My books are my children. They are my legacy. I am truly and completely aware that I have found my calling and have a purpose in this life. It is of utmost importance that I create change, open minds, and aid in the healing of those suffering by my side. Life is not easy for anyone. There are hard times that yield happy endings. There are good times that fade. There is hope in the hearts of many, which may be dashed by dire circumstances, or live on to pay forward words of encouragement and light to follow. For the first time, I feel that my books are making a difference in the lives of others, which has been my goal from the start. My husband owns an art gallery and sells my work there. I said to him that it would be the highest honor if someone were to steal a book. I don’t encourage that, but my books are meant to help, not to fill my pockets with gold. If you wonder why my books are so expensive, or where the money goes, I am happy to tell you that your money funds the reprints of each of my books, making it possible for more people to discover them and to spread my message all over the world. Your money also helps in the production of my third book, which is under construction. You are vital supporters of this movement, and I am so very grateful!
My book launch was an enormous success! Several people have approached me with apologies for missing out during the hours of the book launch, but I want you all to know that books are still available in Soque Artworks on the square in Clarkesville, GA. I will also be setting up book signings in the near future on Saturdays at that location. I will advertise these dates and times so that people who missed out on the book launch can still purchase signed copies.
If you don’t want to wait for a signed copy, you may purchase a book at any time on my website: samanthabuice.com (here). You can preview the books on my “Books” page before purchase. If you buy a book online and want it signed, email me and I will make that happen.
I urge you to subscribe to my blog: The Chronicles of Jane. I publish an article every week and if you subscribe, the article will be emailed to you.
I want to thank all of the people who attended my book launch for their support of my journey, and the journey of countless others facing challenges like these. Hard covers are selling fast and there are only a handful left. If you want one, hurry over to the art gallery!
Thank you all for reading my words. I have always wanted to be an author and illustrator. On career day in elementary school, I didn’t know how to dress up like an author and illustrator. I wore a dress and carried a bag with a notebook, book and pencils inside. I even wore shoes. Oh, how wrong I was about attire! I wear my pajamas to work. Not everyone grows up to build a career out of their childhood dreams. I never knew I could really make that happen. My life has taken many twists and turns which brought me here. I feel cursed with a blessing. This is my purpose, without a doubt. I have said this before, but it’s worth repeating: in the eighth grade, when asked what I wished for my future, I replied, “I want to write something people want to read.” I can only hope I have succeeded and that my words and artwork will continue to further my efforts toward positive change.
I have an excellent long term memory. When I was almost two years old my dad heard God’s call. We departed from Georgia and made our way to Virginia Theological Seminary. We lived in Alexandria where my first little sister, Jessica, was born in December of 1989. My parents had their work cut out for them. As my father obeyed his call to the church, my mom worked as a nurse and as a mom to keep us afloat. I remember riding on my dad’s shoulders as we walked the path toward my day care center, which was on his way to class. He would pick me up from day care at lunch time, and we ate in the cafeteria at the seminary. Dad said I could drink whatever I wanted from the fountain, and I always chose orange soda. Life is in the details.
Most of the time, when a priest graduates from seminary, he or she takes up a position as an assistant rector before they have their own church. When Dad graduated and first began his career as a priest, he skipped the assistant bit and took on two churches at the same time. We lived in Calhoun, Georgia in a little yellow house with our church nearby, and Dad also commuted to his church in Jasper, Georgia. How did my parents find time to sleep? I have no idea.
My sisters, Kimberly and Amy were born in September of 1993. We needed a bigger house, and we found the coolest house in Calhoun, with a wrap around porch, two bedrooms and a loft, a huge back yard; and it was close enough to our church so Dad wouldn’t have quite a long drive to work. We were happy there. Then, we moved, as preacher’s must. One of the hardest parts about being a preacher’s kid is keeping the secret that you are moving, before the church is informed. It was the duty my sisters and I had to uphold. Even at a young age, I understood this. It was still hard. We moved to Toccoa, Georgia, where we stayed for eight years at St. Matthias. This was my childhood.
