One Year and An Announcement

May 4, 2018 § Leave a comment

One year ago today was one of the worst days of my life.
On May 4, 2017, I lost one of my dearest friends in the world.
Having been in the horse rescue world for almost a decade, I love each and every horse I care for with everything I have. They are my brothers and sisters, closer to my heart than anything. When they leave this earth they take a part of me with them.
But I only connect with a few on an otherworldly, soul level.
Sonora was one of the few.
Upon seeing her for the first time, I knew we had broken out of the same mold many lifetimes ago. After knowing her for an hour, I was the only one who could convince her to get in the trailer that would bring her to a safe place, and despite the fact that she didn’t know me and certainly had no reason to trust me, home to Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary she came.
She was the first horse I could ever call my own. She was given to me that very day we rescued her by Jim, who took one look at the way she followed me and said, “You saved her. That little girl is yours.”
So technically Sonora – or Nora, as I called her – became ‘my’ horse… but she wasn’t, really. She wasn’t really mine. In the end, it was always the other way around. From the moment we met to the moment she left me, I belonged to a horse that was somehow a living, breathing extension of myself.
She died on May 4, 2017, after a rapid decline due to laminitis, one week after she turned fourteen.
I have never been the same.
I never will be the same.
But this post is not about what happened one year ago. This is about today, and tomorrow, and every day yet to come.
This is about the future of horse rescue, or so I hope.
This is about telling a story. Our story.
During the weeks that followed Nora’s death, I simultaneously did two things: I Google searched other jobs that would remove me from the horse rescue world forever and ever, amen, and I read everything about laminitis that I could get my hands on. Eventually I did that second thing more than the first.
For those of you who may not know what laminitis is, let me tell you:
It is a killer.
Behind colic, laminitis (lam-in-EYE-tis) is the number one killer of horses. It is a hoof disease that affects the laminae, which are interdigitated, incredibly strong tissues that hold the coffin bone (the bottom-most bone in a horse’s foot) in place. In laminitis, those laminae break apart and the bone separates from the hoof capsule, rotating downward. It is excruciatingly painful and can be caused by a number of factors including a diet high in starch and sugar, insulin resistance, equine metabolic syndrome, steroid use, gastrointestinal distress – even bad trims play a factor.
I’d known about laminitis for some time. I had a pretty good idea of what it was. But after it claimed the life of one of my best friends, suddenly it became imperative to know more.
So, I became obsessed. Everything having to do with laminitis and founder and farriery and contributing factors to the disease and general hoof anatomy, I was there. I’m still there. I’m still frantically reading and learning.
And as I read and read and read academia about laminitis and tried to find scientific articles I didn’t have to pay for and looked up hard, complicated words I didn’t understand, I realized over time I was searching for resources for horse owners that were vet-backed, comprehendible, and geared toward prevention.
I found none.
I found lots of seminars that only vets and vet techs would understand. I found websites with a couple basic paragraphs about the disease.
But easily accessible resources? Tips for recognizing signs? Pinpointed causes? A breakdown of available treatment plans? Knowledge about choosing the correct vet/farrier team? Tips about necessary therapeutic farrier work that was not furthering some sort of hidden agenda about shoes vs. barefoot trims?
Over several months, I spoke at great length about this to our therapeutic farrier at Tierra Madre, who worked on Sonora in her final days and who trims laminitic horses in partnership with equine veterinarians – including Tierra Madre’s vet – on a weekly basis. In January this year he became our primary farrier, and during his weekly visits I pestered him for answers about what was available for horse owners about laminitis.
And through speaking to him, other farrier friends of his who would accompany him on occasion, and conducting my own research over the course of many months, I came to a startling conclusion:
We as a horse community are lacking in laminitis education and awareness as a whole. Just as I had been unable to see what the true problems were with Nora’s feet in the early weeks following her arrival, many horse owners are unable to correctly recognize signs and causes of laminitis. Just as I had been, many are unaware of just how many treatment options are available and how aggressive it needs to be. Nora had had laminitis for years prior to coming to Tierra Madre, and she was treated with absolutely everything that was available at the time, with all the knowledge that could be found.
She is proof that we need more. Owners and advocates everywhere need more than what is currently, widely available.
Furthermore, as evidenced within our own network of individuals who have surrendered laminitic horses to us in the past and stories we hear of laminitic horses in our rescue community, an emphasis on the importance of a unified vet and farrier partnership is lacking. Standards for therapeutic farrier care for laminitic horses are nonexistent, meaning that sometimes, what a vet intends and what a farrier delivers as far as a treatment plan goes can be two totally different things.
Most importantly of all, although Google searches exist, I have yet to find for horse owners readily available, easily understandable literature, videos, webinars, and seminars about each and every detail surrounding laminitis in horses. I have yet to find anything that attempts to piece together the massive, complicated puzzle that is laminitis.
ACTH levels. Insulin resistance. Hoof anatomy. Trims and choosing farriers. Abscesses. Diet. Equine metabolic syndrome. Gastrointestinal distress. Mechanical laminitis. Steroids. Commons signs. What to do if. How to act when. What to do first. What to correct immediately. Why this way. Why that way. There is so much to cover. So much to understand.
There is no cure for laminitis. Prevention is the only cure, and without education there is no prevention.
While continued laminitis research must play an enormous part of this battle, until we know how to prevent and protect, horses will continue to die despite them being in the most loving of hands.
I wondered why someone didn’t just start something that would accomplish this goal of gathering a team of people together who could help the horse community at large. And then, alongside many other realizations as I navigated life without Nora in it, I realized… I am somebody.
And so, I present the beginnings of an organization that will be dedicated to offering education about laminitis to both horse owners and rescues who too frequently treat laminitic horses saved from severe neglect and abuse.
We will focus on each miniscule detail that envelops the complex disease including basic anatomy, signs, causes, treatment, and prevention.
We will break down scientific, vet-backed evidence and research to create online content including articles and videos. Additionally, we will begin teaching workshops in January 2019 that will be open to the public.
We will target riding barns, tack stores, farrier shops, horse shows, and rescues to spread awareness. We will do outreach and network and offer help to any horse owner who wishes to challenge themselves to learn more about laminitis.
We will fundraise for what I foresee to be minimal costs of writing and producing educational content in order to provide free education to the public. Within five to ten years, I sincerely hope we will be able to award small grants to owners struggling with the financials of bringing a horse back from the disease.
I am currently going through the process of legalizing my organization through the Arizona Corporation Commission. The next step afterward will be to obtain my legal 501(c)(3) public charity status through the IRS, after which it will become an official nonprofit entity.
And while it is certainly a work in progress and I expect to see it grow within this year as I identify members of my team, I would like to introduce my board of directors that has been with me from the very start, and thank them for their support:
– Jim Gath, my partner at Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary – out of which we will be operating until the day comes I get my own facility – whose guidance will help us target different sections of the horse community here in the Valley. As someone who founded a nonprofit horse sanctuary over a decade ago and who has dealt with laminitis back in the days where very little education was available, Jim will bring a needed perspective to our future articles, videos, seminars, and workshops.
– John Samsill, APF, Tierra Madre’s therapeutic farrier who has personally seen the effects of laminitis in horses over many years and not only understands the importance of education for owners, is committed to ensuring that correct guidance is given. With his help (and patience for my thousands of questions) I have begun to map the outline of the educational content our organization will offer, and he will be instrumental in guiding our workshops we will someday offer.
And finally,
– my husband, Alex Ferri, my chief technology officer, has spent the past several months building our website, which will be launched towards the end of this year. He will also assist me with some of the technical aspects of running a nonprofit such as web upkeep, email software, etc.
My next target is to get a certified equine veterinarian on my board, who will serve as an advisor for all content that we release to the public. I will continue to define roles that need to be filled and seek out hoof specialists, equine welfare organizations, nonprofit professionals, and certified veterinarians all over the globe who would have valuable insight as to what horse owners need to hear.
After that?
Well, there’s a lot to do. A lot will happen over the next six months. In January 2019, I hope to be ready to launch.
If you are interested in joining our future newsletter to hear the latest news and updates about this organization and its mission, you can email me at my newest email address which I will post below. Stay tuned for the launching of our website, volunteering opportunities, ways to give, and ways to commemorate a horse you love who was lost to laminitis. Best of all, stay tuned for the downloadable content about all things laminitis as well as future dates for our first few workshops in Cave Creek.
And one year from now, I hope to look back on today and think, one year ago was the beginning of an organization that will bring about change in the horse community.
An organization that will help people and horses alike.
An organization that will decrease the number of equine who die every year from laminitis.
An organization that embodies the will to fight my Sonora carried with her till the end.
And perhaps most importantly of all, an organization that tells a story: the story of a beautiful red mare with an unbreakable spirit, who died far too young, too full of the will to live.
Laminitis takes so much from the creatures that built this country, from those who literally carried us into gunfire, from those who pulled our plows and dragged us across the untamed West to build what is now the United States of America.
Laminitis takes what we always take for granted in any living being. It takes health and energy. It takes weight and strength and the spark out of horses’ eyes. It diminishes the reckless, breathless freedom that horses embody and instead inflicts pain and suffering. It begets hopelessness and despair.
It takes life.
It takes just about everything. But there is one thing we can’t let it touch.
It cannot take away the will to keep fighting.
Whether you win or lose, you fight. When you are up against all odds, you fight.
Grief can stop you – oh, how I know it can stop you. Or it can fuel you.
One year ago today my little girl left me. I still can’t believe it’s been that long. Some days, it feels like yesterday. Others, it feels like it was eons ago.
One thing is certain.
Nora, my wild one,
I miss you. I will always miss you.
This is for you.
Sonora’s Cure is an upcoming 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization headquartered in Cave Creek, Arizona that will offer easily accessible and credible education about the causes, signs, treatment plans, and prevention of the fatal hoof disease laminitis.
To join the future newsletter list to receive our most current updates, please email the founder and president of Sonora’s Cure at
Snail mail and inquiries can be sent to:
Sonora’s Cure
Attn: Alexis Roeckner Ferri
27115 N. 45th Street
Cave Creek, AZ 85331
Alexis can additionally be reached at (480) 208 – 6896 or

Rise: It’s Time To Talk About Anxiety

February 16, 2017 § 3 Comments

I won’t just survive 

Oh, you will see me thrive 

Can’t write my story 

I’m beyond the archetype 

[I heard Katy Perry’s song “Rise” around August of last year and it about blew my soul wide open. Every now and then, a song just gets under my skin and become self-defining. To me, “Rise” defines my battle with – and continuous defeat of – anxiety. I hope its lyrics speak to you, too.]




