How Life Is…

Posted on by sereichert

No one is harder on me than me. And so, when I realized that I’d missed not one, but TWO blog posts in a row, I was at first righteously disappointed in myself. After all, I’ve been doing this blog for a long time. Every week, on Thursday, a little something about life, writing, or just to enrich the world (via poetry). But if you read this blog, you know that my life has been on the rocks for the last 8 weeks or so (before that really on our way leading up to inpatient) and so the disappointment quickly faded.

You see, I’ve learned to treat myself with the same grace I would extend to those whom I love. And it’s a kindness I’ve been looking for my whole life.

Like it or not, my blog is not the miracle of physics that keeps the world spinning ’round. There aren’t lives dependent upon my poetry or massive crowds hanging on my every word. When it comes down to it, the blog is a lot about me shouting out into the void, to remember that I still have a voice to use. That it occasionally resonates with someone else is wonderful. That it exists helps me feel purposeful. And so to hit and miss it a few times while my daughter and I are staying far from home and undergoing treatment for one of the deadliest mental illnesses that exists, is a drop in the bucket of my existence. I’m doing other things.

Fun fact I learned in one of the classes we take here as parents; the stress of parenting child suffering from an eating disorder is THREE TIMES the stress of parenting a child with schizophrenia.

I believe it. I feel it. The constant worry and triggering of what they eat, if they’re eating, if they’re eating enough, if they’re getting up to exercise in the middle of the night while you’re passed out from exhaustion from being “on duty” all of the time. If they’re only pretending to get better and it will reemerge as soon as you get home. If they will relapse later. If this will be the thing that takes their life, if not now, then sometime down the road. There’s no magical medicine to help soothe the savage beast of an eating disorder, and the only thing that truly is their medicine (food) is the one thing they fear most to take. It is physical and mental. And the mental leads to worsening physical, and so the cycle goes.

When I remember the characteristics of this villain we’re currently fighting, my blog post doesn’t feel quite so important. But it kind of is too. Because in the midst of this battle, I realized, I’ve become nothing but the General. Nothing but one-woman army, constantly fighting. Not a writer, not a wife, not a sister, not a friend, not a community organizer, or a poet. Not a human. Just the facilitator of a hard-to-come-by cure. And it has worn me thin. Too thin. So thin that the dark thoughts I’d shelved for the last few months are beginning to seep through the cracks in this armor that has already taken too many blows. And the thoughts that seep in…

Well…they aren’t life sustaining, I’ll tell you that much.

So today, I’m making a conscious effort to sit down and write. To do more than research and fret, and meal plan. To remember that attending to the foundation of who I am matters, to the house that still needs to stand in this storm.

I’ve watched a lot of events and occasions pass by in the last two months, as an outsider. From holidays, to birthdays, to fun events and friend gatherings. Even the release of two of my own books. And I could not be a part, fully, of any of them. But we are coming back into the light, and with every day she grows stronger, I need to also commit to coming out of the dark too. It wouldn’t do much good to help her survive only to loose my own will to in the process.

So I’ll keep writing. Keep shouting into the void. And I’m thankful for you, bearing with me while I come back to myself.

I’ll see you next week.

Whatever You Have to Give

Posted on by sereichert

Hey kids. Today’s blog won’t be long or detailed. For the last three months, I’ve been engaged in trying to support and treat my youngest’s eating disorder on my own. Taking her to multiple appointments a week, doctors and therapists and dietitians. Monitoring every meal with her, coercing and begging her to eat. Lab work, consults, admissions to programs that turned out to be abusive…

I’m in the middle of it.

On Tuesday we admitted her to a better program. But it requires that I be here, in Denver, with her. Monitoring a few meals, learning better techniques, taking her in at 7 and not leaving the facility again until 7. They are long, hard days, filled with meetings and often a lot of tears over grilled cheese sandwiches. We’re lucky to have a space at the Ronald McDonald Charity house and it’s honestly been the biggest blessing. It isn’t home but they provide a safe place to be in the times we’re not in treatment.

