The Pause and the Page: what a strange title. Read me first!

Welcome to My World

Writing in Florence, Italy in 2009

Hey, my name is Michelle. I am a forty-four year old lover of beautiful things. I just wrapped up my nineteenth year of teaching high school. I am incredibly blessed to be surrounded by an unusually large tribe of humans who love all of me and support me physically, spiritually, intellectually, and emotionally.

I'd like to think of this site as a collection of love letters to all the beauty I've seen in my years on this earth. I've lived long enough to be thankful for the hard times because they've thrust me out of my comfort zone (I'm a Taurus and hate change - unless it was MY idea). So, every letter is written out of love and necessity.

When did I start writing?

I became a writer at a very young age as a coping mechanism with the encouragement from my mom. My parents divorced when I was five. My biological father moved to another state and would call periodically. Unfortunately, I would hang up the phone in tears, and each time Mom suggested I write a letter expressing my feelings. My little heart needed an outlet because the power imbalance between my father and me was so large that I could never set a boundary with his traumatic projections. Plus, I was FIVE. He should have been one of my first protectors, cheerleaders, and lovers.

So, I wrote. And, it has never stopped. I didn't have to send a single letter. I just needed to let the page hold my feelings that were too large for my heart to hold. Fight with a friend? Write a letter. Break up? Letter. Overwhelmed? Letter. Inspired? Letter.

All of my writing has stayed private (with the exception of the few letters I actually sent and sharing some poetry with students).

Until now.

This is the infancy stage! As of May 27, 2025, I'm four days in. I needed something public to hold me accountable to actually write on my literary trip to England. I LOVE being held accountable (when I've asked for it). And you wonder why I'm single ;)

Like I've stated other places, I am and always have been a writer. I think in metaphor and poetry. The issue is that doesn't always translate when I try to share what I'm thinking. I almost always have someone who loves me who will translate what I'm trying to say to the more general audience. Writing is easier than talking for me. Maybe it's because the audience is removed, and I don't feel the need to make it make sense right then and there? Maybe it's because I can look over it and edit before I hit the publish button? Maybe it's because Ataxia makes talking hard af? Maybe it's all a trauma response?

I'm not worried about the "why?" I've spent too much of my life trying to figure out WHY I think, am, feel, walk, etc. the way I do. I'm learning that it doesn't matter. What am I going to do now that I'm here? That's my mission. I'm gonna play in the water I've been dropped and roll with the tide as it ebbs and flows.

So, yeah, that's what this is! Me being me from my couch while Dani snores next to me. The beauty of being an ambivert. I'm a conundrum, and I'm embracing it. You're welcome to embrace me from afar, as well :)

Thanks for visiting

This is my attempt to model what I encourage my students to do daily: step out of your comfort zone, be brave, speak your truth, take up your space, and share.