This blogpost has gone through something close to six months of revising, editing, deleting, and rewriting as I figured out what I wanted to say.

The original title was “What No One Told Me About Getting Engaged.” I intended to write about how odd it was to be scared after getting a ring on my finger and contemplate the seemingly (hopefully?) normal pre-wedding jitters every bride-to-be experiences.

But over the days and weeks and months, I realized that my nerves were rooted in something far deeper than post-engagement flutters. The dizzying, uncontrollable trepidation that seeped into my head fueled negative feelings (mainly about my own self-worth) that I’d rejected before but wildly seemed completely legitimate.

Basically, this stark, sudden, and bizarre fear took control of every aspect of my life.

For several months after I got engaged, getting out of bed in the morning was a nightmare. Tasks I’d managed to do for months became overwhelmingly difficult. I couldn’t eat without throwing up, and I was constantly shaking, sweating, trying to swallow the dry lump out of my throat, or trying to reteach myself how to breathe.

I tried to cling to any bit of sanity or sense of understanding, like a drowning man clutching at a life raft.

Why on earth would I have any negative thoughts or feelings about marrying my best friend? Why would I have such a fearful reaction to marrying the person I’ve known all along was meant to be my husband?

Nothing seemed rational. Nothing made sense.

I won’t just conform

No matter how you shake my core

‘Cause my roots, they run deep

It took me no time at all to conclude that I was being pulled back into the depths of a deep, dark, out-of-control Something I had beaten down to a manageable Something several years ago.

It took me no time at all to conclude that t­he time at last had come for me to acknowledge that Something for what it was. And over the months it’s taken me to write this, I’ve unearthed a great deal that I want to share about anxiety and mental illness as a whole.

Well, no.

I’ll be honest.

I don’t necessarily want to share. My heart is beating as I write this, thinking of the idea of those I know and love reading these words.

But a few months ago, when I posted the link to a blogpost about anxiety on my Facebook timeline, I did so in the off chance that someone found it as powerful and relieving as I did.

The response I got astonished me.

Several of my friends called, messaged, texted, and told me in person how glad they were that I’d shared that post. They too were impacted by its message. They too dealt with anxiety. They dealt with other mental illnesses. They no longer felt alone. And speaking as someone who has felt alone in this battle against anxiety and silently struggled with deep depression and suicidal thoughts in the past… those words from my friends hit me harder than I could have imagined possible.

Then, last month, I stumbled upon End The Stigma, a Facebook group dedicated to opening dialogue about mental illness and other struggles that have often been stigmatized as shameful.


People were sharing the badges to which they felt connected, writing their stories of abuse and survival or self-harm and recovery or medical challenges and overcoming obstacles in public for the world to see. Living their pasts. Sharing their stories. It overwhelmed me. It awed me. And as I sat connecting to people I’d never met, it made me realize how powerful dialogue can be.

How powerful it needs to be.

So, friends, it’s not that I have wanted to write and share all this.

I need to.

 Oh, ye of so little faith

Victory is in my veins

And I will not negotiate

I will transform….

I have anxiety. And it’s okay that I have it.

I don’t even know how long it has lived with me, a swelling, billowing and consuming force during some parts of my life and a shriveled, almost-forgotten speck during others.

Its roots probably began when I was 12, when my life fell apart for a time until I was 17, but this post isn’t about that. Through years of therapy and self-reflection, I understand why I have it. I understand why it reared its ugly head when I got engaged. Suffice it to say that such a monumental event – exciting but not necessarily threatening in perhaps any other person’s life – brought up a lot of suppressed memories of my teen years, the years my brain literally had been unable to process so it coped by making me forget all the trauma.

Now, that is my journey with anxiety. Understanding its source for me was part of finding my method of coping. But, it is important to understand that anxiety or depression or any other mental illness does not need to be justified with a reason. In other words, oftentimes it can exist for – seemingly – no reason at all.


Every pathway is different.

For me, my anxiety had crawled out of the dark hole into which I had pushed it several years ago, and it gradually slipped its long, clawed fingers back around me before I could even comprehend what was happening.

But there was one big difference this time than from all the other times.

Like the time I was 14, and my stomach problems began because it was forever twisted in a knot of fear any time I was home.

Like the time I was 16, and I missed the first day of school because I couldn’t leave my room without having panic attacks.

Like the time I was 18, and started therapy because I wanted to normal again.

Like the time I was 20, and went through a year of perpetual anxiety so aggressive I quit my job, took online classes, and was terrified to even venture out of my room or boyfriend’s apartment.

Like the time I was 22, and curled into a ball on my bed on my graduation day because I was so scared to leave my room and enter the adult world.

There was one difference this time around.

I didn’t hide it, like I’d tried to do before.

I didn’t deny it, like I’d always done in the past.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and told myself, my new fiancé, my family, my friends that I was suffering from anxiety.

When, when the fire’s at my feet again

And the vultures all start circling

They’re whispering

“You’re out of time.”

But still, I rise

That might sound super cool and brave to you, but it wasn’t. Part of talking about it wasn’t really my choice. Full disclosure: when my anxiety reaches full throttle, I throw up.

Kinda hard to explain to your fiancé – the day you get engaged – that you’re throwing up in the bathroom in the hotel room just because, you know, it’s all new and you’re really happy, you really are, you promise, it’s just a big change and you’re just excited. No big deal.

Kinda hard to tell your friends you’d rather not go to a restaurant to eat because the last, oh, 47 times you did this you were running to the bathroom to puke or else locking yourself in a stall until you could focus on the world past your own two shaking hands and rattled breath again.

Kinda hard to explain to your new volunteers on orientation day at your job that you’re sick because you couldn’t eat that morning, and your head is screaming at you to just quit and go home and count your losses.

No, the time had come for me to be open. The time had come for me to be honest with those around me and say those words.

I have anxiety.

And… that’s okay.

This is no mistake, no accident 

When you think the final nail is in

Think again

Don’t be surprised

I will still rise

These past few months, as I’ve been open with people about what I’ve been going through, I’ve mostly had wonderful and understanding responses. I’ve had several conversations with others who too struggle with anxiety or some form of mental illness, and they were so comforting and relieving. My world which had closed in on me in August started to open up again.

But there were a few comments from people that – while they were well-meaning – reflected a deep misunderstanding of anxiety and mental illness as a whole.

“Oh, yeah, I get stressed out, too! One time I was soooo nervous for a test! I totally understand!”

You?? I just can’t see you with anxiety, you’re so well put-together and accomplished!”

“Have you tried essential oils?”

“Do you do yoga? Definitely look into yoga. And be sure to meditate every day – that’ll kick your anxiety to the curb!”

“Just don’t think about it, there’s nothing to worry about!”

I get it. I really do. People care. They want to help. I got a lot of the same comments when I was 16 and suffering from depression.

“Just think positive thoughts!”

“Snap out of it!”

I think the problem is people don’t know. They don’t have anxiety, so they can’t relate to it.

That’s why I’m writing this. (Hi.)

I want people to understand. I want there to be dialogue. I want people to ask questions and receive answers and start to make connections. So this is just a little of what I want others to know and understand about anxiety as a whole:


1. There is a huge difference between stress and anxiety.

Stress and I aren’t just old friends. We go way back. We’re old flames with one of those dumpster fire relationships in a Taylor Swift song that usually ends in us returning to one another. I think I can count on one hand the number of days I haven’t had stress in my life. But, we get coffee together. We hook up. We have a complicated relationship, but the point is that I can function reasonably well with it.

That’s the point, though. It doesn’t dominate my life.

Anxiety is another beast entirely.

Stress comes from an outside force. Anxiety is an internal force that pulsates through every part of your body without warning or reason.

Stress makes you irritable. Anxiety has the power strong and swift enough to make you feel like you’re about to die.

One night I was trying to describe an anxiety attack to my fiancé and could really only come up with a description of a Dementor from Harry Potter.


(I found this picture too after Googling

(I found this picture too after Googling “Dementor” and I mean, come on. I had to post it.)

Anxiety is a hooded, creepy figure that sucks the good thoughts from your mind and leaves you with terror.

Your vision blurs and you break out in a sweat that makes you feel as though you’re on fire but icy too, in a completely bizarre way.

Your heart doesn’t beat; it contracts. You feel every pulse, every nerve working rapidly, the blood tingling and buzzing as it works its way through your veins.

Your throat dries and you usually can’t speak for trying to swallow and remember how to breathe. Your lungs feel empty and filling them takes every ounce of strength you have.

Usually, you get tunnel vision after a while. Nausea is inevitable.

And for me, if things get really bad, you’ll throw up.

And the thoughts cloud your brain – thoughts you’d normally laugh at and push away without hesitation but, during an attack, you clutch at them and ponder them with desperation.

Even today, sometimes I wake up and the Something is there hissing and spitting in my ear.

Just stay in bed. You’re a failure. You’ll never be good enough for anybody.

“Shut up.” 

It’s like he always said. You’re worthless and nobody ever loved you.

“Knock it off.”

What if you can’t eat again? Then you’ll be dizzy and sick and you won’t do your job right and everyone will know you for what you are: a failure.

“I said SHUT UP!”

But stress? Stress is like Draco Malfoy, who can be fabulously silenced with a swift punch to the face.


2. Anxiety prohibits you from exercising rational thought.

Let me say it louder for the people in the back.


The best way to explain this is with a metaphor.

Imagine seeing a baseball enclosed in a glass cube just feet away from you. Somewhere far away, a voice tells you to reach out and pick up the ball.

So you reach out to grab the baseball, but your fingers can’t penetrate the glass.

“Just grab it,” your hear the voice say. “It’s right there.”

And all the while, you’re trying to move your fingers through the glass. “I’m trying,” you say.

The voice gets irritated.

“It’s literally RIGHT THERE!” the voice says. “Just grab the ball!”

You try. You push the glass.

And self-loathing rises inside of you.

You know how to grab that baseball. You know the motions your fingers need to make to pick up the ball enclosed in the glass. You know how to move your arm to raise your hand. You’re smart. You know this.

But you can’t. There’s a big fucking cube of glass in the way.

