it can provide comfort and validation to anyone who might relate.

    Playlist:

    Whether it’s one lyric or the whole song, each of these songs (and many more but these ones come to mind first) help me feel a little closer to her: 

    • Eternal June, Emma Foley
    • Big Star, Lorde
    • Me & My Dog, boygenius 
    • chemtrails, Lizzy McAlpine
    • A thousand years, Christina Perrie 
    • At the Beach, In Every Life, Gigi Perez
    • marjorie, Taylor Swift
    • waiting, Cassidy Forras

    Poem: The Loss/Love that Never Leaves

    The knife is stuck in my chest.

    It doesn’t lie

     it doesn’t leave

    and it doesn’t let me 

    let go.

    But I wouldn’t if I could.

    The knife is my souvenir, 

    A reminder you were here, 

     you existed,

    and we breathed the same air. 

    The knife punctures my heart;

    not to kill  

     but to immortalize 

    my love,

    like a locket I’ll never lose. 

     The place, we call “home”

     will never truly be home again

     because when I show up 

     you’re not behind the door

    anymore.

    You’re not behind the door,

    But you live behind my eyelids when I sleep,

    Behind the cover of my journal,

    within every creature I meet. 

    Every ray of sun 

    Every rainbow after rain

    And every flower that blooms by the street. 

    The knife impales 

    But I carry it with me

    And eternal pride, I bleed.

    The pain a privilege 

    Proving that you lived,

    And you lived

     Your life 

    beside me. 

    Tigerlilly “Wiss” (my angel girl)

  • The Scariest Thing I’ve Ever Done and How it Changed my Life

    May 2024

    What am I doing here? Who do I think I am? Definitely not someone equipped for this, that’s for sure. Omg I might just collapse. I wish I could evaporate into the air on command- *piano chords fill the room*- okay okay just do it.

    Suddenly I am back on the couch, my head supported by a pillow absorbing my tears full of overwhelming validation, each one that falls representing a year of my life spent hiding, finally released from the cage of my mind. The memory sets me free.  

    April 2022, Sophomore year:

    Mom and I are in the living room. Remote in hand, mom flips through streaming services as we try to find a movie to occupy our evening in the middle of spring break. 

    “Hey, I’ve wanted to see this one since it came out,” I start to suggest a movie based off of a broadway musical I have never attended but always been curious about. For a while now, I have been a big fan of the song “Waving Through A Window,” performed by Broadway icon Ben Platt, which is from this very musical and made me intrigued by the production in the first place. 

    “‘Dear Evan Hansen? Looks good. Let’s watch it,” mom replies. 

    We click on the movie and I absolutely adore the whole thing. Emotional rollercoaster. Beautiful and uncomfortable and fascinating and real. But I am left so moved by one song in particular. One moment in the film that changed the trajectory of my  life if I am being honest. The scene when actress Amandla Stenberg enchantingly sings the anthem that will permanently tattoo my heart: “The Anonymous Ones.”

    The next two years:

    Home alone? I’m singing it. 

    In the car? Belting it at the top of my lungs. 

    In my room at night listening to music blasting through my ear buds even though I already said “goodnight” to my family hours ago? I close my eyes and lip sync along as I imagine myself performing the lyrics in front of an audience because all I have ever wanted to do is perform, and if I ever, somehow, maybe in another life got the chance to sing for a crowd, without a question it would be this song. But it wasn’t a matter of not having a chance. It was a matter of believing I could do it. 

    I am forever grateful for my high school experience. The environment cultivated at Buffalo Seminary is one that encourages students to search within themselves for how they want to make an impact on the world and what they want to pursue in this life we are given. For me, one of the top things on my list was music. Sure, I played violin from the time I was six years old, and I always loved it and was pretty good too! But my deepest darkest most forbidden secret from EVERYONE except my Voice Memos app is that I wanted to sing.

    My school had a Glee Club. Freshman year I joined it and stayed with the group all four years. It was fun and gave me an opportunity to sing in school. Great! But with Glee Club, it was easy to blend in. Most of the time I would sing along, but whenever I felt insecure about my voice or if the note felt out of my range, I could just mouth my way through and no one would notice. It was a safe place. I was able to sing without the pressure of all ears on me (ha, get it?). 

