When the world is full of war, why would you write about joy?

This didn’t make it into my memoir.

I’d love to be the kind of person who can ooze joy and wisdom while meeting deadlines and not pushing my body to the brink of either despair or a flare.

But I’m not. I’m more like the little boy I overheard in a swim lesson earlier today as I arrived at the lap pool.

Whaaaaaaa! Whhaaaaaaaa! Whaaaaaa! I can’t!!!!!

This kid was not having it. While I gathered my fins and tucked my hair into a black swim cap, I eavesdropped on the kid’s lesson just a few feet away.

Breathe, the instructor cooed. Breathe.

The boy kept crying.

Here, she moved to the edge of the pool and grabbed him a blue noodle. Sometimes we just need something to hold us.

Ain’t that the truth? I thought to myself. By the time I was just a few laps into my swim, I could hear the instructor clapping and cheering for her student. You did so well today! You swam so strong!

Sometimes we just need something to hold us.

And it is once that foam noodle has been under our arms for a bit that we can try again at the thing that scares us.

I’m editing the last fourth of my memoir right now. It’s been a month and a half of focusing deeply whenever I am able, and I find myself reaching each weekend wiped out. I’ve had several I can’t! moments like that kid—except with the high stakes reality that I’m contractually obligated to publish this book and sorely need my next advance payment to pay for my life… Folks say creativity loves constraints, right? I sure hope so.

The truth is, every time I pause in my exasperation or exhaustion to rest, I end up returning to the page renewed. Today, instead of revising in my free hours, I let the warm earth hold my weight. I wiggled my toes in green grass. I felt my held-ness, and now, instead of fearing the work I have left, I am fueled to wake up tomorrow to do it again.

Today I want to share a short vignette with you from the first draft of my memoir, a piece that didn’t make it to draft two and certainly won’t make draft three either. But it’s a small echo of the wisdom in that swim instructor’s voice. And I hope in that echo, you too will remember you can be held.

—KJ

Context: the following is a short reflection from a season in which I felt like I was drowning in despair—in the fall of 2023–before any answers had come about why I nearly lost my life or why I couldn’t seem to get better.