Trying to get your brain to understand that your fears are irrational is like trying to grab that enclosed ball.

“There’s nothing to worry about!” the terrified voice inside your head squeaks. “It’s all in your head!”

In other words? “It’s right THERE! The ball is right there! Just take it!”

You can recognize that your fears are unfounded. That doesn’t make them go away.



3. The foundation of anxiety strikes at random times, for no apparent reason.

I must stay conscious

Through the madness and chaos 

So I call on my angels

When my anxiety is bad, I can only focus on one thing at a time.

I remember one day, while my future in-laws were visiting, they sat with my fiancé at the kitchen table and I was trying to make a ham sandwich to take with me to class.

There was nothing going on that would have warranted a panic attack. But I was having one anyway.

There was no hope whatsoever of me participating in the conversation. I could only focus on navigating my shaking hands while voices dominated my mind:


Take a breath. Okay, good.

Grab the tinfoil. Put a slice of bread on top of it.

Steady your hands, Lex. 

Okay, get a piece of ham.

You’re not breathing. Take another breath.

Oh, God, that was too much of a breath. What if they heard at the table? What if they look over and realize I’m losing it?

Stop. Get another piece of ham.

Nod at something my fiancé said. Pray nobody wants me to speak.

Okay, take another breath. Exhale more slowly.

You can’t open the bag of cheese when your hands are shaking. Stop them.

I can’t.

I can’t do anything.

I don’t want to go to class. What if I get called on and I don’t have an answer?

Open the damn cheese.

I’m really going to throw up. Then they’ll know I’m a mess.

Maybe I should just go back to bed.

You can’t do anything.


Attacks happen randomly.

Even now, before I go to class, sometimes I have to lock myself in a bathroom stall for a few minutes and put my shaking hands over my eyes and give myself a pep talk.

Even now, when I get out of bed in the morning, sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s okay to have a sudden oncoming of fear. Accepting it and facing it head on is more effective than denying its existence at all.

4. If we say no to any social outing or commitment, a) it took every ounce of our courage to do so; and b) we just really, really need to take care of ourselves.

I can’t emphasize this enough and honestly can’t think of too much else to add here.

Medicine for anxiety-sufferers will differ from person to person. This is important. For some – at least, for me – that medicine often means being alone to self-reflect. And in the day-today business of work, school, chores, wedding planning… any free time I have to spare I need to selfishly take for myself. (That’s why I love traveling so much. In exploring other places I explore my mind.)

Please, don’t be hard on those with mental illnesses for doing what they need to do to get by. And on that note….


5. Give us time.

They say,

‘Oh, ye of so little faith

Victory is in your veins

And you will not negotiate 

And be transformed…

A few months went by after my first initial return of anxiety. With every day I survived, things started to get a little easier.

The more I got through difficult days and the more I talked about my anxiety to my friends and family, the better grip I got on it.

The Something, the huge, Dementor-esque figure in my life started to shrink again. I started to think more clearly most of the time.

The horses at my workplace, to whom I give credit for saving my life when I was 17, did wonders for me. My therapist started to help me get out of my own head, as did my boss who completely understands my struggle. My fiancé, who is the most patient and understanding man I’ve ever known, helped me work through some deeply personal fears which reduced my anxiety immensely.

Then, for whatever reason, I had a really bad day close to Christmastime. I could barely get through the day without having anxiety attack after anxiety attack.

And I forget if someone said this to me or if this was one of my own thoughts, but it came up nonetheless: “But I thought you were managing this really well!”

Well, I am managing this really well, came the other side of that statement. But it’s okay to have bad days.

It should be known that there’s no time frame on anxiety. It takes a long time to get to a place where you feel somewhat in control. And just as is the case with life… the journey will consist of good times and bad.

And I think the main takeaway is this: there are ways out.


There are ways out.

Deep down, we know this. We just need time to find those ways that work best for us.

How much time do we need? Well, it depends. A day. A week. A month. A year. Maybe even a lifetime.

Every day is a new battle. But, then again, even though this concept is sometimes impossible to grasp, every day is a new opportunity.



All of the above are words that have sat on my heart for some time, words about anxiety I wish for others to know and understand and relate to.

Everything else I want to say? Well, they’re words that have sat on my heart for some time, words for those with anxiety I wish them to know and understand and relate to.

Words for anyone with a mental illness.

Words for anyone feeling lost or misunderstood.

I spoke of needing time to find ways to cope, and I won’t ever presume to say there’s a universal fix-all for everyone, nor would I dare to assume that everyone is in a position to be looking for ways to cope.

Asking someone to get help can sometimes be the equivalent of telling someone who is drowning to sing an opera.

So first let me just say this: If you feel like you are in a position where you might need help, but don’t have the ability to seek it or ask for it or even really want it… please call this number. 1-800-273-8255.

It is the number to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, and the individual who answers the phone will pull you out of the water.

You will not be drowning anymore.

You will receive help.

And for those who are ready and willing to accept help, I thought I would share two of the things I personally have found incredibly helpful when things get really, really bad.

1. I talk to myself as though I’m a child.

I often talk myself out of my own head as though I’m a little girl. I imagine five-year-old me, with shoulder-length hair and big eyes, curiously looking around which clutching her favorite stuffed animal, a rabbit she named Rejoice. I have to do this, because only someone completely heartless would talk cruelly to a five-year-old little girl, and I tend to beat myself up a lot.

So, what are you a-scared of? Why are you scared of that? Well, take my hand and let’s explore it together. Let’s be a big, brave girl. Good job! Okay, now what else is scaring you? Oh, my goodness, yes, that’s very scary, isn’t it! And you have every right to be scared. What can you do to make yourself feel better?

2. I name things in a list. For me, it’s all the names of the horses at my ranch.

Don’t have horses? List fruits. List all the animals you know. List your relatives. Write them down on paper or say them out loud or go through them in your head.

The point in all this is to ground you. It’s to get you out of the prison that consists of anxiety-stricken thoughts. I have gone through a great deal in this life, and nothing compares to being trapped inside my own head. 

Everyone who struggles with some kind of disorder – be it medical or mental – has the ability to find a way to deal with their obstacles that works best for them. And here’s the really baffling and amazing thing: It can be done.

Against all odds, it can be done.


When, when the fire’s at my feet again

And the vultures all start circling

They’re whispering

“You’re out of time.”

But still, I rise

I don’t have all the answers.

I don’t know you. You. You, who are capable of anything and who are the writer of your own story.

I just say this to you as someone who – many years ago – once seriously contemplated different ways to end her life, as someone who once sunk to the depths of rock bottom from the weights of depression and continues to sense anxiety resting on her shoulder:

You are not alone.

You are not alone.

You are NOT alone.


Keep going.

Only you know what you need. Only you feels this way, the way you do. You have a right to take care of yourself.

You are doing the best you can, and that is more than enough.

You are you, and that is more than enough.

This is no mistake, no accident

When you think the final nail is in

Think again

Don’t be surprised

I will still rise

Days will be good and days will be bad. Without darkness, there cannot be light.


Keep going.

Sometimes you’ll fall. Sometimes you’ll get knocked down.

But as spoken by the main character in one of my favorite books, “The weakest step toward the top of the hill, toward sunrise, toward hope, is stronger than the fiercest storm.”

Walk on, warrior.

And always


keep going.

Don’t be surprised

I will still rise




This article on anxiety offers some statistics on anxiety as well as a breakdown of the different types. It also discusses some of the physical side effects of anxiety and offers a list of ways individuals can cope.

One of my all-time favorite posts, What It’s Like to Have Anxiety Disorder Explained in 12 Self Portraits is a photo series by Katie Crawford that is incredibly eye-opening.

This comic explains the difficulty in fighting both anxiety and depression.

This blogpost covers eight things not to say to people with anxiety.

And perhaps the greatest comic of all time is Hyperbole and a Half’s Adventures in Depression.

Read more about mental illness at The National Alliance on Mental Illness website. Their helpline number is below:


Head vs. Heart

January 13, 2017 § 3 Comments

I walked into Jim’s house/Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary’s office on a Tuesday morning after I got back from Washington to collect a pile of mail that’d built up in my absence.

It was December 27th, and we’d survived another Christmas. I’d been on pins and needles the whole morning, waiting to hear if anything had gone wrong (our last few Christmases at the ranch have ended in either hospital visits or emergency vets coming to the facility) and practically wept with relief when Leah texted to me to say all had been fine. On this first day back, I was especially grateful that all I’d been briefed about in my absence had been mostly good things about the horses.

Jim shuffled through the mail on his desk, taking out our bills and returned holiday letters to our donors (damn you, USPS) to hand to me, then lastly took out a thick envelope.

“Read this,” he said, handing it to me. “It’s from a lady named Sheila, and she sent us a $600 donation—”


“Well, yes, and she also wrote us a letter. And attached pictures. Of her horses.”

Oh, hell.

“She doesn’t want us to take her horses, does she??” I said, snatching the letter and looking it over.

“That’s kind of what she’s asking, yeah,” was the response.

“Well that’s not gonna happen,” I snorted. I skimmed the letter. Couldn’t afford horses, divorce, lonely and worried…. I’d heard the same thing a hundred times.

Dear Jim Gath, she wrote,

I was fortunate enough to find you while searching online for a horse sanctuary that could possibly give my two beautiful horses a forever home. 

You and your sanctuary truly touched my heart, like none of the others I found online. I could just feel the love and dedication coming from you and your volunteers to seem to care so deeply.

I understand that you are unable to take in more horses at this time (“Damn right,” I mumbled under my breath), but I thought I would take you up on your offer of perhaps finding someplace through you. I also understand that you only take in some of the worst case scenarios.

My horses have been with me now going on 17 years, and both of them will be 23 years old come spring.

I thought and promised them both that we would never separate, that I would never let them go, but life can be cruel, as we all know and my dream of keeping my beautiful and sweet and loving babies is crushing my heart and spirit. I am filling ill all the time and find it difficult to eat, so I need to really push myself, so I can stay healthy for my sweet babies.

When two horses become such a wonderful part of your life for so many years you want to be able to feel peace and pray they will receive the help they so dearly deserve, as all creatures do.

I am in a desperate situation, and will try to keep this as short as I can.

I am a 70 year old woman who was divorced in May of this year.