    One afternoon my friends were messing around with the piano located in the chapel at the center of the school, open for students to play whenever their hearts desired (good times). They asked me to join them. “Um, of course!” And I excitedly sat on the bench beside them. We ended up singing through some songs we all liked and my friend who was playing the keys paused and said, “Elle, we sound really good together. Let’s perform this at Morning Meeting!” My heart rate surged. I could hear my pulse reverberating through my body. Spoiler alert, I ended up agreeing as long as we sang the whole song in unison (the song was “ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine but that’s beside the point). She had a phenomenal voice and no way was about to sing solo in front of the entire school. 

    We were a hit and ended up performing three songs together throughout our junior and senior years. So now I had a couple performances under my belt. But they were duets. Not solos. I could never do that (*sigh* if only I knew…). 

    our first Morning Meeting performance

    Senior year I crossed my fingers and prayed I would be able to take the one senior elective I had desperately wanted to take since freshman year: Voice Class. By some miracle, my schedule allowed me to take the course! 

    Voice Class would consist of quite literally one-on-one vocal lessons with our school music teacher who had a passion for teaching students to use their voices (literally and metaphorically). She asked me to pick out a couple songs that I would want to work on. Of course, I immediately wrote down “The Anonymous Ones” from the “Dear Evan Hansen” film. During one of my first lessons she had me sing it cold. “Just go for it!” she instructed. So I did. After I finished my first run through she asked me why I chose that song in particular: “Because it really changed my life,” I explained. “I cried the first time I heard it because I related to it which meant a lot to me. I just love it.” 

    Then she said the craziest sentence I ever could have fathomed: “Would you want to perform it at our upcoming spring concert?” 

    Do I want to? This is my DREAM. Can I? Um…

    Sure, I had performed a couple times with my friend and I survived. But alone? That felt out of the question. 

    Before I could put too much thought into my answer I opened my mouth and started speaking whatever words came out. “Uh yes. Wow. I don’t know. Um. Do you think I’m good enough?”

     “Elle, you have a beautiful voice, use it.” 

    May 2024: 

    What am I doing here? Who do I think I am? Definitely not someone equipped for this, that’s for sure. Omg I might just collapse. I wish I could evaporate into the air on command- *piano chords fill the room*- okay okay just do it. 

    And I start to sing:

    “Ever look at all the people who seem to know exactly how to be?”

    My hands are drenched in my own sweat. The breeze from the open window is blowing my hair into my face (which actually turned out to be a cool effect!). The microphone stand is a little too short and the piano a little too fast. I can’t look up at the balcony where my family sits or I’ll get distracted. I keep my eyes straight ahead and as the song moves forward I allow myself to loosen up. Remember why you chose this song. And more importantly, remember the reason this song meant so much to you when you first heard it… 

    Though I am still nervous, I am no  longer trembling in fear. In fact, I am actually relieved not to have a Glee Club of students to hide my voice behind. Everyone is watching. Everyone is listening. But I can use this moment to make my own impact, I decide. Now, I don’t just sing the words, but I sing every moment of my life that has manifested into the very one I am in now: 

    “You think, they don’t need piles of prescriptions to function naturally…”

    “So they keep on keeping secrets that they think they have to hide…”

    “She’s built a wall with her achievements 

    To keep out the question 

    ‘Without it, is she worth anything at all?’”

    “There are those anonymous ones

    Stuck inside the perfect frame they’re faking

    All of us anonymous ones

    Who pick themselves apart ’til they start breaking…”

    “The parts we can’t tell, we carry them well,

    But that doesn’t mean they’re not heavy…”

    “Maybe we, we don’t have to be

    Anonymous, anymore.”

    Lyric after lyric I find more power in my voice. I am not just singing for myself. I am singing for the anonymous ones out there who need to hear this message. And I personally was breaking free of the feeling of anonymity that encaged me my whole life.