We moved again after that. We went south to Savannah, Georgia. We spent thirteen years there. Dad had by then matured as a priest and gave killer sermons, helped people in need, stayed by sick beds, prayed with the dying and those who loved them, read rites, baptized babies, married couples, and led youth groups, as well as many outreach programs.
When Dad was called to Grace Calvary in Clarkesville, Georgia, he felt he was “coming home.”
Now, after a marriage that has lasted almost forty years, four daughters, several furry grandchildren and a career that has consumed him for most of his life, Dad is retiring in two days. People love “Father Sam.” I love my dad. While others are suffering the loss of a great priest, I celebrate the next chapter of my dad’s life and all the joy it will bring. I will miss sitting on the front row with my mom and sisters. I will cherish the memories of reading books and coloring during church before I learned to pay attention, and laying my head in my mom’s lap when I got bored or too sleepy. I will miss his voice during the celebration and communion on Sundays, as I have attended church for thirty years. Time passes so quickly and it’s hard to keep up. Where does it go? The days are shorter when you grow older, so we must cherish every moment spent together.My dad is my light in the darkness. He gives me hope for a brighter future. I will always be a preacher’s kid, and proud to call “Father Sam” my dad.
I recently spent a whole day with my first little sister. She is my little sister, but she is much taller than me. Jessica has such a big heart and she is so kind. She is always putting other’s needs before her own. She listens, gives great advice, and is one of the most loving human beings I have ever met. She had a big hand in bringing me back to reality during the months I spent jumping from one hospital to another. Every time she visited me was like Christmas, and the days blurred together, so one minute she was there and no time passed before she came again. Jessica is magic. She is easy to be with and a lot of fun! She exudes wisdom. She is destined for great things! Recently, Jessica graduated with her Master’s degree and plans to be a therapist. I am so proud of her.
Jessica has always been supportive not only of my dreams, but in my life. She is creating positive change wherever she goes and has touched many lives. She will touch many more in her career and in her relationships with those around her. I am grateful for all of the ways she has changed my life, and I am honored to know her.
When we were younger, Jessica played an important role in my life. I am her big sister, but in many ways she was mine. I was a fragile kid dealing with some serious issues that became more complicated as we got older. She was right outside my door every night, asking if she could help, listening to tears I couldn’t suppress. I shut everyone out of my head. She was persistent enough to crack it.
I have three sisters, very different, but very much the same in several ways. The positive traits found in Jessica can be found in Kimberly and Amy. My sisters are my shield, protecting me on all sides. I would not be here today without them. All of them.
Kimberly and I used to write and illustrate children’s books together. Writing and sketching have always been coping mechanisms for me, and practicing with Kimberly fed my desire to become an author and illustrator when I grew up. We would spend hours coming up with adventure scenes. She would recommend illustrations and watch them appear on the page. The time we spent together like that was so precious. Kimberly is now a high school teacher. When she was in college, she asked me to be a guest speaker in one of her class presentations. I was honored. She asked me to share my experience concerning mental illness with her classmates in order to better educate the teachers of tomorrow. She inspired me to take the next steps toward change. Kimberly shared and supported my dreams. I may not have achieved my childhood goals without her. She aids in my work to make my voice heard. I am eternally grateful for her help, and her continued support in my life.
Amy is a hard worker. She is traveling the path of justice. Amy graduated with a law degree and has been saving the world in many ways. In several ways, she has saved mine. She is a rock, and she helped me out of the deepest cavern of darkness I have experienced. She is so special to me. I am so proud of her and thankful for her presence in my life. She gets things done and doesn’t take “no” for an answer. She is fun and mischievous, funny and captivating. She is the life of the party. Amy is so strong. She never gave up on me. She visited me often in the hospitals I frequented, with the conviction that I was definitely going to move past this and come home. The faith she had in me was unshakeable.