This blog is just a reminder…that even on our hardest days and maybe especially on them, I want you, as a writer or poet, to remember the comfort and the break that your craft can be. Even a sentence a day counts. One stanza. A paragraph, a dialogue. Hell, a journal entry (man…I’ve never journaled so much in my life) can work wonders. These things can switch the tracks in your brain for just a few moments, bring you out of the chaos, and into a world you can control, into something brighter. Or make space to hold all of the hard thoughts you can’t put out into the world in the moment.

So that’s it, that’s the blog. Write. A little. Everyday. Use a hospital napkin, or the edge of that overpacked therapy schedule…doesn’t matter. Just stay connected to who you are, and that there are stories still to tell.

Poetry 10-16-25

Posted on by sereichert

I don’t have much to say about this one. Today we’ll be in the hospital. Next week, a new world. In a month? Who knows. Every season feels like fall these day, minus the comfort of repose.

Confetti

Fall afternoon
where asphalt splits
the glory of some
reticent nature apart and the 
contrived quaintness of our street
twenty years-lived 
sits picturesque and soft

our voices are silent and 
our thoughts are loud 
and we are so alone,
next to one another
each a leaf fallen
even as the confetti of mountain ash
dances down like glitter
the aftermath some big show 
we've just missed
the end of a celebration
we held no part in

Tomorrow we run more tests,
tomorrow they measure you again
to see the 
failure to thrive
and the insistence of dying thin
rather than living 
with anything over your bones
but shivering skin

and the dark bark of trees
reaches up to claw the blue skies
and I hear 
you giggling from your stroller
at the leaves of confetti 
just somewhere down our street

it echoes, this joy
even as you stare sullen
beside me, alone

Self Care for Writers

Posted on by sereichert

Hey there. I see you. Staring, blank eyed, into your screen. Just a thousand more words. Just get this poem revised. Just submit to one more journal. Post one more eye-catching reel. Just call three more bookstores. Just, just, just, just…

It isn’t hard to get caught up in the loop of hustling for your art. And I don’t mean that’s always a bad thing. We care about our work. We love our work. We want to share and celebrate our work. This world has a variety of pathways to do that (an overwhelming and convoluted sphere in itself), but it often amounts to at least a part time job in itself. Beyond the writing, the poem-ing, the editing, the revision, our creativity is in constant competition for the pesky day-to-day of living.

Psh. Family. Day jobs. Grocery shopping. Cleaning. Taxes. PTA meetings. Board meetings. Bake sales. Yard work. Caregiving. That contest you said you’d judge. Simultaneous vaccinations for every furry thing in the house… everything competing for space in your brain and on your schedule. I get burnt out just thinking about it all. So this week, we’re going to take a step back, put down the balls I’m juggling (I can’t type balls without giggling a little–Jesus Christ Sarah, pull it together) and talk about some things we can do as creatives/writers to keep ourselves sane, calm, and focused, in these over productive lives. I think you guys deserve a bullet list. It’s been awhile.

