Allow me to introduce myself. Again.

                In my high school, there was a staircase that led down into an odd underbelly of the school. These were underground classrooms with no windows, low ceilings, and the first few times I prepared to enter those rooms, my claustrophobia kicked in as soon as I opened the stairwell door. 

                But those rooms became a place I loved. A haven. A refuge. 

                They were where I went for my overabundance of English credits in the form of Creative Writing, Journalism, and Publications. It was where we birthed the yearbook and put the newspaper to bed each month. 

                It was where I found the words to express myself through poetry, fiction, and non-fiction, and eventually as the Editor-in-Chief of the school paper. It was where I wrote about my beloved hockey team and homecoming, and the lack of response by the police to a broken-down car full of teens – until curfew hit.

It was where I created my first out of the house office after my friend/sidekick/assistant and I faked press badges/passes, picked a lock, and moved into the little-known hidden room. School funded landline and all. No one knew we were there.

It was where we would hide out during lunch, study hall, and any other class we felt like skipping for the day. I spent at least 20 hours a week in there for 2 years.

                It was where I learned to put the feelings in my heart into words from my head onto the paper. It was where I learned I mothered others because I had missed out being mothered by my own due to her early death.

                It was where I mourned both loves and lives lost.

                It was where I met three incredible women – Sara, Mary, and Angie. Women that became such role models to me, I named one of my children after one of them. 

                It was where I learned women had a power all their own. One that may often be hidden, but none-the-less, it’s always there.  Our job is to dig inside, pull it out of the depths, and dust it off for everyone to see. We included.

                It was where I learned I had an attitude and a voice, and I knew how to use them.

                It was where I became the person, I was for many, many, many years.

                But then, life happened, and she was gone. I was gone.

                It’s time to descend those familiar stairs again. 

                The wave of claustrophobia doesn’t hit anymore. It ended when those rooms became my home.

                Three rooms which made up so many hours of my life, became my life. 

                It doesn’t matter which door I choose to open. While each room offers a different view, each became intertwined with the others. Opening one, opens all. 

                And behind each one, I stand.

                But now, I’m 30 plus years wiser.

                The Queen is back ya’ll. 

                Better than ever.