The divorce decree ordered my ex husband and I to live together in this house until it sells, then we pay the mortgage owning, and close out our joint checking account.

My only income now and will be a small retirement sum from Canada, and $91.00 from Social Security here in Tucson.

I am a Canadian citizen, but U.S. resident with green card.

The court here in Tucson ordered my ex husband to pay me minimal spousal support, but I know I cannot count on receiving it as he is moving back to Canada as soon as we finish off here. 

Canada and the U.S. do not have a treaty whereby I can get him to legally pay me that support money. 

There is only one vehicle involved, and I was awarded that. A 2000 Ford f150 with about 40,000 miles left on it right now, by mileage going down as errands need to be run and hay to be picked up.  

I was diagnosed with rotator cuff injury last Nov. and cannot lift things, as the pain only worsens when I do. 

My ex husband has been kind enough to take care of the horses for me this past year, and was also ordered to pay for all their needs including veterinary care, but I will be unable physically, mentally and financially.

I also have extreme depression and social anxiety, which I have suffered from since childhood.

I have not one friend or any family. I will be totally alone, which does frighten me, but don’t choose to think about it if I can.

I just cannot afford to pay rent and other expenses as well as feed and keep my horses healthy. 

When I look out the window at my horses they look so beautiful and happy and so innocent. They have no idea of course what the future may bring.

My horse vet was here yesterday and I told him how desperate I was to find forever homes for my horses, but he does not know of any sanctuaries off hand.

I am wishing for a miracle. For my mare “Miss Daisy Mae” a paint Tennessee walking horse and my beautiful Arabian bay gelding “Braveheart.”

Both horses have had their winter shots and semi annual exam.

“Daisy Mae” is suffering from some lameness in her hind end and could possibly have DSLD, but right now she is managing well on Previcox.

“Braveheart” is in really good condition but cannot be ridden as I believe he suffered abuse at some point. (There is a story there.)

I would pray that they could be together forever, as they are extremely close.

I will be praying very hard that you may be able to save their lives from going to an abusive situation or worse yet to slaughter.

They need love and affection just like all God’s creatures do.

Thank you very, very much, from the bottom of my heart for reading this overly long letter, but wanted you to know as much as I could about my horses and myself. 

Also I need to tell you that I would never surrender my horses to anyone who could not keep them both and together. I never want them to be separated. If you can help me find my impossible dream, I will gladly make as large a contribution to their new home as I can. it would make my heart feel good to know I could help them as well.

I am also sending a check to Sierra [sic] Madre Horse Sanctuary in hopes that it will help your horses with their daily needs.

My name is Sheila [last name omitted for privacy], and I will be sending along a few photos of my babies in hopes that it could help find them a good-best home.

My situation is not urgent right now but will become so as soon as house sells. I will be desperate by then, and one never knows when a house will sell, this is why I am preparing now and doing my searches.

God bless, and keep you and your angels and all the wonderful people who are part of Sierra [sic] Madre Horse Sanctuary safe and happy.


I sighed deeply, and looked at the attached pictures. One was a low-quality image of a handsome bay gelding. The other was a paint mare, looking at the camera.

Something in my heart stirred.

I tossed them aside. I saw pictures of horses needing homes all the time.

We had 31 horses. We didn’t need any more.

“We’ll put her in touch with our network,” I said to Jim, referring to our network that consists of every nonprofit horse rescue and sanctuary in the state of Arizona along with well-known, regularly checked individuals who save and rehome horses from auction on a regular basis. “Every time we send out an email to Susan she forwards it to everyone and that horse finds a home within a day.”

Jim looked down at the floor. But, he nodded. “Okay.”

A few days later, I typed up a response to Sheila. As I’d told many other individuals before, I let her know that I would be working with her personally to try to help find a home for her two horses and that I was grateful for the dedication she was showing her animals.

Far too often, in a surrender case, the owner is out of time to find a new home, and the result is that the horses are snatched up by a kill buyer.

And we all know what happens then.

I told Sheila that I would be sending her information and story to our network head and that she would send it along to all the horse rescues, sanctuaries, and individuals in the state.

Keeping horses out of the slaughter pipeline is our mission and our priority, I wrote, and Jim and I just want to reassure you that one way or another, we will find your horses forever homes. 

Sheila wrote back almost at once.

Dear Alexis

Thank you so much for getting back to me so quickly, I cannot tell you how very much I appreciate your kindness.

I too have had anxiety and deep depression my entire life. 

Thank you for sharing with me, and giving me a little background on your four legged family of animals as well as your two legged ones. I wish them all well and much happiness.

God has answered my prayers. Now I can start believing my horses will never go to slaughter or cruel hands.

I wish I could say more, but keep crying for joy and sadness. The tissues are really piling up on my desk.

I knew immediately when I found ” Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary” online, that you folks were the ones! It was magical and heartbreaking watching your YouTube videos. I honestly cannot describe all the feelings I had about your “heart filled” work.

I was watching each horse’s face and could almost read their past and present in their eyes. So beautiful and so fortunate to be “home”.

I read all this and smiled. Then, I scanned her letter and pictures of Daisy Mae and Braveheart, wrote up an email to Susan, and sent it off in relief. Our network hadn’t failed us yet. We get requests with regularity to take in horses, and whenever we hit up the network someone always stepped up.

Two weeks later, I checked in with Sheila to let her know I’d mailed her a Tierra Madre painting to show appreciation for her donation and asked how the search was going. I recommended an additional network on Facebook where people post pictures and stories of their horses to find them homes.

Her response – that I got Wednesday – shocked me.

Thank you for your email.

Alexis, I just got back from Canada. My brother is in the end stages of his life, and I unable to function as well as I would like.

No I have not been looking, on facebook or anywhere.. I thought Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary would help save them. I have never done any sort of social networking. I am a very private person.

Also I am a loner and very seldom go anywhere, so have no contacts regarding horses whatsoever. I asked my horse Vet Dr. Michael Conaway from Reata Veterinary and my farrier Wes Robinson from here in Tucson and neither one knew of anyone.

I was hoping for a miracle in that you could find them a forever home. I wanted to feel that they would be very loved and wanted.

Now I am starting to get very frightened.

I must have read your first email incorrectly, as it gave me hope that my horses could be saved, with your contacts. It is sad to hear that no one has shown any interest to give them love.

I guess there is no one out there who wants 2 horses they cannot ride, and one with beginning stages of DSLD. (it is a very difficult situation).

My horses really, really need a miracle. (someone that doesn’t care about their disadvantages, but will love them in spite of them). 

I had  and will continue to look online, but your place was the only one that I felt I could really trust. The others made me fearful, and needed me to give them money. I will have very little money for myself as I mentioned, so that would not be possible.

I think I mentioned in my first email, that I have really seen TOO MUCH out there. Things that broke my heart. Things that were acceptable to certain people, but I could not believe, anyone could treat horses with such cruelty and think it was ok because they were humans, and horses were just animals to be used for the peoples pleasures.

It is in God’s hands now. I trust in Him.

Thank you, Alexis,


I read and reread the email, trying to wrap my head around her words. Around two things, mainly:

Number one: This lady had no contacts or network of her own to work with, nor – as it seemed to me – she was at a point in her life where she just couldn’t handle networking anyway.

And number two: Nobody from our network had come forward.

No, I thought to myself. That can’t be right.

I sent what I thought later was a somewhat curt response, telling her that we were happy to help find her horses homes, but that the effort had to be a team effort. As in, we couldn’t be the only ones looking.

Then I emailed the network head – Susan – and asked if anyone had responded to her to say they could take Braveheart and Daisy Mae.

“No one,” she responded.

No one? I thought in despair.

I emailed Sheila again before driving downtown to class, to a) apologize if I’d come off as rude; b) reassure her that we wouldn’t let her horses go to slaughter; and c) ask for a timeframe by which she needed her horses rehomed.

I wish I could give you a date in which Braveheart and Daisy Mae will need their new home, she responded, but this house has been for sale since last May, and it is hard to say when it will sell. When my ex husband and I do get an offer on this property, we are asking for a 60 day close.

The reason I asked for 60 days was to insure the horses would have a good chance to have a home to go to. Right now there it is no an emergency. I will give you plenty of notice.

Living with my ex is just another stressor in my life and why I find it difficult to function at times. I am sure he feels the same.

Unfortunately the Arizona divorce law is such that we must remain under this roof together until the sale is finalized, and any profits from sale will be divided. It’s sort of like being in prison.

I spent all night with a debate raging in my head and in my heart.

Two older, unridable horses needed a forever home. And for the first time, the network we’d relied on for years had failed us.

There’s still time, my brain told me smartly. There are others. Let it go.

But I couldn’t. Yesterday morning – the equivalent of my Saturday morning – I got up, ran errands, came home around noon, and started making lunch.

I paced back and forth in my kitchen. You know those cartoons with the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other? It was like that for me.

We couldn’t take in two more horses.

We had an open pen. And for God’s sake, those two horses probably ate the same amount of hay Bentley alone ate in one day.

Your volunteers will riot. We already have 31 horses, all of whom need daily care and love and attention.

Should I contact out of state rescues? But how would Sheila afford a trailer to move them? How would we ensure their safety?

Your management committee will want your blood. We just met to talk about how we needed to stabilize our organization and prioritize our short-term and long-term goals.

Two lives. Two innocent lives.

What if people left? What if people got fed up with the number of horses we already have and stormed out our gates after hearing we’re getting two more?

No one had come forward to take them. It’d been two weeks.

So what?? We can’t save them all. And there’s still a chance. More people to contact Sheila and offer a forever home.

Who? Who would take in two older, unridable horses??

I couldn’t handle it anymore. I called Jim. If anybody had the right to tell me no for what I wanted to do, it was the person whose finances had kept the ranch going for many years and continues to keep it going when we’re short.

I dialed.

“Okay, just hear me out,” were my first words.

I told him the story. Jim listened patiently.

“You know, every time I’ve taken in a new horse,” he told me, “people told me I was crazy. They said, ‘Jim, you don’t need another one.’”

I was silent. I’d been one of those people. I still can be.

“But,” he went on, “I get letters and pictures and stories all the time. I don’t respond to most. But there are just some where I feel that that horse needs our help. Something deeper. Something different. I felt that when I opened Sheila’s letter.”

