er Self-Surrender And My Uncle

he 15-Minute Phone Calls

risons Without Bars And Growth

erspective Gratitude And Club Fed

he Truth That Starts Change

aith Hope And A Turning Point

our Past Explains Not Defines

SPEAKER_00 0:05

Welcome to the She Lost It Podcast. I'm Stephanie, and this is a space for you to lose what's been holding you back, talk about real growth, find courage, and step into the life you were meant for. Okay, friends, welcome back to the She Lost It Podcast. I know it has been a minute since we have sat down together and talked, but life has been really full lately in the best way. My business has been growing, a lot has been happening behind the scenes, but honestly, that is not the only reason there has been a pause. The truth is, as I kept reading my mother's journal, some of the things that I read brought up some memory memories I had buried really deep. Feelings I hadn't fully processed yet. And I needed a little time to sit with that before sharing it with you. So here we are. And if you are new here, or if you missed the first couple of episodes of this little mini-series, let me give you a quick recap. My mother was sentenced to marry in a federal prison in 1993 for embezzlement. I was 11 years old when she went away. And for most of my life, I never really knew what that experience was like for her. She's no longer here to tell me the story herself, but she left behind something pretty incredible, her handwritten journal. And recently I finally cracked it open. These little bonus episodes are just me reading through it and getting to know my mom in a way I never got to while she was still alive. And the thing that's surprising me the most through these pages are her faith, her humor. Even in prison, that woman had jokes, and her mental toughness. It is otherworldly. But there are also parts that take me straight back to being that little girl again. And sometimes they reveal things that happened that I never even knew about. So pull up a chair because this one's going to be interesting. Let's get right into it. One of the entries that completely stopped me in my tracks was when she wrote about my uncle being there when she self-surrendered. I never really knew how she how she went away. I didn't know if the police came and got her. I couldn't remember if she turned herself in. I just never knew. Well, now I know. She self-surrendered. And her brother went with her. And she wrote about how helpless he told her he felt watching them take her away. He was one of her first visitors in prison, and this was the conversation they had. He explained how that moment brought him back to when they were kids. I remember her telling me this when I was in high school, and her revealing to me some things that she had gone through as a kid that were hard. And not only hard for her, but hard for me to hear. The two of them had been affected by an uncle growing up in a way no child should ever be affected. They were 11 months apart, so they were very close, but they both shared that same experience. And reading that made me pause because that took him back to feeling helpless when they were kids. So those same feelings of being helpless and not being able to save her when she self-surrendered just broke me. It made me think you realize something as an adult that you really never do see as a child. Our parents weren't just our parents. They were kids too. Kids who went through really hard things, kids who were shaped by trauma and experiences long before we ever entered the picture. And I think one of the most healing things we can do as adults is start seeing our parents as people, not just the role they played in our life. Not to excuse everything, but to understand it. Because when you see someone's wounds, you start to understand their behavior in a completely different way. And that kind of compassion is incredibly freeing. Another entry that got me really emotional was when she talked about the times that she was able to call home. She had 15 minutes on the phone. 15. That's it. And she reacts she writes about how when she called me, there were so many things she wanted to say, but not near enough time. And when she would always start to say goodbye, she wrote she could always hear the crack in my voice. I was trying to be brave. I can remember being that 11-year-old girl on the phone trying to be brave. She recalls how she could tell I was crying. And she would tell me, Go ahead, cry. It's okay. I miss you too. And then she wrote this line. I wish I could hold her and make the pain go away. When I read that part, I lost it. I remember that feeling. I remember being the scared little girl trying to be strong, trying not to make things harder for my mom. I didn't want her to worry about me. But reading it now as a mother myself, it hits completely different because when I imagine hearing my child's voice on the other end of that bone, I can't imagine that kind of pain. And it made me think about something else. My mom had 15 minutes with the people she loved on that phone call, 15. And in that time, she fit in love, reassurance, connection. And it made me ask myself this how many times do we have unlimited access to the people we love and we still don't say what we mean? We assume there will always be another conversation, another phone call, another chance, but sometimes there isn't. So maybe the takeaway for this part is simple. If you had 15 minutes with someone you love today, what would you say? Because life has a way of reminding us that time is never guaranteed. Reading this journal has made me realize something else. Prison doesn't always have bars. Sometimes prison looks like toxic relationships, an addiction, a job that slowly kills your spirit, or a mindset that keeps telling you you're not enough. And sometimes the hardest prisons to escape are the ones no one else can see. Because on the outside everything looks normal, but on the inside you feel completely trapped. And one of the things that really struck me reading these entries is this