  • Sleep. Protect your goddamn sleep at all costs. Seriously. Priding yourself on four hours a night is only super cool to tech bros and cocaine addicts (or do I repeat myself?) Create a bedtime routine like you were a toddler. We turn off our phones, we brush our teeth, we stretch and meditate, we read something calming, we shut off the light and we settle in. (or whatever combination works for you) Every night. Limit your caffeine and your booze.
  • Find time to write for fun. I get it, all of us write and it’s all ‘supposed’ to be fun. But sometimes there are projects and deadlines. You should always have some outlet that isn’t related to your bigger goals. Journaling every day counts. I have a tiny notebook and every day I sit down to write one poem in only the space of two tiny pages. Only have 5 minutes? Do that. That’s enough. Have 20? Take it and make it your downtime.
  • Exercise. Listen you don’t have to run marathons. You could to chair yoga or mobility stretches. You could go for a walk or a bike ride. You could Jazzercise for all I care, Richard Simmons your heart out. Power lift or join a Cross-Fit cult. The brain works better when the blood is flowing. Not only that, but it will kick up your endorphins and hopefully help your sleep, posture, and overall sense of well-being. Movement matters
  • Read. Holy shit, I used to be terrible about this! I’d only pick up a book at the end of the day, maybe make it through a page, and fall asleep. I told myself I didn’t have time. I was a big dumb liar. There is time in the day. I read in the morning now, and a little at lunch, and again in the afternoon. A variety, some philosophy, some writing books, some fiction. A healthy diet of words help me to have fuel for my own.
  • Don’t take it so seriously. I’m not talking about just your writing. I’m talking about your life. Here’s a secret that capitalism and social media doesn’t want you to know. The statuses, the Amazon ratings, the likes and comments–none of it really matters. It’s an alternate plane of information that really doesn’t mean anything. Have you ever sat in your own skin consciously for a minute. Felt the reality of being? Known that if a giant EMP took out all technology suddenly, you would still exist in the world. We only get this one time, we only get the moment and the breath we’re in. If you never published another book, the world would still keep spinning. If you were rejected 600 times, the sun would still rise the next day. Silly human, stop obsessing about the trivial and just be present. Find your joy in the here and now.

Well, there you go. Take care of yourself. Get sunshine, good food, movement, and water. Treat yourself like your favorite houseplant. Talk gently to yourself. Forgive yourself. Take lots of big, deep belly breaths, and trust that whatever you have to give for today, is more than enough.

Poetry 7-3-25

Posted on by sereichert

Travel leads to thoughts. Interesting new connections and inspirations do too… Travel also leads to not a lot of time getting to sit down and make up blog posts. So I hope you’ll forgive me for posting two poems in a row. This is an older one, not in my current headspace, but always, somehow, tattooed beneath my skin.






Remember Your Lines







What does depression feel like?





Like I want to sleep forever





but every time I fall into that





blissful unconsciousness,





I hope I never come back out





that it’s just a peaceful send off





So long…have a good flight





Don’t call when you get there.





Because…that would be weird





And freak everyone out…





It feels like…





I can’t feel





sunshine, or joy, or pride, or hope





I’m a slab of granite,





wavering on two crumbling pillars of sandstone





stuck in quicksand and sinking





and I don’t care if I go under





in fact, I welcome it and hope





it suffocates me





with calm commands,





breathe in…breath out…and hold





like an MRI of your final moment





but it never tells you





to breath in again





Depression feels like





I have no energy in my synapses





and even if I did, nothing I could do with it





would be worth anything to anyone





least of all myself





Depression is a gray, weighted blanket





only not for comfort, it’s for the unsurmountable load





that life gives you to carry





and you just can’t find a good enough reason





to carry it anymore;





but you can’t find your way out





from underneath it either





Depression is seeing through eyes





that are a movie screen





to an audience that lost its will to care





lacks empathy, doesn’t recognize





Art





or love





or fleeting time





or beauty





Depression is a cage that I shout meaningless words out of,





fake platitudes





in hopes no one else falls into the cage next to me





I’m fine!





You’re fine,





you’re fine, baby girl





you’re fine…





I love you





it’ll be okay





It’ll be okay is tattooed beneath my skin





so that I don’t forget these





lines to a play that I rehearse and repeat,





back to the world that asks





Are you?





Okay?





I look down to the scars I once cut





but can’t cut again; they’ll see





Children learn from watching





so I don’t show,





I tell…





I tell lines





I tell them the lines I need to tell





I tell them,





Though the world is burning around us





and women will never be safe





and human lives don’t matter





cattle for the breeding grounds or





simply to slaughter to the gods of capitalism





Stop!





don’t say that…





don’t project the hopeless…





Read the line





Read the provided line





not the truthful line





of scars….





It’ll be okay





I’m





Okay





You’ll be…





… will you be?





Okay?





