Before we go an further, I have to say good-bye to the lies and belief systems that were created in my two worlds, that held this narrative captive in my mind instead of letting it settle on written page for fear of what others would think. I have hand-written this letter, but it is import to add these words to the chronicles given this letter was my own permission slip to write, to speak, to open myself, love myself, and to allow you to peak in.

Dear Old Thought Patterns, Lies, and Systems,

I have to say good-bye to you. Today is the day I regain my identity, uniqueness in character, and drop the lies of my past. Goodbye to the feelings of inadequacy and hello to knowing I am ENOUGH. Goodbye to performing, to earning the love of those around me, to the fear that I would never FIT IN. I, today, say hello to rest, to loving myself, to understanding that people love me just because they do, not because I made them. Goodbye to caring about what other’s think, goodbye TO EXPLAINING MYSELF and APOLOGIZING FOR WHO I AM. Hello to knowing God intended for me to be exactly as I am. No. More. Apologizing. No. More. Explaining. Goodbye to believing I am not enough and sometimes too much. Goodbye to the lie that I don’t or never will “FIT” into Christianity. I do FIT. Perfectly, in the skin God gave me, in my skin. I do fit. Hello to actually believing that. Goodbye to the sadness and guilt over strained and tough moments with my parents. Hello to loving and honest relationships with them that continue to grow. Goodbye to the untrue messages I picked up about God, and I welcome a new relationship with Him, one that I feel safe and loved in. Goodbye to negative self-talk, to shame responses, to holding my head low, to my racism, to earning admiration through deed and accomplishment, to the never-ending chase of the next high. Hello to the high coming from within.

Goodbye to being afraid to speak, of being quiet, of cowering and hiding. HELLO TO FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION. HELLO TO WRITING UNHINGED AND ROWDY. Hello to knowing the message inside of me is GOOD. Hello to writing for myself. Goodbye to believing I am programmed from creation damned, rotten, wretched, and a screw-up. Hello to believing, and knowing, I am created in the image of a good, good father, which means there is good inside of me, from creation. I am not wired to mess-up. I am wired for love, joy, peace, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness and self-control. Goodbye to teaching my children out of fear. Hello to teaching out of love.

Goodbye to thinking Josh will fill my void of happiness. Goodbye to the marriage I dream about. Goodbye to expectation and bitterness. Hello to letting him be exactly who he is. Goodbye to thinking Josh deserves a better, more spiritual, quieter wife. Goodbye to believing I broke our marriage. Hello to forgiveness, to healing and to HOPE. Hello to our marriage being a healthy version of what it is. Hello to knowing I am exactly who he needs.  Goodbye to blocking love. Goodbye to being closed off to other people, and new relationships. Hello to letting people know me.

Goodbye to you, Captain Morgan. Goodbye to being afraid to feel the low hum of anxiety, to ignoring sadness, of pretending pain doesn’t exist. Goodbye my old friend, goodbye to you helping me numb and not feel. Hello to feeling IT ALL. Hello to feeling all there is to feel and understanding it is a gift to be aware of what is going on inside. Hello to understanding that my emotions are invitations from myself to take care of myself, especially on the low days. Hello to knowing my tears are information watchtowers and messengers.

Goodbye to the thinking I suck as a mother and hello to creating a different and healthy way to be a mother. Hello to believing I am a WONDERFUL mother. Hello to three boys being raised by a mother who is giving them her very best shot. Hello to knowing they love me.

Goodbye, to all of it. Goodbye. I am laying you down. Hello to inhaling and exhaling, to filling my lungs full with air, and to knowing that I AM OKAY. Hello to breathing. Hello to being alive.



Hello! Have you ever wanted to write yourself a goodbye letter? This letter came at the end of an intense, 12 week course called the Ultimate Journey. I would recommend this class to EVERYONE. All people. If you are interested check out the link below to fill out a registration form. I will contact you when our next session starts!

Registration form under the tab labeled Ultimate Journey Phase 1-Ongoing.


Hello to you! If you would like to Chronicle with us, follow the blog,  find me on FB or Instagram @cmisener! You are welcome here always friend!