“We keep talking about solidifying our structure and going back to our roots and rewriting our bylaws…” I said, turning off my stove so I wouldn’t burn the chicken I’d set in a pan and forgotten about, “but I think this is the core of what we are and what we do. Jim, they have nowhere else to go.”

“I know.”

“And our mission first and foremost is to save horses.”

“It is,” he agreed. “And they’ve had a good life. They’ve had love. To break that would be a crime against nature.”

And so, as soon as I hung up the phone with Jim, I dialed Sheila’s number and waited with a beating heart as it rang.

Knowing what was at stake.

Knowing there would be those within Tierra Madre who would not be happy with me.

But knowing what I’d known all along from the depths of my soul since the moment I saw the pictures of Daisy Mae and Braveheart: they needed us.

And – I’m not making this part up to make the story more flavorful or help my case at all – the smallest, most dejected, driven down voice answered.


“Hi, is this Sheila?”


“Sheila, it’s Alexis, from Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary.”

She sniffed a little. “Oh, hello,” she said in a flat, empty tone.

“How are you?” I asked.

I can’t make this stuff up. She told me she’d just gotten off the phone with her brother. He lives in Canada (I gathered) and had just requested to receive euthanasia in the hospital. He would be passing away within a few days. [UPDATE: As of yesterday evening, her brother has passed away.]

I listened in stunned silence as this broken-hearted lady spilled her heart out to me. She hadn’t been kidding in her letter (not that I’d expected her to). She had no one.

“I’m so sorry,” was all I could say.

“Well,” she mumbled. And she paused, then asked tentatively. “Do you have any news for me?”

Oh boy, do I ever.

“Well, Sheila,” I told her, struggling to keep the emotion out of my voice. “I do.”


I took a breath. “Ever since we read your letter and saw the pictures of Daisy Mae and Braveheart, I just have to say… our executive director, Jim felt a connection to them. I did too.”

At this, she let out a little cry and began to weep.

“I mean it,” I said. “I see pictures of horses needing homes all the time. But listen. I just got off the phone with Jim and Sheila, we’re gonna take them.”

I’ll be on my deathbed someday, looking back on my life, and I will remember the moments that happened after I said these words.

She cried out again – a joyful sound I’d never have expected from her – and began to sob uncontrollably. “God answered my prayers, God answered my prayers,” she bawled. I started crying too, but caught phrases: “Oh thank you, thank you.”

“You just get them to us,” I managed to say. “Just get them to our gates, and we’ll do the rest. They’ll be loved for all their lives. You don’t have to worry any more.”

She cried and cried and thanked us over and over. “You are angels sent from God,” she sobbed. “Good things are going to happen to all of you there, I know that. They’ll never hear a cruel word. They’ll never be separated. They’ll never know a horrible fate. Oh, Alexis, thank you, thank you.”

I listen to the logical part in my head every minute of every day. I’m a list-maker, a task-checker, a systematic creature of habit that abides by rhythm and plans and schedules.

I listen to my brain which guides my choices and my actions and my life.

This time, this one time, I listened to my heart.

And as Sheila and I hung up, as I sat in the knowledge that two more innocent lives were saved and that we’d helped a very lost human spirit in need, I will never regret it.


November 20, 2016 § Leave a comment

Ten years.

It’s been ten years since a day that shook me to my core and set a precedent for how I would drive for the rest of my life.

It’s been ten years since the brief time I lived in Bradenton, Florida – six months of hell that almost destroyed me – and within those six months came a day one of my fellow high schoolers was taken from us far too soon.

November 20th, 2006.

It was seventh period, the end of the day. I was in chorus class, my chosen elective. We had broken into groups to practice for our upcoming winter concert when over the intercom came an announcement from our principal. We were to stop lessons immediately and turn on the classroom TV, to the live school news station.

My teacher flipped on the TV and we watched silently as my principal came on the screen, looking shaken and serious and terribly, terribly grave.

I remember my heart sinking. I remember watching him talk, telling us that a sophomore named Tyler Isenhour had left school earlier that day with a friend, lost control of his car, and crashed into the median before flipping his car over into the side of the road.

His friend had been wearing her seat belt. She walked away.

Tyler hadn’t been. He didn’t.

Ten years have passed since that day, and I’ve never forgotten the way my principal’s voice had cracked as he begged us to always, always wear our seat belts.

I’ve never forgotten the horrified silence that followed the end of the announcement that lasted minutes, hours, days for all I knew.

I didn’t know Tyler. I’d seen him a few times, walking around school, but with the thousands of students that attended my high school I’d never talked to him.

But knowing that it had been one of us that’d been killed and not just some other student on the news absolutely shook me.

We had to take the road on which the accident occurred home. I remember my mom driving by the cones and the police cars – I can’t recall if Tyler’s car was still there or not – and thinking to myself, That’s where it happened. Right there. That’s where he died.

And from that day on until the day we moved away from that wretched, god-awful place, we’d pass that spot in the car on the way to school and I would think of how on those grounds, an innocent boy, only a year older than me, had gone away and would never come back.

It’s been ten years and I still remember that. I’ll always remember.

Every time I sit down in my car and pull my seat belt across my lap, I think of Tyler.

Every time I think that I’m just going down the street, or that I’m in a hurry, or that my trip will only last a few minutes and just maybe a seat belt is unnecessary, I think of Tyler.

Every time I have passengers in my car and have to wait for them to buckle up before I hit the gas, I think of Tyler.

“If you guys go forth today always wearing your seat belts,” my principal had said to us that awful day, “then maybe Tyler won’t have died in vain.”

The day after Tyler died, my mom insisted I stay home from school since grief counselors were going to be on campus all day and she didn’t think I could handle the atmosphere. I protested but eventually agreed to stay home. And I tried to do homework but I could think of nothing but Tyler and somehow finding a way to honor him, to remember him. Eventually, I wrote him a song.

Back then, I wrote songs on my piano quite often. It was my way of coping with the living hell I was going through, and some of them I still remember and play to this day. The chorus to Tyler’s song summed up everything I felt on that cold, cloudy day ten years ago and still captures my feelings perfectly.

Always wear your seat belts, guys. If for no other reason, for a sixteen-year-old who had his entire life ahead of him taken away in moments.

Never knew seconds could be enough

Never knew God could take someone so young

Sometimes I wonder, I question fate

Was it meant to be, or was it a mistake?

The rest of the world will go on and on

Acting like nothing was ever wrong

Our lives are paved, but we just don’t know

For now, it’s a broken road

Read the original news article here.

On Being Alone on Election Eve

November 7, 2016 § Leave a comment

On this Election Eve I want to tell a story. 

Earlier this evening I was walking towards the salad and sandwich place at which I often stop for dinner before class. An elderly homeless man was standing a bit away from it, holding out a cup and asking passerby for change. We’ve all seen those situations.

He softly asked me for money and I said I didn’t have any and walked away. My mind usually goes back and forth when it comes to those who are homeless. On one hand I know of the circumstances that exist which would keep people on the streets: mental illness, drug dependency, faulty insurance… And on the other hand on my crabby days I get pissed at those asking for my hard earned money and think that if I can bust my ass to eat and put a roof over my head, they can, too.

As I walked away I didn’t feel either of those things.

I just felt sad.

Sad because we live in a nation where homelessness is a problem. Sad because I didn’t know this man’s story and perhaps I’d judged him unfairly. Sad because he was alone. 

And in those few moments, perhaps I felt sad too because for the past few months I have felt that this entire country is made up of people who are alone, in a way.

Alone with their anger.

Alone with their hopes.

Oh, there have been rallies, yes. Lots of joining together and cheering and chanting and organized gathering for what several groups of people believe is right.

But to me, we are all alone until we are able to unite despite our differences. 

As a nation, we are all alone until we live with a little less judgement and a little more acceptance of those with whom we do not agree.

There are only two emotions from which all other feelings are derived: love and fear.

And we will all be alone in this world until we focus on the latter.

So I turned around.

And I walked back to the homeless man and asked if I could buy him dinner. He happily asked for a meatball sub from Subway, and after I got it and brought it, chips, and a drink out to him he smiled and carefully tucked the food in his bag before walking away.

A president is of the people, for the people and by the people. He or she is only as strong as his or her nation.

Please, let’s remind whoever we call President by the end of tomorrow that we are united. Let’s remind him or her of the values on which this country was founded and hold the new Commander in Chief to a high standard. Furthermore… Let’s hold ourselves to a high standard. That goes for supporters of all candidates.

We only have each other, guys.

Love, not fear. 

(Featured image source:

Putting on the Hazards

April 26, 2016 § Leave a comment

Yesterday evening I was sitting in my car in the ASU Cronkite lot, putting food in my face, when a guy came up to my window and indicated I should roll it down.

“Hi,” he said, “do you know you’re getting a flat tire?”

I’m pretty sure it took me something like twenty seconds to respond. It was Monday night, I was about to walk into my last in-person class of the semester, I was still recovering from a huge fundraiser my work had all day Saturday, I had about ninety seven end-of-the-semester assignments on my mind, I had just finished checking my email to discover I had at least twenty of them needing a reply and…

“Well, my light came on yesterday night,” I said vaguely. “Um, the pressure light. The light on my dash saying I need to fill the tires.”

The guy nodded. “Cool. Just wanted to be sure you knew.” And he walked away while I stared out my window, my bite of salad halfway to my mouth, wondering for the fortieth time in the last few weeks what I was doing, juggling a billion different things at the same time, doing nothing but school and work as evidenced by the fact that I was sitting eating dinner with my textbook propped open next to me in my car that was apparently getting a flat tire.

To ease my mind, I got out of my car and looked at the two tires on the driver’s side of the car. Somehow, within my completely fried brain, I made the connection that if those two tires were fine then all four of my tires were okay, albeit a little low on air. I figured that’s what the guy meant. My tires were just low on air. No problem. I’d fill them up tomorrow, at a gas station that was not in downtown Phoenix at night where I’m pretty sure not knowing how to fill tires would be the least of my problems. 

I got back in my car, finished my food, checked my makeup in the rearview mirror to confirm I didn’t completely look like a zombie, gathered my books, and got out of my car again to go to class.

And looked at my other two tires.




Getting a flat tire, alright.

When I’m in my final stage of exhaustion before I completely break down, everything becomes funny to me. I think it’s a defense mechanism. Laugh so you don’t scream and bang your head into a wall cry. That sort of thing.