    Vocally, I have no idea what I sound like. If the performance is the worst I have ever sang, but one person in the audience felt a little less alone in whatever anonymous battle they are fighting, consider it a Grammy winning act. Applause erupts in the room as I imperfectly but confidently conclude the song. Wow my face is HOT and I am certainly still sweating. I take a little bow and trot back to my seat. Did I really just do that or am I in my room pretending again?

     Nope, that was real. Dang. 

    Falling asleep that night, like counting sheep, my mind just repeats: I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it…

    The present: 

    I didn’t watch the recording mom took for months after the performance. I was so insecure and did not want to hear myself assault the eardrums of a couple hundred people. I may have completed the performance (somehow), but that didn’t mean I felt like it was good. Classmates, teachers, friends, and family all told me it was great but they were probably just being nice, right? 

    The truth is, I still don’t know if it was “good.” But I have watched the performance, many times by now.  I mean, it’s alright. But did I hit every note exactly how I wanted? No. Was I off tempo at some points? Yeah. But I did it. And the one thing I can say with total confidence is that I am so unbelievably proud of myself. The thing I used to literally dream about, with a song that meant the absolute world to me– I did it. If I have any regrets at all, it’s that I didn’t start performing sooner. Because graduation was around the corner and there would be no more Morning Meeting and no more school concerts. But to this day, every time I need a boost of confidence or a reminder that I can do the things I am most terrified of, I watch the video. Everytime I doubt myself; everytime I really want to do something but can’t work up the courage, I watch the video. The recording that I avoided for months out of fear of cringing at myself, is now my source of comfort to show that I can do it– whatever “it” may be . I can accomplish my goals. I can manifest my dreams into reality (like I literally did when I would pretend to perform it in my room). I can step out of my comfort zone and I can be seen and heard doing so.

    Singing a song I adore more than anything in front of my teachers and classmates and family and friends was never on my bingo card when I started high school. But it was most certainly in the back of my mind. And the thoughts in the back of our minds show up for a reason.

    Though this memory is still surreal to me today, the proof that it happened lies in the echoes of my own voice I hear when I need it most. After all, we all have a voice that’s meant to be heard.

    Anyway, if you’ve never heard this song, give it a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTPUZ-H8Qa0

    Here’s me doing my thing. Scariest thing I’ve ever done.

  • God Sends Us Angels 

    My mom recently shared with me a phenomenon that has literally helped her through every stage of her life: “God sends us angels when we need them.” 

    I vaguely remember her describing this to me a while back, but was reminded of the significance of this idea a few weeks ago when I was experiencing an absolute low, feeling like an island, reminiscing on relationships I’ve had in my life, wondering why some had to fade and why others were not serving as prominent of a purpose in my life as they used to. 

    The idea behind this philosophy is that friendships and other relationships will come and go, but almost always with a purpose. Yes, it is based on religious faith and trusting that God’s path for you regarding who you encounter in this life is completely intentional. But the belief does not necessarily require you to practice religion in order to live by it. 

    As a nostalgic person by nature, I have found myself buried in the past countless times and mourning what was, particularly about former connections I made with other people. When I think about my childhood best friends, pets, former mentors in my life, or any kind of meaningful relationship that I once had, I feel disappointed at the realization that the relationship might not exist anymore or I haven’t connected with those people in months or years. But what I have started to realize is that it’s not the length of the connection that matters, it is the impact. Once you establish those bonds, they never completely disappear. The concept is that we are sent the exact people we don’t even realize we need, when we need them most. And when that chapter of life comes to a close, your life might not involve that person as much but that’s okay. The point is, if you pay attention, people are sent to you with purpose whether you notice it in the moment or not. 

    Mom has explained this theory to me by sharing stories of her life. The highs, the lows, the new, the scary, the exciting, and the hopeless. Throughout her years on this Earth she picked up on a pattern. In the times when you feel entirely alone, lost, or confused, there will likely be at least one specific encounter or relationship that miraculously arrives to guide you. If you believe in God, it is highly likely that these people are angels sent to light up the path ahead or help you come to a realization. Whether it was a best friend, a co-worker, a relative, or a complete stranger, she noticed that people weave in and out of our lives with a purpose. 