Depression is lying to loved ones





so you never have to worry that you’ll be





their downward spiral,





the same scythe of your mother’s loss





that cut you down





Cause we’re all Ok





we just need to…





I just need to





Remember my lines



	


	



					
						


	

		
Poetry 4-10-2025

				

			Posted on  by sereichert		

			


	
	
			


	

		

The Other Half Lives

She breaks the silence
with the crack of a match strike
instant whirl of smoke
and snap
open jumps the flame

She’s Magic on dark nights
when I need reprieve
from myself
when I yearn
to slip into someone
else’s skin and be
the one my parents
warned me about

The kind who lives truth
through match strikes
and bared teeth and
hard, dirty alleys
rough brick scraping
backs of thighs
and halting breath
that never begs

Unleashed from boredom
She carries the burning ember of strife
at the end of her cigarette and
coaxes the glowing cinder with
deep inhalations
Blowing out sinuous tails
through lips
split by love

Back again for more?
Quirked eyebrow, pierced and dauntless

yes, again
pray unbroken lips
with underground currents
of tightly wound desire.

S.E. Reichert

	


	



					
						


	

		
Rediscovering Purpose

				

			Posted on  by sereichert		

			


	
	
			


	

		

It’s a strange world out there kids. Even if you live under a rock, its hard to ignore all of the things that are currently affecting our lives and world. Massive super cell tornados, vapid and un-checked streaming information, rights being taken away, innocents being bombed, people starving, other’s rolling in stupid amounts of money…its enough to make a conscious person’s head spin. 





And mine has been spinning for awhile. And then, even with all of the big picture stuff, looming, you still have to do something about your own, micro world. Your family, your job, your community, your life. Doesn’t it all seem a little too much to anyone else? I worry that if I shrink the world down, I won’t take action when I can to help others. I worry if I get to caught up in the overwhelming outside world, I’ll forget the good I can do with the people I love, closest to me. I’m, as Bilbo once said, too little butter scraped across the bread. 





I’m at a retreat this week, helping to keep the thing running smoothly and encouraging this great group of writers in attendance and we’ve been at the mercy of some pretty terrible weather the last three days. The hikes and quiet world-expanding I’d hoped for haven’t happened. I’m shrunken down into my room, my group, and my work and I’m trying to not pull a Jack a la “The Shining”. We can hear our crazy louder and more clear when we’re forced into the silence. 





Watching so many of my fellow writers getting work done, and having epiphanies, and making progress has been such a joy. But its also frustrating, because despite being here, and away from the rest of the world, I still feel stuck. I guess when the trap is your own head, it doesn’t matter how much you change the scenery. I’m making lists and doing a lot of the ‘safe’ work of editing and administrative to-dos. I’ve written a few poems. I’ve taken notes on classes. But what I haven’t done is gotten lost in the beautiful alpha state of writing and it’s something that always sweeps me up at a retreat. 





Maybe there’s too much responsibility. Maybe I’m just not in the right head space. Maybe there’s a stress level, worrying about everyone and everything else besides my writing. All I know is that I will spare myself some time today and look forward in my own life. Make a list if need be (virgos love lists) of what I need, going forward to recapture my sense of purpose. Not just in writing. But in life. 





I hope that you spare yourself some space in the middle of this crazy world today, and do the same. Could you imagine if we all woke up tomorrow, renewed and ready to make this world a little better?





That’s something to set an intention for.

	


	



					
						


	

		
Poetry 4-18-24

				

			Posted on  by sereichert		

			


	
	
			


	

		

Today is my daughter’s 14th birthday. She’s been through a lot. She’s still going through it. She’s one of the strongest, smartest, most thoughtful humans I know, and the world has put pressures on her she should have never had to carry. We can’t protect our kids from everything, but we can stand with them in the fire. This one’s for you kiddo.