So I started laughing, thinking that my car had decided to show me what my brain was going to look like in a week or so, when all my classes are done and I completely forget the material I’d learned. I jokingly texted my boyfriend the picture of my tire with the caption “Wat do.” I figured dang, I needed to fill them, stat, especially the back right.

And long story short, because I didn’t want to go fill the tire at a gas station in downtown Phoenix at night by myself and he didn’t want me driving on a deflated tire, my boyfriend drove downtown so he could go with me.

Some knights don’t come riding up in shining armor. Sometimes they come driving beat up ’97 Saturns.

When I got out of class he was already at my car, investigating. When I’d texted him the picture, there was still a significant amount of air in the tire. At the point he arrived in the parking lot and I got out of class, it was completely flat. Crap.


We got out the spare and the jack, couldn’t figure it out, said screw it, and called AAA.

“Okay, so we’ll be there between now and 8:47pm.”

It was 7:20pm. Double crap.

Luckily, a very nice police officer nonchalantly rode up to us on his bike (there are cops that roam around campus during the day and the evening) and offered to help. At one point my boyfriend said that he thought we could handle it. The cop said, “I’m bored. This’ll give me something to do for a few minutes.”

Turned out he changed tires all the time and he changed mine in about twelve seconds. Alex called AAA to tell them not to come while the cop and I chatted about drunk students and drunk homeless people he’s had to deal with. Poor guy. Being a police officer can’t be a fun job.

Before I got in my car to drive home, he and my boyfriend both warned me not to drive fast on the freeway since the spare wouldn’t be able to handle it. “Be sure you go to somewhere like Discount Tires tomorrow – don’t go to a gas station to just get the others filled,” the cop said. My boyfriend and I thanked him profusely and he left.

It’s a slow drive through downtown Phoenix to the freeway, so I was fine driving reeeeeally slowly on the service streets. But once I got onto the freeway and started needing to go fast, people behind me started getting seriously pissed. I didn’t want to drive over 40-45, so when I was only going 45 in the acceleration lane everyone stuck behind my car wanted my blood.

So I did something that changed everything. I put on my hazards.

Now, I’m not entirely sure that driving with your hazard lights on is legal. Several cop cars blew past me and no one stopped me, so it must have been somewhat acceptable. Either way, I didn’t care.

Because once I put those hazards on, once I put out the message to my fellow drivers that hey, I need to drive slowly right now, dammit, so get off my freaking back, boy did those people change their tunes. People stopped tailgating and honking. They politely went around me and gave me distance and just let me and my car do our thing as we went clunkity clunk up the I17.

And in my state of utter exhaustion, there I was laughing the whole way. Somehow, it was just so appropriate. I couldn’t get over the fact that the minute I simply let the world know that my car was falling apart (sort of) and to back off while it was down, everyone went out of their way to make my life easier. Once they saw the hazards, they knew the situation was escalated and not to try and mess with me.

I imagined what some of the other drivers might have been thinking as they swerved around my car.

“CRAZY BITCH GET OFF THE ROAD YOU PIECE OF—Oh, hazards. How sad, she must be falling apart.” -swerve-

“Oh look, she’s about to go kaboom. Alright, I’ll give her some space.” -swerve-

It was simply amazing. I didn’t have to worry at all. Everybody just left me alone.

And I got to thinking about how this is where I’m at right now. Finishing up my semester, struggling to keep up with work without an administrative assistant, everybody needing something from me all at once, recovering from a 60 hour workweek last week, and very close to absolutely losing my mind. Falling apart. Trying to keep moving down the road with a flat tire.

So what do I need to do between now and May 9th, the start of my first glorious vacation since December, when I took three days off of work to go to Vegas?

I need to put on my hazards.

Do I want everyone to leave me alone? Of course not. And besides, I can’t stop working, because I’ve got an organization to run. I can’t stop doing school, because I refuse to let my grades take a hit.

But I sure can make it clear to the rest of the world that I need just a little bit of understanding. I need just a little more time to get where I’m expected to go. I need just a little bit of swerving around my slow-moving car at the moment.

So, other drivers? My hazards are on, and while the car isn’t stopping any time soon, for now it’s not going to go as fast until it gets that tire replaced.

Time and Energy

April 15, 2016 § Leave a comment

I have started, stopped, restarted, erased, started again, and temporarily given up on about twelve blog posts over the past few months. I’ll get the idea for a post based off life observations, random epiphanies, or stories from my life that hold some kind of personal meaning (all of which stick to the theme of this blog)… and then I just can’t finish them.

Why? It comes down to a lack of time and energy.

And there are some good posts in the making, if that counts for anything. Just a few that I’m really trying to finish are “Fair,” which is about the realities of adulting, namely spending all earned money on bills; “Punishment by Kisses,” which is about my discipline tactic for Theon, our absolutely insane kitten-almost-grown-cat, and “The Weirdest Thing I’ve Ever Wanted,” which is about…well, I’ll get around to writing about that level of crazy soon.

That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway – that I’ll get around to writing down all my ideas eventually.

And I’ll also get around to vacuuming my apartment, and scrubbing my showers, and deep-cleaning my car, and maybe trying out a new recipe, and actually reading all the pages in my textbooks, and answering all the texts I get when I receive them and not putting off replying for two days, and meeting up for dinner or coffee with my friends to assure them I’m still alive, and going through my closet to throw out things I never wear and and and –

Honestly, I think that the reasons prohibiting a steady stream of posts on this blog can describe my life right now.

No time.

No energy.

Only work and school. And eating occasionally. Though to be fair, I very rarely sacrifice sleep. I go to bed and wake up at the same time most days in order to get my eight hours.

So, okay. Work, school, and sleep.

I’m sitting here at my kitchen table on a Friday night, which is my Sunday because my workweek starts on Saturday. I have laundry in the dryer, dirty dishes in the sink, and about 47 million homework assignments in my head quite literally giving me panic attacks if I think about them too much.

I went to a Carrie Underwood concert last night (which was AMAZING), and the only downside to it was that I didn’t get to bed until 1 in the morning, which is about five hours past my bedtime. And I can’t sleep in to save my life (see above), hence why this whole day has gone by in a haze of exhaustion.

So naturally I’m writing this post rather than doing my homework. After, oh, eight hours of trying to study, I’ve given up. For tonight, anyway. But now more than ever I just want to give up forever.

No time.

No energy.

Even with sleep.

My apartment needs to be cleaned. I haven’t gone grocery shopping in over a week. Gypsy – our six-year-old calico kitty – peed on the couch cushions for two consecutive nights now so the couch is taken apart and the covers are sitting on top of the washer. She has an appointment to see her vet on Sunday since peeing on the couches in the past always meant that she came down with a UTI.

And as I sit and look around I realize that I haven’t had the time or energy to do anything besides work or school since January. Sooner later, I figured, I would start to feel the strain, but that I’d be able to handle it when it came. But after several months of a balancing act… something eventually has to give. I fear that thing is my sanity. Or my health. This past week I’ve just felt awful – nauseous and weak all around. Stress does wonders to the human body.

Where am I going with this post, other than to shamelessly and selfishly complain about first world problems on social media? I have no idea.

I guess all I intended to say is that I knew I would break down eventually.

No time.

No energy.

I am taking a week off (an entire week!) in May, during which I will have no work and no school. At long last, I’m going to Monument Valley for one or two of those days, and my boyfriend will probably tag along. We are both in desperate need of a vacation – or at least a date. This vacation is going to be what gets me through.

Until then, I have a huge work event to help run (which, to be fair, is going to be incredible – details here: and two classes worth of final papers, assignments, research article summaries, discussion board posts, and textbook analyses due in the next few weeks.

One other blog post I’ve attempted to work on is “Adulting Definitions,” in which I give my own definitions to words or terms. One of my terms is grad school, and it is currently defined as “two years of making bad decisions and justifying them.”

Guys, this is hard.

I thought undergraduate work was difficult. And it was. Undergraduate degrees are brutal.

But it was all just a sample of the daily hell that is grad school. For the first time since I started my program in January, I am truly beginning to question why I started.

Luckily for me, the reason I started is the reason that will keep me going. All 32 reasons will keep me going.

To all of my ranch friends and coworkers reading this….please let this blogpost serve as an explanation as to why I haven’t answered your emails or texts yet or sent donation receipts or planned meetings or completed my part of a group task.

No time, no energy might be the theme of this blogpost, but I know that life is a battle of finding both for the things that are important.

Life, you haven’t won this round yet.



This is Why I Hated Working Retail

February 4, 2016 § Leave a comment

I’d like to nominate the guy recently in front of me in line at CVS as the Biggest Jerk in the World. I ran over to the store earlier to grab candy (because why not) and went to stand in line to check out. It was something like 8 o’clock, there was one cashier, and the line was really long.

Anyway. So I’m standing in line when his older, overweight, reeks-of-smoke-and-God-knows-what-else man in front of me has his cart full of like six items (grape juice, some bread, sugary cereal, trivial stuff) and he is clearly irritated that the line is so long and moving slowly. I’ll call him Crusty. He’s shifting weight, huffing and puffing like he’s the freaking bad wolf in the Three Little Pigs, glancing at his watch, and – I kid you not – is irritably pushing his cart like inches away from the woman in front of him. Like if she were to take half a step backwards she would run into his cart. And when the lady in front of him gets to the counter and starts checking out, instead of waiting behind her like a decent person, Crusty starts putting his items on the counter too, right next to hers.

The lady has two transactions or just has a lot of items or whatever so it takes an extra minute. This freaking a-hole looks ready to have a stroke. Finally it’s his turn, and the cashier very nicely thanks him for his patience, asks how his day is going and if he found everything alright. His response? He grunts, “That gonna be 20% off, correct?”

Cashier: “The bread? Yes, it should be. It’ll take the discount off right at the very end.”

She finishes ringing up his items. Crusty squints at the screen. “It’s supposed to be 20% off.”

Cashier: “Yes, right you are! The bread is 20% off. But unfortunately not the entire sale.”

Crusty: -mumbles something about that not being made very clear and how deceiving CVS is-

Cashier: “I’m so sorry for the confusion. I’d be happy to void the transaction and ring up the 20% items for you.”

Crusty: -glances behind him at the long line. “No, no. Whatever.”

Cashier: “Are you sure? Because–?”

Crusty: “No, forget it. The line is long, and I just don’t understand why you don’t have more than one person working this damn line.”