    When I look back on some of the most challenging periods of my life, usually one of the first things I can recall are the relationships I had during that time. Who was by my side? Who ignited that epiphany? Who held my hand and walked me through the seemingly endless tunnel until we were laughing on the other side of it all? There’s always that one person that stands out. And if not a person, maybe that animal who ran up to you on the street. Maybe it was the teacher who ended class with a powerful statement that made you emotional. Maybe it was the music artist who released a song that articulated your emotions so well it seemingly came straight from your diary. Or perhaps it was the lady in the nail salon who complimented you out of the blue; “you are unique and beautiful.” 

    But these angels are not always easy to recognize. You almost never notice them on the spot because they are hidden in plain sight. When I look back on some of the times I believe I was visited by angels, I realize that in the moment I felt completely isolated and alone. It seemed like no one was there to help, never mind even recognize that I was struggling. But when I look at it now thinking back, I remember that one person who checked in on me. The one conversation that gave me hope. Or the person I observed from a distance who inspired me to persevere whether they knew it or not. I think of that one friend in elementary school who wanted to be my friend when the rest of the class was too busy turning their backs. I think of the people I met through swimming who I only saw a couple times a year but each time we would pick up right where we left off as if we never stopped talking. I think of my cat who absorbed too many of my tears into her fur and never complained (even though she hated being wet). The list goes on and on. But at the end of the day this phenomenon really just serves as a comforting reminder that we are never truly alone, and angels do exist if you open your heart to them. You might not feel it at the moment, but when you see the light at the end of the tunnel you may start to suspect you were guided by some supernatural or spiritual visitor. The bittersweet part is, these angels aren’t always able to stick around forever. As we move through our individual lives we might grow apart, drift, or fade from each other. But that’s completely natural and okay. Just because we don’t talk to or see that person anymore, does not change the fact that the relationship will be treasured forever. When I think of some of the most impactful people in my life I realize how perfect their timing was and it seems to be no coincidence they arrived at my door when they did. 

    Just like not all heroes wear capes, being an angel doesn’t require wings. And the most beautiful part is, though you’ll never know it, you might just be that angel for someone else.

    a text I received from Mom recently that I immediately screenshotted to save as a little reminder. I think she was the angel I needed in this moment!

  • We Made the Right Person Famous: Growing up with Tate McRae

    Toronto, September 11 2023 (almost exactly 2 years ago…dang)

    I first met Tate in 2018, when I was 12 years old. I was not feeling too well, so I found myself laying on the couch mindlessly scrolling through YouTube videos on my laptop. I have always had a profound fascination with songwriting, so I clicked on a video that caught my attention titled “How To Write a Song.” The songwriting tutorial began with a teenage girl sitting behind a keyboard. She had a bright smile and captivating camera presence and I was immediately hooked. I then went down a rabbit hole scrolling through her account and falling in love with the original songs she posted– songs that my middle school self strongly related to. All of her videos featuring her original work opened with a cute little intro that displayed the words “Create With Tate” on the screen in bright yellow and blue. One song in particular left a permanent impact on me. I found this song under a particular YouTube video called “i wrote a song… one day // tate mcrae.” The lyrics told a tale of a girl and a boy, secretly in love with one another but each too shy to come forward. The song really resonated with myself at that age, and I thought it was so beautifully written and such a relevant topic. I also was drawn in by her unique and now famously recognizable vocals that felt both completely authentic and emotionally moving. After finding “One day” on Spotify and adding it to my playlists, I searched Tate up on instagram and hit the follow button. As a girl my age would do, I scrolled to the very bottom of her account and found that she not only was a singer/songwriter but also a dancing sensation. I soon learned that she was a contestant on the show “So You Think You Can Dance,” and realized most of her following at the time came from the dancing world, whereas I encountered her through music. This girl represented the epitome of talent. But her personality and life experiences never seemed too different from my own. Though she was merely a teenage girl navigating life just like me, there was no doubt she was destined for superstardom. 