“They” say that you can choose your friends, but not your family. I would choose my family over and over again if given the choice. Family comes first to me, and my sisters are my soul mates.
Fighting to get back to my family is what kept me alive. Without them, I would be in the dark. My parents and sisters held me together, and eventually the puzzle pieces fell back into place.
I am sitting on a balcony overlooking the beach, and my mind is full. The crashing of the waves against the shore is comforting, but easy to tune out. I realize how privileged I am, sitting here with the ocean view, the beach beckoning. The water is murky, and I have seen so many horror movies about what lies beneath. I am afraid. I do not dare let the ocean cover my waist. I forget that I have the luxury of fearing the ocean. I take it for granted. I grew up with the freedom the beach afforded me, the power to run as far as my parents could still see me.
Many people have never seen the coast.
When I was a paraprofessional working in an elementary school, we took a field trip to the beach. Some of the kids had been to the beach several times, but others had never glimpsed the ocean, despite living so near the waves. No one had taken them to see one of the world’s greatest natural wonders. I watched their faces light up at the mere mention not only about a field trip, but finally visiting such uncharted territory. Those children opened my eyes, and I realized that though I am afraid of what lies beneath the surface, I am truly fearful of the unknown. A child learns to conquer the world with an open mind, unaware and excited to learn the truths of the world, good and bad. We can all learn from these little people. As we grow older, we experience trauma that closes our minds to opportunities, possibilities, and relationships. We do not trust the world as we did as children. The world is a scary place, full of the unknown, and I believe that the unknown scares everyone.
There is much to learn if only we open our minds and hearts to one another, living in harmony with the acknowledgment that the unknown is no longer scary when it is known. Mental illness may never be fully understood by society, individuals, or even the professionals. We must lose the stigma. We must take nothing for granted, and live life from day to day, as if it is our last. We must see the world through the the eyes of our children, knowing that if we create change, they will further the process of healing and unity between everyone suffering with mental illness, their loved ones, and the people who don’t even think it exists.
I am grateful to have such a wonderful vacation with my mom, but now, as I sit here comfortably, I think of others and hope that waves of change are on the horizon.
It will be strange to cease conversation with you for a bit, but I will be vacationing with my mom and meeting my newborn cousin. Everyone takes vacation at some point, right? Now I am taking a brief leave of absence and will be back soon!
Also, I am having a book launch to celebrate both of my books on June 26th from 10AM-2PM! It will be hosted at my husband’s art gallery “Soque Artworks,” in downtown Clarkesville, Georgia. I am hoping to reach a large audience to promote my book. Marketing is not my strong suit. I will have more information soon and will keep you updated. Please spread the word! Thank you!
I am not currently depressed, but that’s because I am heavily medicated. I know that more than a handful of people are feeling anxious and depressed right now. It’s hard to stay indoors for days, fearful of a deadly virus which, in all actuality, is not completely gone. We are going about our daily lives trying to pick up the pieces where we left off, but there is a new normal and I believe we are celebrating too soon. This is negative thinking, but when you are depressed everything is stressful, including the state of the country and the fate of human kind.
I have an emotional support dog named Logan. He likes to ride on my shoulder all the time. When we ride in the car he snuggles in tight behind my neck, as I am his human seatbelt. He used to be much smaller, but now weighs a little under ten pounds. Carrying him is a bit more challenging but not impossible. Every case of depression is different, but when I am depressed I barely have the energy to talk, laugh or smile. I am physically and emotionally drained. I carry the burden of depression on my shoulders like baggage weighing much more than the weight of my dog.
When I am suffering through this mood, I want nothing more than to lie down and distract myself with a tv show or a really good book. I recommend medication because it has changed my life, but it is not everyone’s cup of tea.
