In My Own Voice
For those of you who are fairly new here, the whole thing started with this field. Twenty-two years ago, I brought the kids to West Virginia to introduce my future son-in-law to the family. Daughter #1 was about 19 and #2 was about 4. We went for a drive in the country, came around a bend, and here was this field filled with what looked all the world to be giant marshmallows. #1 told #2 that this was a Marshmallow Ranch. “This is where they grow the marshmallows really big then they cut them up in little pieces, put them in bags, and sell them at the stores.” she said.
Years later, I owned a little needlework shop called Needles & Pins. When I made items to sell in the shop, I created an art division of the company and called it Marshmallow Ranch because it was cute and catchy. Three months before Mr. Virgo died, I revived the name and began making handcrafted jewelry and art out of antique silverware and maps. I opened an Etsy shop and started this page. When I became a widow, I really wished I had a grief mentor to walk me through the painful journey ahead of me. Since I didn’t, I decided to BE that mentor for others and began blogging about what I was going through, with an honest and open heart…no matter how ugly it got. I already had around 400 followers at this point so I just kept the name and that started four years of daily blog posts. It’s been an interesting, painful, challenging journey. It has also been filled with hope, love, and joy…something I certainly couldn’t see starting out.
I didn’t really start speaking in my own voice until death whipped every ounce of pretense out of me. I had spent two decades as a Jewish doctor’s wife and never really felt “authentic” in that space. When you are raised in the home of an unpredictable alcoholic, you learn to tap dance for your supper. When you are born into a family with a child with a developmental disability, you learn to not give your mom any more trouble than what she is already facing. You learn to be the clown, to not rock the boat, to make everyone laugh. Above all else, I wanted to make my mom laugh. In so doing, I became a chameleon. I “changed colors” with my environment in order to fit in.
When I couldn’t keep all the balls in the air anymore, I dropped into a deep depression and spent seven years in what has come to be known in my family as “The Prozac Years.” I cannot be held entirely responsible for my behaviors from 1993 through 2000. Prozac altered my personality and I didn’t care about anything or anyone…a fact I’m still making up for. I was much more genuine the seven years I was with Mr. Virgo, but still, I hid parts of who I was…from him, from my family, from everyone. Grief has a way of stripping you bare. Your heart breaks open wide and shatters to the floor in a million shards. At some point you realize you have come to a crossroads. Stay where you are with your heart at your feet, or pick up the pieces and put yourself back together as best you can. What better time to drop all pretenses and become the genuine “you” you were born to be? I would stand in front of the mirror and ask God to show me who He wanted me to be…who He had MADE me to be. And bit by bit, piece by piece, I discovered my genuine voice. It’s much easier to just BE than it is to try to fit in.
That’s the peace you see on my face when you send me such lovely messages about my pictures. That is the genuine, real me…relaxed in my own skin for perhaps the first time in my life. What you see is God’s love shining through me. I’m merely a conduit, passing on the Light I have been graced with. My cup is full to overflowing. ❤️
“Do not let your adorning be external—the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear— but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God’s sight is very precious.” 1 Peter 3:3-4 ESV