Photo Essay

What Was. What Is.

If you’re not reading

The Isolation Journals with Suleika Jaouad

, I suggest you do.

Her journal prompt for the week (cross-posted on my main page) was to assemble a photo essay of important moments. This sent me back into old files. Into Before times, when I was a no-bullshit teacher and a wife to a man I had no doubt would be my husband forever.

Before I learned to stop talking in definites.

Before, when I knew what adult life should look like. When I knew what it meant to make good choices—and when I knew people were making reckless ones. “That’s them,” I’d think. “Hope that works out okay.”

Ah, silly Skye. What you didn’t know you were capable of.

Before even Skye. When Skye was the name I had floating around in the back of my mind as my stage name, should I ever need one. And then, when Skye was the alias I jokingly used among my friends who knew I’d started writing.

And then, when Skye became the identity I tried on instead of stern, strict “Ms. M”. When Skye became the name I chose for myself, not as a cover but as a reflection of me.

It’s hard to choose photos to accurately reflect my life without creating a huge stack. Where do we begin? Read my post on beginnings and endings. You’ll get why this is tough for me. Do I begin with my childhood? Meeting my ex husband? Moving to New York? Becoming Skye?

Sure. Those all sound good. Let’s do that.

Baby Me

I wasn’t. Babied, I mean. I was loved, guided, and supported in making my own way in the world. But childhood for me was a mixture of joy and isolation. Of feeling A Bit Much even among my family. Of being expected to be responsible. A leader. A big sister who could take care of the younger ones.

I’m not complaining. I’m simply reflecting. There’s value in speaking about the difficult and wonderful parts of being young.

This photo, silly little me eating an apple, was at my grandparents’ house. That was a place I felt safe to be me. Babied, if you will, but not in a condescending way. Think of it more like, this was the place where the eldest daughter could go and just be a little girl.

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First Love

This was the summer I fell in love with my ex-husband. This was the summer I worked at a car wash, lost* my virginity, and stepped into myself as an adult. We were crazy in love and cared about very little else.

This was maybe the first summer I didn’t feel like I was A Bit Much. Like who I was didn’t have to be filtered to be accepted and understood. I used to quip that I caught my husband by quoting lines of Monty Python. It’s not untrue.

After this summer would come years of growing up together. We went through many phases and changes as a couple, always strong (sometimes more than others), always supportive.

We’re still strong and supportive. We still accept each other for exactly who we are. We found a way to change our bond but keep it going. So the romance is gone, but I still get to smile when I think of what was.

*I don’t like the term lost for virginity, but it’s the accepted phrase. I didn’t lose anything. There was no accident, and there was no concession. I didn’t lose. I won, baby. ;)

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I Made It There

Five years after the previous shot, I said goodbye to my family and moved to NYC. My dad & I sobbed in the airport the day I left, holding onto each other in those final moments before I stepped fully into my adult life.

The first night in my Brooklyn sublet, I slept with a towel for a pillow. When I stumbled into Target on Atlantic Ave, I nearly wept with homesickness. And, when I started teaching middle school in the fall (when this photo was taken), I faced a culture shock that’s a whole post in itself.

But I never thought about quitting or going back home.

I loved becoming a New Yorker. I loved the pace of the city, the edginess, the test of strength it took to thrive there.

Look at that sassy-faced 23 year old. She’d found a place that, like her, was a little bit of everything.

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And Then…

I built a very solid life in NYC. Got married. Flourished as a teacher. Traveled. Went to the gym. Got a dog. Found routines that equaled life.

And then, I went and let it all go.

This photo is from the time when I started to unravel. From when I became Skye McDonald, romance author.

From when I met someone else.

Namely, myself.

After building it all, after growing up and settling down, I went and flipped the table. I look happy in this picture because I was. But I was also confused as hell and trying to tell myself that the things that bothered me were all in my head. To shut up and calm down.

It didn’t work. I wound up flipping the table of my life in search of the rhythm of my own heart. I would wind up with many deep scars on that heart as a result, but I regret nothing. Every experience that led me to this moment of smiling into a beer glass was worth it.

And every experience—every pain, joy, elation, love, heartbreak, moment—that came after?

They are me. I wouldn’t undo anything. Not one thing. Because if I did, then I wouldn’t be here right now. I head a phrase about going through pain that you didn’t deserve. I’m not sure about that. I’m not sure if we deserve anything that happens to us. Maybe it’s all just experience. What we do with it is what matters.

As I look out onto a new year in this new life—this life where I don’t speak in declaratives and don’t pretend that there is a unified definition of success or propriety—I give honor to all that was. All that is. All that will be.

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“Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.” -American Beauty

Your Turn

Like Suleika prompted in her post: Assemble a photo essay of important moments. Choose to do 2022 or your life overall. Comment below and tell me what you discover!