      As I grew up, so did Tate. She continued to write music that directly paralleled the stages in life I was at as I moved through middle and then high school, watching as my favorite little YouTuber started to gain global recognition. From her first EP “all the things I never said” with ballads such as “that way” and “tear myself apart” and dance pop bangers like “stupid” and “all my friends are fake,” Tate had a song for every situation. In 2020, Tate’s first major hit “you broke me first” dropped, and I can recall my excitement upon hearing it on the radio for the first time. When I had just turned 16, she released her debut album “i used to think i could fly” which I had the privilege of listening to for the first time alongside one of my dear friends Zoey. We both may have shed some tears, as we felt deeply validated and understood by the stories Tate told in this album. My favorites will always be “boy x,” go away,” and “chaotic” (but also every other track on the record as well).

     

    When Tate announced the “Are we flying?” tour in 2023, Zoey and I immediately hopped on Facetime and got to work. We had business to take care of– AKA tickets to claim. 

    The second time I met Tate, I actually met her– as in, we spoke to one another and shared a hug. Zoey and I were able to get VIP tickets with a sound check pass along with a meet and greet for Tate’s show in Toronto. Obviously, the fangirl in me was shaking with nerves as I was about to meet one of my idols who helped guide me through some of my most challenging years. In our minute of time together I wanted to express how much of an impact she has had on me, but no words could possibly do it justice. When it was my turn to say “hello,” my first thought was dang she is much taller in person, but my second thought was my disbelief that I was being greeted by the same smile of that 14 year-old girl on my computer screen back in 2018— except now she was 20 and I was 17. To describe how I felt, starstuck is an understatement. Her enthusiasm and kindness fell nothing short of pure sincerity and genuine appreciation. We hugged and I said the classic words a fan says when they meet their favorite artist, “I love you!” And she said “I love you too!” Though I am sure she says that to all of her fans, I could tell she really meant it. Her persona was humble, genuine, and simply real. Loving all of her supporters seemed to come naturally to her.  In a moment I will never forget, she proceeded to compliment my makeup look. I happened to be particularly insecure about my makeup that day, as I tried to throw together a ‘cool’ eyeshadow blend of orange and hot pink to match her album cover… it flopped. I didn’t have much time to spend on it between school and the show, and I was not thrilled with the product. So when Tate said to me, “your eye shadow looks so cool, I always try to blend it like that but it’s so hard,” I was dumbfounded and deeply grateful. A simple compliment can go a long way especially when it comes from your hero. In our short conversation I was able to tell Tate the brief story of how I found her on YouTube and that I was a big “Create With Tate” fan. We took a selfie and so many people have told me we look like sisters (also a major compliment). That show continued to be one of the best and most unforgettable nights of my life. In an intimate 2,000 person venue, I got to witness some of my favorite songs of all time live in the front row. Her live vocals were beyond stunning, her choreography flawless, and her ability to command a stage and connect with a crowd just remarkable. 

    No caption needed. This was everything.

    About five days after the concert, Tate released her sensational pop hit “greedy.” This song would catapult her career even farther than before. In no time, she started playing arenas on her Think Later world tour. Tate’s fame simply skyrocketed, so I am forever grateful I got the opportunity to share a conversation with her before it became nearly impossible. Her next album “Think Later” perfectly encapsulates what it’s like to be in your late teens/early twenties, trying to live life to the fullest while navigating the emotional turmoil that can come from relationships, friendships, and mental health. This past February, came her iconic album “So Close To What” featuring singles “It’s ok I’m ok,”  “2 hands” and “sports car,” with some of her most insane production yet and music videos showcasing her self-proclaimed alter ego “Tatiana”. 

    Aside from all of her relatable music, representing the highs and lows of adolescent-hood, what really stands out most about Tate is the confidence she portrays and the ways in which she inspires so many young women. What I admire so much about her is how she is very open about being in control of her work and having creative freedom. The level of authority she radiates perfectly defines what it means to be a “girl boss.” She shows up on stage as a fierce female figure who knows exactly who she is and the message she wants to convey. From watching her YouTube videos as a pre-teen, to seeing her perform live, or interviewed on the red carpet on TV, Tate represents herself as a confident, kind, authentic, and powerful role model. With undeniable beauty inside and out, she is the exact ideal pop star for girls to be looking up to, or like me, growing up with. She uses her talents not only to build an astounding career but also to show how fearlessly being yourself and taking advantage of the skills you were born with can take you as far as you dream possible. The singer, songwriter, dancer, and outstanding performer proves that putting yourself out there into the world with confidence and authenticity is the key to success. To completely sum up the now twenty-two year old’s talent, watch her performance from the VMAs just last Sunday. 