Cashier: -still cheerfully- “I’m very sorry, sir. I do have another cashier, but she’s checking something for a customer for the moment. She should be back shortly–”

Crusty: “Not my problem.” -takes out a card and swipes at the machine-

Casher: -flinching- “Oh, I see you have a chip card! Go ahead and put it into the machine.”

Then, I kid you not, the chip is weird or something so the guy’s card won’t go through at first. The cashier nicely asks him to try again and at this point, Crusty starts snapping about how his card is perfectly fine, he only got it a month ago, and it’s the only card he uses, and this whole experience is so inconvenient for him. At this point I’m staring at him in disbelief and mouthing to the cashier, “What is with this guy?” I’m pretty sure everyone else is, too.

So finally the poor cashier gives him his receipt and very nicely tells him to have a wonderful night. Crusty snatches his receipt and puts his stuff in his cart and starts waddling away.

I go up to the counter.

“Thank you so much for your patience,” the cashier said, with the same cheerful smile, as she started ringing up my items.

I answered, very loudly. “You’re welcome. Because, you know, you have absolutely nothing to do with the long line.” And this lovely lady proceeded to ask about my Ohio State sweatshirt and have a nice conversation with me. You know what absolutely killed me? Somewhere in our conversation she said, “People just aren’t very happy today. He isn’t the first this evening.”

The icing on the cake? Crusty tailgated me out of the CVS parking lot.

I don’t care if this asshole was having a bad day. I don’t care if his entire family got picked off by dragons after destroying everything he owned. You don’t treat other people with such horrible rudeness and disrespect. There are absolutely no excuses in the world for spreading such nastiness.

Yes, yes, I know that people who are clearly in need of love and kindness are the ones who deserve it the least. But honestly. More often than not I feel they need a slap in the face.

My 100th Post, Some Recaps, and A Farewell to Sanity

January 10, 2016 § Leave a comment

This post jumps all over the place, but then again so do I. So maybe it works out, somehow.

Today I looked back a bit over this blog, which I started in April 2012. 100 posts later, I am marveling at the life journey I’ve had since I started Shorts and Snippets, particularly over this past year and a half.

A year and a half ago I was suffering from post-graduation anxiety depression. I wrote about how turned around I was after graduation, how nothing seemed to make sense anymore and how I worried I wasn’t ever going to get a job.

I wrote about the helplessness, confusion, and frustration I was going through, how the real world was nothing like college and that I didn’t expect my sadness to go away any time soon.

I wrote about one of my life’s greatest disappointments (which, naturally, turned out to be a blessing in disguise). I tried to make sense of failing an exam I’d studied for for months and failed by one question. I tried to reevaluate the reasoning behind my degree and my interests. I tried to adjust my plan.

Then I started working at my current job, a nonprofit organization called Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary at which I’d volunteered for over five years (and written a book about). Still somewhat lost and unsure of what it was I wanted to do, however, I started my M.Ed six months after I graduated college, and promptly quit after one semester. And when I quit that program, I realized that it was okay to have absolutely no clue where my life was going.

I stopped having a plan.

And that was maybe the best thing I ever did.

Somewhere along the journey to quitting a life plan, it occurred to me that I no longer had to search for my calling. I didn’t need to keep looking for what it was I loved to do. I didn’t need to find my field, I finally realized, because I was already in it.

I realized that I had fallen head over heels in love with my job. I learned what it took to be a rancher. To be the caretaker of 33 horses. To be the leader of a nonprofit organization.

And the more I worked, the more I realized I still didn’t know.

I was thrown/willingly jumped into the task of running a nonprofit, and while went by instinct, I also learned by doing (mostly by failing at tasks miserably then learning from my mistakes). I begrudgingly accepted the fact that there was a lot of practical information behind running a nonprofit that I couldn’t learn at a horse ranch.

So, for kicks, I looked at nonprofit management graduate programs. I only applied for one: Arizona State University’s Master of Nonprofit Leadership and Management program. For some reason, they let me in.

And tomorrow, my first semester begins. Hence my farewell to sanity.

I warned you this post jumped all over the place. I’m not sure of what else I want to say other than to offer an explanation as to why I’m probably going to drop off the face of the Earth for a while. I attempted full time school and full time work a year ago with my M.Ed., and it wasn’t easy. I’m not sure what this semester has in store for me, but I know that juggling school and a job and family and friends and oh, maybe sleep every now and then is going to be one wild ride.

Will I finish this program? Or drop out after a semester, like with my M.Ed.? I’ll be honest: I’m not planning on either. I’m not planning on anything.

I’m just going to take it one day at a time.

Because the more I jump and fall and skid and dance through life, the more I realize that nothing can ever be set in stone. Passions burn and die and burn again, interests come and go, hopes and dreams are forever evolving. And even though the music changes, to keep on moving you still have to dance.

Starting tomorrow, dance I shall.

The music will be fast-paced for quite some time. But I’m not worried. I’ll make up the dance as I go along.

How Writing a Book Helped Me Stand Up to My Bullies

November 19, 2015 § 1 Comment

I have always loved to write. As a child, I always seemed to use my computer time typing up stories, each one growing longer and more elaborate than the next.

By the time I was 13, I’d written five actual books. I still have copies of each one. My fifth was a novel called It All Started With Five Horses, which I finished when I was 12. It’s a story about five horses that escape a cruel master and find a wild horse herd, the leader of which is searching for his long-lost daughter. The recurring theme of the book is never giving up. The main character, after all, is a paint mare named Faith.

On my 13th birthday, my mom and then-stepdad presented to me three large boxes, all wrapped together as one. When I unwrapped the paper and opened the box on top, I discovered a hundred paperback copies of my book.

And eleven years ago today, our local newspaper released an article about my book and me. In honor of its anniversary, I wanted to take the time to tell the story of my book’s creation.


It All Started With Five Horses will forever have a special place in my heart. Not necessarily because it was my first one to be printed, not even necessarily because of the story itself, but because of the circumstances I was in when I was writing it.

To give some necessary backstory to this post, when I was 12, my family and I moved from Cave Creek, Arizona (where I’d lived most of my life up until then) to Discovery Bay, California. After a year, we moved an hour away to Danville, and just under a year after that we moved a short drive away to San Ramon. Then, a few months before I turned 15, we moved to Bradenton, Florida, which began the absolute worst part of my life.

Someday I will have the courage to revisit those years. They are still surprisingly painful to think about. And nevertheless, those stories are for other times.

Within those three years or so, however, there were gems: Wonderful experiences lived, amazing friends found, and many a battle overcame. The story behind my book It All Started With Five Horses is one of those gems that I will always treasure.

My then-stepdad, my mom, my baby sister who entered our lives halfway through our time there, my little brother and I lived in Discovery Bay, California for a year, from February 2004 to February 2005. In our home, we referred to it as Disgusting Bay.

To us, it was truly an awful town. We were fortunate enough to live in a gated community in a nice area, we would venture outside of it to Byron which contained rundown buildings, graffiti, gross homes with, well, interesting people living in them, and lots of vast cropland. Each day always seemed to bring an ugly gray sky.

And my new school that I joined more than halfway through the year was absolutely horrible.

In Arizona, many of the elementary schools are K-6th grade. In California, they only run through 5th grade. Because we moved hallway through my year in 6th grade, in February 2004, I became a middle schooler literally over the weekend.

On that cold day in February 2004, I walked into that middle school knowing no one. I was a foot taller than everyone in my classes, including the boys, skinny and scrawny as a beanpole, wearing my tomboy elementary school clothes and topped off with thick glasses, acne, bushy eyebrows, and my adult teeth still struggling to grow in (to this day I still have too-small incisors).


Rocking that look at 13.

For the pretty middle school girls, products of their environments with their cute clothes, makeup, perfect hair, and high interest in boys, I was a walking target.

Many faces, names, and details have been lost to me over the years. For the sake of telling this story, they’re not important. All that needs to be explained is that the majority of those girls in that school were clever and sought not to necessarily make fun of me right from the start, but to befriend me first as to make the bullying – when it eventually came – much more painful and bewildering.

I truly believe that some of those girls had good intentions. They seemed nice enough. I’m sure they caved into peer pressure along the way, as is so easy to do in middle school. They wanted to give me a chance, give me a place at their lunch tables, and please their teachers who asked them nicely to show the new girl around.

But most of the girls didn’t. And the meanest of them – a tight-knit group of five girls – somehow became my closest friends.

For several weeks we hung out at school and at each other’s houses. They met my mom and adored her. The six of us swapped stories and secrets and exchanged numbers and went to birthday and slumber parties together as a big group. Even though I missed my friends in Arizona, I was happy. I had middle school friends, and the one with whom I seemed especially close was the group’s leader. I won’t repeat her name here but I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I’ll call her Regina, after Regina George from Mean Girls.

Then one night at a sleepover party in April (I think), somehow everything changed. Four of the five girls (one pretended to sleep so she wouldn’t have to participate) spent the entire night twisting my words, screaming and shouting at me, and accusing me of things I’d never did or said. My confusion only mounted throughout the night as I tried to defend myself, tried to figure out what I’d done or why they were so angry. Regina fueled everything, cutting across my stutters of apology and explanation with harsh accusations. Her sheep friends followed suit for hours.

Finally at 2am I called my mom and begged her to rescue me. Turns out – with her instinct – she’d been up and waiting for that phone call. She came and got me without question. I cried in her arms the rest of the night.

The next Monday, Regina and her friends spread rumors about me throughout the entire school. They were popular, so their words were final. And when everyone ran out of rumors, the bullying started.

I can’t even remember a lot of what was all said and done. Stupid middle school things. “I heard Alexis called so-and-so a fruitcake.” [The go-to insult in that school was ‘fruitcake’ for some reason.] “The ugly new girl said the dumbest thing in class today.” “Should someone get her a jacket? The weather has to be colder up there where she is.”

I’d hear the comments in the hallways, at my locker, in class behind the teachers’ backs, and – eventually – to my face. Sometimes it was just one girl – usually someone close to Regina or Regina herself – coming up to me for a showdown. Other times one of the older 7th or 8th grade girls sitting with a large group of people would call out to me and sweetly ask me to join them. Good old public humiliation was guaranteed if I got one of those calls. It usually resulted in me either running to the bathroom to cry, gulping back tears as I rushed to my next class, or trying to find a spot to eat my lunch on campus where no one could find me.