Bigger

I’m taking you out on the trail today
to see if we both can heal
one step
one stitch
to close the gaping hole
the chasm between our beats

I’m taking you away
from the screams and screens
and all the voices
of a maddening world
always telling you
to be smaller

I’m bringing you into the bigger world
like I brought you in 11 years ago
back to the light and the breath
and the love and the truth
that you never have to lose
to gain

I’m taking you out on the trail
in the early morning hush
You and I
away from a million voices
Screaming we are not enough
whispers to pinch skin
and hollow out our souls
to lose the weight, to be
less, be
smaller, be gone.
disappear.

If we must disappear
then let’s do it together
let us lose ourselves in
dirt tracks
and aspen quakes
and forget the other world
exists

Let’s make it smaller.

I’m taking you out on the trail
to gain back what you have lost
to heal
one step
one stitch
at a time

Do not make yourself small
when the size of your soul
is my whole world.

S.E. Reichert

	


	



					
						


	

		
The Writer Needs a Break

				

			Posted on  by sereichert		

			


	
	
			


	

		

As we gear up for the last few weeks of this year, its always interesting to take a moment and think about what we’ve learned, if anything at all, from our trip around the sun. What have I learned? Well, I’m still trying to figure that out. It’s all a hazy, Monet painting, that I’m still too close to. There’s no grand picture, for all the individual points of light and dark. And its practically impossible to be introspective and retrospective when so much noise and obligation is still harping on me.





Like anyone who recognizes the signs of burnout and dangerous feeding tubes straight to their depressive tendencies, I’ll be stepping back for that purpose. 





This year, more than any before, has been the perfect example of towering highs and dark-depth lows. I’ve been busy trying to find a path, putting my efforts into editing and publishing, marketing and selling…after losing my north star last January. That’s the order it happened. I did not leave instructing to write. I had to leave an abusive situation and it tore out a gaping heart-shaped hole. I had to fill it with something or risk…not being part of this grand farce of life anymore. 





But, as tomorrow will be my last book signing/book launch of the year, I’ll be taking a break from social media, self promoting, and marketing for at least a couple of weeks (ideally for the rest of this year). I’ll still have blogs (my favorite holiday one is coming up next week) but you won’t see me town-crier-ing about how much I’d love it if you bought my work and left a review. I need a break from that. Because although it is a necessary part of this game, its not why I write and its killing my soul. 





Plus…I’m out of books in the pipeline. I’m out of distractions from my pain and depression. I’m out of excuses and must stumble in the dark for awhile in order to find my purpose going forward. I honestly don’t know if I’ll publish again. I honestly don’t know if I have anything left to write that I believe in. I’m like the year itself; in my dark season, and I think I need to rest in this space. 





Please, do not think that I am ungrateful, for the opportunities and the advancement in my writing that happened. I’m still over the moon and ever-grateful to see my name in a publishing house’s ranks. To have books on my shelf, with my words, and stories tucked into beautiful covers, is a dream come true and I suppose one I might not have found, if I hadn’t had space in my life to fill. 





So maybe, in my darkness, in my social hibernation and retrospective quiet, the conclusion will balance out in favor of the light and reveal that the pain that hobbled me, turned me in a direction so much more deserving of my time. Maybe it will just give me time to stretch past the old scar tissue and discover my next adventure. Who knows. I only hope the rest will bring me back around to finding a reason to keep participating in the grand farce.





If you follow my blog, I’ll still be posting (scheduled). If you follow me, don’t think I blocked you if I’m gone for a few weeks. I wish you and yours a happy holiday season. We’ll come back around next year.





I wish you health. I wish you contentment and gratitude. I wish you warm coffee and good friends. I wish you hope. I wish you rest.

	


	



					
						


	

		
A Year in Review

				

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Photo by u5f20u6210 on Pexels.com






Two days until we put to rest 2022, and I’m currently engaged in a battle with myself, whether or not this was a year of positive net.





It certainly was one of the most interesting ones I’ve survived.