even inside literal prison, my mom was still growing, growing, still reflecting, still leaning into her faith, still becoming a better version of herself, which means something really powerful. Your circumstances don't define your growth. You can rebuild your life even when everything around you isn't ideal. Another line that made me laugh out loud in this journal was when she said, I wish I had a desktop computer. It would make everything so much easier, which cracked me up because my mom was the fastest typer I have ever seen in my life. But in the same entry, she wrote that she has terrible handwriting, which is also hilarious because her handwriting is actually beautiful. But then she made said something that made me stop. She wrote, There's never a minute or place of quiet or privacy. I will never take that for granted again. How often do we complain about the little inconveniences when there are people in the world who would give anything just to have five minutes of peace and quiet? Perspective is a pretty powerful thing. And then there was this moment that captured my mom's personality perfectly. So apparently there were some other women in the unit that were whining about unloading mattresses. That was their job for one of the days they had to unload mattresses. And they're, you can only imagine, the host of different personalities and characters that are in this prison, right? So my mom and a couple of other women basically said, good grief, quit your whining and we will do it. She wrote something that absolutely killed me. She said, Don't they know where we are? This isn't club med. This is club fed. This isn't club med. This is club fed. And that was so my mom. And I think honestly, it has to be the greatest prison line I've ever heard. But there is a deeper lesson here too, because sometimes we complain about the things that would look like blessings to someone else. Again, perspective changes everything. Gratitude doesn't come from having perfect circumstances, it comes from realizing things could always be worse. One of the most powerful moments in the journal so far was a conversation that she had with another inmate. There is a list of names of so many different women that she connected through this experience. Some of them I even remember meeting at visitations, and some of them she kept up with after her release date. And I wish I knew where some of these women are and where their family members are, and what did they end up doing with their life and how did how was their family affected? But maybe we'll get to that in another episode. But the women told my mom that they had been in self-destructive mode their whole life. And my mom responded with something so simple and powerful. She's she wrote, So was I, but we know now, and now it's over. That line, change doesn't start when your life becomes perfect. Change starts when you finally tell the truth about what isn't working anymore. And that's the turning point, the moment where you say, Okay, I see the pattern now. And once you see the pattern, you can't unsee it. And that's where transformation begins. Towards the end of this section of the journal, she talked about feeling a little depressed one weekend. I mean, can you imagine? I would be too. Part of it was because she couldn't talk to me, and she said she could feel something was wrong with me, and she was probably right, because I was an 11-year-old girl trying to process something much bigger than I understood. But then something beautiful happened. She wrote that she sat down, she prayed, she did her devotional, then she heard there was a Christian rock band playing for worship. She said she almost didn't go, but something told her to just walk over there. She wrote about how powerful it felt standing in the room, surrounded by music, faith, and hope. And she wrote something I think applies to all of us. God has a purpose for us all if we will just listen. She says, when we think we are in charge, we've already lost. Yep, she's right. Whether someone believes in God or not, I think there is a universal truth there. Sometimes the hardest seasons of our life become the ones that wake us up spiritually. Reading this journal so far is doing something I didn't expect. It's not just teaching me about my mom, it's teaching me about myself, about compassion, about resilience, about forgiveness. It's also making me ask a question that I want to leave with you today. What story about your past might look different if you looked at it through the lens of understanding instead of judgment? Because sometimes the thing that sets us free is realizing the people who hurt us were often hurting too. One day, my own child might try to understand me too. They might look back at decisions that I made and wonder why. And I hope when he does, he sees a woman who wasn't perfect, but who was always wanting to do her best. So if this episode helped even one person feel less alone, then sharing these pages for my mom's journal will always be worth it. And the next episode, we'll just keep turning the pages, because there's still a lot more of her story to uncover. And honestly, a lot more of mine too. Before we close, I want to say something to you because somebody listening right now probably feels stuck. Maybe you feel stuck in your past. Maybe you feel stuck in a mistake. Maybe you feel stuck in something someone else did to you. But here's the truth that this journal keeps reminding me of. Your past may explain you, but it does not get to define you. Every single day you wake up, you get the chance to write a new sentence in your story. So do not stop now. Not when you've come this far. And if this episode spoke to you today, do me a favor, save it, share it with someone who might need to hear it, and follow the podcast so you don't miss the next chapter of the journal or any other episodes. Because we're just getting started. Thank you for being here. Thank you for listening. And if no one has told you today, I believe you. I believe in you. See you next time.