What hurt the most was that I’d been friends with Regina’s group – and on relatively good terms with the rest of my classmates – for some time. And because I’d been friends with them, each of them knew that it was my dearest ambition to become an author. I’d told them about my story that I was writing. It was about horses, I’d told them excitedly. It’s really long now. Maybe someday I can mail it to New York and get it published.

To give you, reader, some understanding, in that school, among the crowd of girls I had fallen into, it was almost a requirement for the girls to want to be models or actresses or something equally glamorous and flashy. For me to want to be an author was unheard of, at least to that group of girls. And once they’d turned on me, that become one other thing for them to laugh about, Regina in particular.

Oh, the comments that came. “It’s a good thing she wants to be an author, because she’s too ugly to be a model.” “Of course she wants to write, she’s nerdy enough for it!” “Like she’ll get published. Yeah right!”

Honestly, the exact words that were said over and over have left me. But I know what each of those girls in that middle school meant to do. My mom would explain it to me every morning in the car on the way to school. “Those girls,” she would say, “don’t have any kindness to give away. They feel badly about themselves. And they make fun of you and pick on you because you let them take away your power.”

I tried to figure out what she meant when she told me to not let them take away my power. Every time I saw Regina, my stomach turned over and all my happiness left my body. For weeks – months – that was something I couldn’t control.

Lest you all think Poor Alexis! it has to be mentioned that I had one friend through all of this who was oblivious to the rumors and bullying and a bit of a bullied outcast herself: Alysha. She and I are friends to this day. Towards the end of the year, we began a tentative friendship that blossomed during that summer of 2004. Alysha, if you’re reading this, you cannot possibly know what your friendship meant to me during that time.

That summer saved me. I didn’t have to go to school where I was bullied. Alysha and I hung out all the time. That summer, my sister Riley was born. We traveled to Arizona for the birth (insurance issues) and I got to see my dad, my older two siblings, and my friends. And sometime towards the beginning of that summer, I finished my book, It All Started With Five Horses.

I nearly gave up on it. During the school year, after my homework was done for the day and I’d sit down at the computer, it was too painful to open. Sometimes when I looked at it I would remember all the nasty bullying that day and want to delete it all.

Somehow, I kept writing.

I think a combination of things kept me going: My friends and family in Arizona, my new friend Alysha… even the characters in my story were encouraging to me, especially the main character Faith. When I was writing, I could escape. I could be as strong and as fearless as my characters, who didn’t get tongue-tied when trying to confront their bullies.

But I truly think my mom was the one who inspired me to keep writing. Every day she had words for advice for me. Every day she lifted me up after each of those girls had ripped me apart and torn me down. Without her I would have never finished my book. On the day I finished the book entirely, she asked me to email her the final copy so she could read it. I did so happily.

I thought all she would ever do was read it.

When school started up again towards the end of August, I wasn’t as much of a target. I was still there for the bullying, but the girls – wise old 7th graders now, with fresh 6th graders to play with – mostly looked elsewhere for entertainment. I settled into a routine, found some new friends with Alysha, and the terrified fist that would grasp my stomach whenever I’d see Regina or any of her group started to lessen day by day.

I turned 13 at the end of September. And on my birthday, a Friday, I came home from school to find a huge box wrapped up in front of the fireplace. And there in those boxes were 100 copies of my book. I cried when I saw them. Not only was it my dream brought to life, it seemed to be a validation of everything I’d gone through over the past months. Somehow, my struggle to keep on writing had all been worth it.

The following Monday, I brought one of the copies of my book to school with me. The first class of the day was homeroom, and as it happened, Regina sat right next to me.

We sat at a table, so across from us were two guys who fell into the popular crowd, thus Regina was close with them. As we all sat at our table waiting for the bell to ring to begin the day, the three of them sat chatting, or rather Regina sat complaining about something or other while the two guys playfully poked fun at her.

I was so oblivious to them. I was oblivious to everything. I was staring at my book on my desk. I kept flipping through the pages then closing them to see my name on the cover. I loved the picture my mom had chosen for the cover, of the five horse silhouettes at sunset. I loved that my book looked like a real book. At that moment, I loved everything.

“…because life is complete shit.” Regina’s words cut through my daydreaming.

Without thinking, I interjected quietly and happily. “Life is perfect.”

All three of my peers looked at me like I’d just grown another head. “Why?” spat Regina. “What makes you say something like that?”

“This,” I said sweetly, and I pushed my book towards her.

The two guys looked at the book and started chortling. Regina herself snorted as she grabbed it and pulled it across the table so she could see. “Wow….oh-KAY,” she said, faking a sarcastic, awe-struck expression as she looked at it. “A book. What’s so great about that?”

I smiled, a true, honest-to-God happy smile. I don’t think I’d smiled in her presence since before that night she and her friends ganged up on me. Out of habit, nervous butterflies still danced inside me, but I remember realizing in that moment that it was all over. “Regina,” I said quietly. “Look at the author.”

She did.

It’s been eleven years and I can still remember the look of horrified astonishment on her face.

One of the two guys at our table grabbed the book and looked at it. “You wrote this?” he yelled, loud enough for half the class to hear. He and our other classmate started exclaiming. They pulled my teacher over to our table and thrust it in her hands.

My teacher stared at my book for a solid minute, during which the bell rang and everyone settled down in their seats. After everyone started to looked questioningly at her to see why she wasn’t speaking yet, my teacher looked down at me and said in wonder, “Alexis. Explain this to me.”

I did. All my classmates – several of whom had spent the months before bullying me to tears – listened with rapt attention. Meanwhile, Regina sat in stony, angry silence. After I’d finished saying that the books were a present for my birthday after I’d worked on writing the book for nine months, my teacher opened it and said, “May I read some of this aloud to the class?”

Stunned, I squeaked out a happy, “Sure!” She read not a paragraph, but the first few pages. Everyone listened in silence. I couldn’t look at anyone. I looked down at my desk, hot all over, too happy to say a word.

The rest of the day, there were new rumors floating around the school. And at lunchtime, two of Regina’s group came up to me, Alysha, and a few other girls I had surrounded myself with since the beginning of the school year.

I don’t remember the entire conversation, but I do remember the beginning and the end of it. The two girls demanded to see my book. I gave it to them. As they looked at the cover, the rest of Regina’s group – along with every other girl in our grade who had told me I was stupid for wanting to be an author months before – looked over at them, waiting for a sign of confirmation.

“So,” one of the girls finally told me after giving me my book back, “why aren’t you sitting with us?”

It took all my courage to answer them. Swallowing with nerves, I told them, “Because we’re not friends anymore.”

The girls put on their best hurt expressions. “That’s a really rude thing to say,” one of them told me. “I thought we were friends.”

We hadn’t been for some time, but that wasn’t the point. They’d seen my name on the cover of my book. They needed to come at me with something.

“Well, we’re not,” I said, or something similar, and I stood up. I had always towered over all of Regina’s group and that time I was glad I did. I looked at them, waiting for some comeback. When none came, I turned to my new friends and said, “Come on, you guys.”

And my new friends followed me from the table so we could all eat lunch somewhere else.

The two members of Regina’s little gang went back to their table to the rest of the popular girls. When I looked over my shoulder briefly as we all walked away, I saw them all chatting viciously.

For the first time since I came to that middle school, not only was what everyone said behind my back the truth, it was something of which I was immensely, unspeakably proud.

And from that day on until the day in February 2005 when my family and I moved away from Discovery Bay and I started yet another new school, not one of those girls ever bullied me again.


“It All Started” with talent and generosity, by Juli Mijares, published in the Discovery Bay Press on November 19, 2004

Some kids have had their picture in the paper, others have had an essay or even a story printed. But one local girl has had a book printed and is selling copies to raise funds for an international charitable organization.

Alexis Roeckner, 13, has written “It all Started with Five Horses,” a 279-page novel for ages 10 to 15. The story revolves around five horses that are inspired by a falcon to escape a cruel master and meet up with a herd of wild horses searching for the dominant stallion’s daughter. 

But the falcon is not all he appears to be. His cruelty to one of the main characters, Faith, causes arguments to escalate among members of the herd. Questions arise such as can they find the stallion’s daughter? Will Faith be able to prove the falcon doesn’t have the herd’s best interests in mind? There are many adventures for the horses and a plot twist at the end. 

One of Alexis’ former teachers had been encouraging her parents to get Alexis published. “She said she’s never seen a writer like Alexis,” the writer’s mother Lisa Schelthoff recalled.

The book is the fifth the seventh grader has written, but the first to be published. [AUTHOR NOTE: The book was printed but never published.] It took her nine months to write. Her mom and stepdad, Steve, had 100 copies printed up by and presented them to Alexis for her birthday in September.

Three boxes were wrapped, containing the books. Alexis said she started crying in disbelief when she saw them for the first time. 

“Hang on a second, is that mine?” Alexis said when she opened her present. “It was a dream come true.” 

So far, Alexis has sold about 50 of her books. A donation of $5 or more is requested to purchase a paperback signed by the young author.

Teacher Laurel Sarmento found the book to be a good read.

“It is very impressive,” she said via email. “Wow, what a kid!”

Fifty percent of the proceeds are donated to Heifer International, a non-profit organization that is dedicated to ending world hunger and saving the earth.

By providing trees, livestock, training and other resources, Heifer International has helped millions of families in more than 125 countries around the world lift themselves out of poverty and into self-reliance since 1944.

Her family’s motto is “You make a living from what you get, you make a life from what you give.”

The organization was chosen because of its mission and that the people who are helped are given the opportunity to help themselves.

“What a small thing we could do, to make such a big difference,” Lisa said. “It is important to give back and make the world a better place.”

The other half will be used to help Alexis publish her next book, “The Neighborhood Pack,” a story about a pack of dogs that must save a small town in Minnesota from a pack of wolves, while trying to learn to cooperate with each other.

This aspiring author has been writing since she was five years old and says she loves to write. She likes that “anything can happen in a book. It’s all imagination.” Her inspiration is J.K. Rowling, author of the popular Harry Potter series. Alexis is also grateful to her family and friends for their support and encouragement.

“I wouldn’t be the author I am without them,” she said.  

To learn more about or purchase a copy of Alexis’ book, call 516-3525 and leave a message. For more information about Heifer International, log on to 

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