An Intro…

This is a story, my story, as true and honest as I can recall it. For as long as I can remember, I have existed in two worlds. The first, reality. My actual life, as I experienced, lived, loved and hated it. And then, the world inside my mind. The swirling, ever-changing ball of thought and story-line, of magical places and underground mazes, of made-up heroes and heroins and characterized versions of people I loved, and people I didn’t. Hours and hours I have spent there, hiding and creating, writing on the storyboard of my mind.

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The year is 1985. There is a surge of activity in the hallway of our sweet, little house. It is a brick home, perfectly square to a four-year old. The front room, my favorite room, had a wall of mirrors that stretched from the ceiling to the ground, making the room feel bigger than it should, and green shag carpet that I pretended would swallow me whole if I lingered too long in one spot. There was a large family room, converted from a garage, where the washer and dryer had been installed. They were loud, and looked like monsters. Angry, hungry monsters that were never satisfied with the clothes we fed them. Outside, a beautiful back yard complete with a shed for my Dad’s things and a swing set. At the time my Dad enjoyed mornings in a tree stand, and spent the hours after work dispatching an arrow from his bow, aimed at a large hay bail with a target attached. So many times I heard a warning in his words, “stand behind me Chele while I am shooting. Get behind me Chele. Don’t run behind the hay bail Chele.” Excited but equally scared that a rogue arrow would find my frame, I jumped and spun, and ran, and did cartwheels behind him, watching every release of the arrow, imagining that he were Robin Hood competing for the heart of the fair Maid Marian. My mother.

Chele. That was my name. A shortened version of my middle name, Michele. That was the spinning girl’s name. Chele.

On the afternoon of Easter Sunday in April of 1985, the Easter Bunny brought me a baby sister. The bump that had been my mother’s belly was now a wiggling, bright-eyed, baby girl. Jacqueline. She had been named after her great grandfather and grandfather, both named Jack, and soon became the object of my adoration and curiosity. I had so many questions, including why she had lived in my mother’s belly, and why her hair was so blonde, unlike the brown that lay over my shoulders. Finally, I decided that she must have lived in the clouds on the wall of my bedroom before becoming my sister, and that only four-year olds had brown hair.


The light is on in the hallway. It wakes me, as it has so many nights before, and shadowy figures walk up and down, rubbing their eyes, mumbling echos and exhaustion, returning with hopes that the crying will cease shortly. It is my baby sister. Something is off, she doesn’t feel well, and hasn’t for months. Doctors have given answers, but the answers were wrong. The crying continues, and sleep hides from Robin Hood and Maid Marian.

One of my favorite books as a child was The Princess And The Pea. The story is about a Prince, who longed for a Princess. His mother, the Queen, decided to hide a pea under 20 feather mattresses, stating that only a true Princess had delicate enough skin to feel the pea under the mattresses. Many suitors came, and in the end it was the most unsuspecting of the them who turned out to be a real Princess.

I look at the wall of clouds. At the time, I don’t know it is wallpaper. At the time, it is magic. I wonder if my sister misses sleeping on the clouds. I wonder if she is a real Princess, and can feel the pea under her mattress. I wonder myself back to sleep, as I will continue to do my entire life, wondering if I could feel a pea under my own mattress.

Wonder, curiosity, questions, and then a story to answer the questions; this will be my way. This is how I will see the world.


My way of understanding things, that started so long ago in the clouds, kept me from smoothly transitioning into different stages of life. Instead of easing into my middle school, high school, college and then adult years, I tumbled. Head over feet, often times comically, without grace for or understanding of ANY concepts of my changing body or the pack mentality of pubescent females. I knew nothing. So I told stories, to myself, about everything and everyone, and tried, awkwardly, (and sometimes successfully) to fit in. Those stories, and that awkwardness, will be the Chronicles Of A Late Bloomer.

And my sister. My beautiful, baby sister. Well, she really was a Princess. It wasn’t a pea that was bothering her, instead it was her tonsils. My mother must have found the right doctor in the kingdom, because as soon as her tonsils were removed, the light in the hallway remained off and sleep came out of it’s refuge.

Even in the dark, I watched the moon dance across the clouds on my wall, a new story beginning. This story beginning.


Hello to you! If you would like to Chronicle with us, follow the blog,  find me on FB or Instagram @cmisener! You are welcome here always friend!