    Speaking of her VMAs performance, seeing her sing and dance her heart out behind my screen definitely felt bittersweet and nostalgic. Though I feel so proud of the artist she has grown into, I will always be so thankful for the sad-girl songwriter who posted her originals on YouTube and thus helped me survive middle school. As I told the Canadian queen herself when we met, “Create with Tate” will always hold a special place in my heart. Call me “miss possessive” (if you know, you know), but I will always proudly declare my spot as an OG Tater Tot. 

    I think I nailed it.
    Yes, I was Tate for Halloween last year.

    As I type this, Tate is actively performing in Atlanta just over an hour away. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend, so I am kind of freaking out with FOMO at the moment. But all I can say is we definitely made the right person famous, and Miss McRae deserves it all.

    soundcheck! She performed “Chemical” by Post Malone, and her own song “hate myself.” There was also Q&A!

  • Taylor Swift does NOT think “woe is me.” And certainly neither do I!!!!

    I just had a thought that I really needed to type out. I’ve been in this high state of emotional conflict lately where I feel trapped between showing who I am and owning it, and shying away from it out of fear of how I could be perceived. Specifically regarding EDS. EDS has affected me my entire life. But I always put my head down and stayed quiet through the pain. I took the proper medications and did the right physical therapy, but I hated talking about it and cringed at the term “chronic illness.” How could I possibly be ill if I am competing at national levels in the pool? How could I be both tough and acknowledge this illness at the same time? I always felt that having EDS was something that should be only mentioned if absolutely necessary. Kept on the down low. A secret. 

    With the exponential increase of intensity in training I have experienced since coming to college, my body gave me no choice but to start listening to it and speaking up for myself if I wanted to continue to have success in the pool. The first couple months of my freshman year consisted of constant flareups that I just could not avoid talking about if I wanted to remain the athlete I always was. That “toughness” I carried with me every day had to show up differently, in the sense that I had no choice but to be brave and vulnerable (ew, who wants to be vulnerable?). I began talking to my athletic trainer and my coaches, and finding resources online that helped me understand how my journey might have to look different from the rest of my teammates if I wanted to continue growing as an athlete. Over the past year I have started to learn so much more about my condition and found platforms online that have made me feel so seen and so understood. I started becoming more open to the idea of taking ownership over my condition. Being confronted by these flare ups forced me to start listening to my body and gain more confidence in myself as a zebra (EDS patient). I spent so much time searching for social media accounts run by people just like me, and felt an overwhelming sense of relief and comfort in the fact that I am not alone, most certainly not any less tough for having a chronic illness, and more importantly, for speaking up about it. These accounts inspired me to want to do the same for others (the ultimate purpose of this section of my blog). But this new confidence still came with internal conflict that I am currently struggling to shake. This might sound hypocritical, but as an athlete with EDS, part of me still felt insecure once I started to post more about my experiences. I still find myself retreating back into my younger self who feels like admitting what I go through makes me viewed as weak or self-pitying. So despite everything I just said about my newfound confidence, I still wonder: does posting about my struggles make me look like I feel sorry for myself? Because that is absolutely NOT the goal. And I know deep down that I could not be further from weak. And I am so sorry if you thought I might have an answer to this conflict but I don’t. But as a music fanatic, I did have a thought that comforted me. I thought about how music artists who write and sing about depression and other mental health struggles might be seen as being “woe is me” for being open about the battles they fight. Taylor Swift, the queen of breakup songs (and so much more but that’s not the point), uses her voice to express her heartbreak through music. And though some may see these artists as self-pitying or just outright negative, they are truly doing God’s work for the people who relate. At the end of the day, having someone to relate to can be a game-changer, a life-saver, or simply just a sense of comfort that you are not alone. And that is my goal here. On this blog, social media, and in the world in general.

    Okay, I need to go to sleep. Time to dream of a world where zebras don’t ever feel like they have to paint over their stripes!