On the bright and beautiful side, I pushed myself farther and to greater heights with my writing than I ever had before. I took chances and got out of my comfort zone, and thank goddess for that. Because those investments in myself and explorations into new experiences led me to some of the best connections I’ve made, the dearest of friends, more published pieces I’ve had in the last five years combined, and a publishing contract with a company I believe in. https://www.5princebooks.com/sarahreichert.html





Not only that, but when I put my fear of rejection aside, and made a deal with my writing bestie (Rebecca Cuthbert) I succeeded in my goal of 100 rejections for the year (along with about 15 acceptances that I’m so grateful for). My work was featured in awesome and quirky journals and sites and some even were accepted in more traditional venues. I co-wrote my first romance with my wonderful friend and mentor Kerrie Flanagan . I learned a lot about myself as a writer, how to manage my time in a busy world, how to write in different genres and formats, and how to shrug off the worry of failure. I learned that I can do things. Hard things. New things. Interesting things. Things I never even imagined. I learned that I can do whatever. I. Set. My. Mind. To.





On the darker side of things, I was, and still am engaging in a battle with my daughter’s worsening OCD. It is a constant in our lives and I am in a cyclical ride of refilling and emptying out my patience levels, trying to find and give to her compassion on the daily, reassurances to the virulent voices in her head that tell her on repeat horrible things will happen if she doesn’t follow its asinine rules. (More Info Here) I have to put aside my own anxieties and depression, I have to square my shoulders and tuck away my own mental strains so that I can be a solid rock for her during this ongoing storm. In turn, these pressures have left me very little space for other people’s bullshit, and maybe that’s a good thing.





I’ve become aware that I no longer tolerate the levels of injustice I used to. I no longer tolerate the levels of disrespect and flagrant wasting of my time that some people think is acceptable. That I’m not going to let assholes go on being assholes without telling them they’re being assholes. And I’ve come across some doozies in the last few months.





Not for the first time, I got a taste of gender imbalance and misogyny in my outside-of-writing-profession. It’s disheartening, especially, when it comes from men in a position of trust who have been my supposed ‘family’ for so long. It reminded me that the imbalance of power in our culture is always in play, no matter how safe you think a business or place is. I watched as a world that was once my sanctuary turned into a dark place where people I once trusted, threw dirt on the grave of my autonomy and denied my worth as a human being.





I’m still battling with if I should stay at my instructor position for the sake of the children and other females in the school. Is their instruction and safety worth more than having to put up with the culture that would allow and overlook frightening behavior and disrespect? Still battling over that one, and I guess if I give myself time to think (as I’m doing this week from social media) I will arrive at the solution that is the best for myself and the people I care about most.





But I have my writing, and I have my friends, and I have people who have stood by me and loved me and shook their fists for me when I just wanted to curl up and die. And that’s not nothing. Years like this teach you who your allies are. And who you should not put your faith or your respect in. They teach you who will stand by your side, and who will throw you under the bus, for their own personal gain. And that knowledge is not nothing either.





So as you look into the new year, I urge you to not forget the lessons you’ve learned. I urge you to write your own story. One worthy of you. I ask that you take leaps of faith, and do things outside of your comfort zone. I ask that you let yourself get rejected and keep moving forward. I ask that you let loose your imposter syndrome and know that you and your art are more than enough to be shared.





In this new year, surround yourself with people who put your safety in mind and value your worth. I urge you to stand up for the friend in need of some fist shaking. I urge you to not put up with anymore bullshit, especially the hateful, uneducated, dehumanizing kind. Use your heads, use your hearts. Build this year, 365 single days at a time, and find something at the end of it that has made you outgrow a little more of the old you.





Choose what to carry, and what to let go. Some things are too heavy, but more than their weight, they don’t belong to you. They are not yours; they serve no purpose to you or to the greater good of the world. They are merely weights that keep you from getting to where you’re meant to be. So know when to let them go, and don’t berate yourself for leaving them behind. Sometimes the absolutely strongest thing we can do, isn’t to keep holding on. It’s in the letting go. So you will have both hands open for the next, better opportunity.