Depression has a sneaky way of entering your mind. It is much easier to give in, give up, and feel defeated. Taking care of ourselves and processing these feelings leads to healing. It is important to note that depression is not your fault, you are not alone, and you are not lazy. It is okay to take a break and take a breath. This too shall pass. I learned recently that my feelings of “laziness” and “dread” are part of my mood disorder. I am not lazy. I am literally not in the mood. We must fight to accomplish tasks that need to be done, like getting out of bed, stepping outside, and encouraging the sun to help lift this mood. This depression will not last forever and delightful, invigorating, fantastic happy moments are on the horizon. There is life worth living!
There are many ways to communicate. We relate to one another not only with our words, but with our actions, our body language, and our tone of voice.
Communication begins at a young age. We begin to speak through our actions before we possess words. As babies, we learn the language of our origin. We speak the language as soon as we can. When we can string words together into sentences, our words have power.
Our words have a greater impact on others than we know. As parents, teachers and other leaders in the lives of little ones, we must know that they are hanging on our every word and following our examples. They are tiny sponges soaking up knowledge about how the world works and the parts they will play in the future.
It is important to relay information in a calm tone when speaking to children, and to judge not the actions which may be without their control. The way we communicate with children is a stepping stone for how they will interact with others when they are adults.
My parents taught me and my sisters to speak openly and honestly about all issues and helped us to grow together as a unit without being passive aggressive. We learned to face conflict head on. Our family has a special bond to prove that this method worked for us. There were no problems pushed under our rugs, and no skeletons in our closets.
Everyone has their own set of issues and requires communication specific to their particular condition, whether or not they have a mental illness.
At one point in my life, I required the reassurance that everything was fine; the world was not falling apart; my family was safe; I was not in danger; I did not have a deadly disease. My sister, Jessica, discovered a communication technique which brought me back to reality. The best way to ground me is to look straight into my eyes without breaking contact and calmly tell me the truth. At first I needed Jessica to do this because I could not console myself. We have a special connection, so it worked like magic. Later, counselors learned this trick from my sister and used it to persuade me that everything was fine and that I was really okay. Now, when I seek solace I stand in front of a mirror and look deep into my own eyes, comforting myself. Communication is not always between two people. One must also learn to communicate with oneself.
As a younger person dealing with Bipolar I Disorder, there were things I did not like to be asked or to talk about. I did not like to hear, “How are you feeling?” “Have you taken your medication?” “Are you manic?” “Are you feeling revved up?” Those were the questions asked most frequently, especially from my mom. “Are you okay?” was my least favorite.
When I was first diagnosed, I made it my mission to catch the mania before anyone else could. I wanted to know my body better than my mom, my dad, the general public. But in the beginning, I wasn’t so quick to the draw. Mom always said she “had a visceral reaction to my mania,” or she suspected a bout of mania was on its way because I became extremely irritable. I hated that. I wanted to realize it before she did.
As my illness progressed, I became more aware of myself, and now I know my body even better than my doctor does (or so I like to think). He listens to my suggestions, and most of the time we are on the same page. I appreciate that we are able to communicate on that level.
I am now not so irritable when asked, “Are you ok?” but my mom doesn’t ask me that anymore. She has moved on to “How are you?” which is much better. Many people ask that question to start a conversation–or even in passing when they don’t care about your response–but I know my mom cares and I know that “How are you?” really means “Are you okay?” I love her and I know she just wants me to be happy and healthy.
Communication can be very complicated and sometimes it’s hard to get it right. It does get better though, with practice and time. My mom always says, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
That can mean a number of things, but in this instance, I want to address the inevitability that not everything a person says can be nice. There is also the possibility that when you try to be helpful it can sound mean or hurtful. You just have to roll with it and keep trying. “Are you ok?” wasn’t meant to be negative, but at the time, it felt that way to me. Now, my mom and I have a very strong friendship. Sometimes the wrong words will eventually be understood as the right ones.
