We will forget about the chairs.

Whenever I come back to this blog after it’s been a while, every word I write feels like that first awkward text you send to someone after you feel you’ve been a bad friend.

I’ve sent plenty of those texts before. I usually try to cover up my shame with a bunch of garble, emojis and exclamation marks. I want the awkwardity (not a word) to be over in 2.5 seconds so we can get back to normal.

I have not been a bad friend about 9 out of the 10 times I think I’ve been a bad friend. I’m overly hard on myself. I hold myself to too high of a standard on the days that end in Y. I usually feel the need to repent to people I’ve known for years when it takes me days to text them back or it is weeks before we schedule another coffee date.

Truth is, I don’t like living that way. I don’t like feeling like the friend who slips away somewhere in the month of August and comes back on the scene in late October. I crave being constant with people. I crave consistency. But– even 6 years into this blogging thing– I still don’t write on it as much as I would like.

I encouraged a leadership team the other night and the first thing I told them about was my blog. Of all the things I’ve ever created, this blog is my baby and it’s the thing I am the most proud of. Easily. Hands down. Putting a book out into the world is hard to compare to a free blog on the internet but this little baby has taught me discipline. It’s taught me to keep showing up. It’s brought me closer to people across the world who I would otherwise never meet or get closer with. A 42-year-old from Spain emailed me the other day and told me she had stumbled across my blog and she read it the whole way through. She told me she was an atheist but she liked the way I wrote about God. She understood why I would think to pray. I thought:

Wow. This is my life. Wow. This is what consistency will get you. It will get people like this woman from Spain coming back to your page to check up on you and the life you’ve lived since you last posted. 

So I’ve lived life lately. I’ve been busy getting a wedding dress hemmed, traveling to a dozen states for speaking engagements, sending edits back and forth with my agent for a book, teaching classes, enjoying the “fall” weather in Atlanta, and cooking everything I find on this blog.

Life is chaotic and I don’t have time for every little thing I want to be doing but here’s the biggest thing I’ve learned: you’re not everything, Hannah. You’re not everything to everyone and isn’t it so freeing to not feel the need to be?

Truth told: the girl inside of me who used to be a hustle-til-you-die figure died. I had a funeral for her. She was very dear to me and she was the epitome of a #girlboss but she doesn’t live in this body anymore. What has replaced her is a young woman who is still ambitious as hell but she gets that life happens… Life happens everyday you are too distracted to see people because you are waiting on emails to tell you how much you matter. And life happens apart from those emails you send at 2am and the constant need you feel to be everything to everyone. Life happens and it’s messy, and it’s annoying, but it’s mine.

So, in the spirit of learning new things and embracing the mess of life, I wanted to write you guys a quick post. It’s not perfect but it’s a summary of things I’m learning. I dig that I can be honest with you guys and not feel the need to make every word polished.

Here. We. Go.


October is a hard month:

This is tricky to write about because October, for me, has not been a hard month. But one of my friends was leading a meeting the other night and he said, “October is a hard month for a lot of people.” His words made a thud when they hit the ground.

People break up in October. People are reminded of their singleness in October because everyone and “bae” is going apple picking and carving pumpkins without you. It is a season that carries some strange sort of somber undertone that I don’t really know how to articulate. As the holidays get closer, we are reminded of the loss embedded inside of us and the laughter we won’t hear coming down the hallway this Thanksgiving.

For years, October was a month where I celebrated anniversary after anniversary with a boy who claimed all the love my teenager heart could give him like gold. And then, for more years, October was a month where I wished I could zap October 16 off of the calendar and choose not to live it because it reminded me that not all things last.

October may not be a hard month for you. It might be your best month. My friends says she walks around all October like she’s got a secret she isn’t telling people because she feels like anything is possible in these 31 days.

But it might not be your month and that’s perfectly okay. You’ll have your months and you’ll have your years. You’ll have your dates you wish you could skip too.

The importance of maintenance:

This past year has been one of the most defining for me because I’ve been dedicated to this idea of “discipline.” I am learning that basically everything stems from discipline. The way to create good habits? Discipline. The way to maintain habits? Discipline.

The thing is this: you can set up some really healthy habits and still fall off the wagon a few weeks, or a few months, after. Every habit, relationship and obligation requires some sort of maintenance. Friends require that you check in with them. Habits require that you tweak them. Routines plateau and require that you reevaluate them.

Maintenance is severely underrated. It’s like buying a car and putting a ton of work into it up front. A few months later, maintenance will be required in some way. Oil changes. New headlights. Emissions tests. In the same way, making changes to your daily life will require you fix your eyes on maintaining them. It’s harder than you would think.

Engagement isn’t magical:

Engagement has been pretty normal. No unicorns have shown up. People used to tell me that engagement was the most magical season and I waited for a month or two after there was a ring on my finger for that magical feeling to sink in. But it didn’t. That’s not to say I don’t think my relationship is magical or that I don’t think Lane is the perfect guy for me. It is. He is. But it’s something different than magical for me.

Maybe for you it is, was, or will be magical. For us, engagement has been stressful and it has been awesome. It’s been both those things at the same exact time. One is usually not present without the other though.

It’s stressful because we are planning a wedding. It’s stressful because I would never voluntarily host a party this big at any other point in my life and so most of our fights are over stupid things like chairs we will see for one day, for approximately 5 hours, and then we will never see them again. Life is too short to fight over gold-glinted chairs.

I am sure Lane wouldn’t mind my telling you there is a pile of fights he and I will never have again come December. We will drop that half-ton of fights into the ocean like that woman in Titanic and we will forget about those fights because they will not matter anymore. We will never speak of the chairs again. What will matter is that we danced hard, we ate burgers the size of our heads, we celebrated with people from miles away, we made it to the finish line and the starting line, and we made this cool, holy pact to one another in front of all these people who absolutely made us.

It’s awesome because we are choosing one another. In a world where it feels impossible to choose a coffee option off a board at Starbucks or choose a laundry detergent from the cleaning aisle at Target, we are choosing. Hallelujah, we are choosing!

But the most magical thing about engagement happened for me before we were even engaged. It happened before I knew I would marry him. It might have been the moment I realized I could marry him though.

We were sitting on his couch and Lane introduced me to the Hannibal TV series. It is both terrifying and awesome. It’s bloody but we both love thriller shows and movies. It is a nightmare on repeat but, still, we love it.

I don’t remember how it happened but we ended up dragging his mattress across the room and putting it right in front of the television. I made him my signature popcorn, the only thing I was capable of making on a stove top for approximately three years. We laid on that mattress in the center of the room eating popcorn and bingeing on episodes of Hannibal for what felt like an eternity. It was an island of sheets and blankets. I remember thinking to myself, “I never want to leave this mattress. I never want to leave this place. I never want to go away if I can’t take you with me.”

And that’s engagement to me. It’s the pending promise that we will spend the years dragging a mattress across the room and making popcorn after long days, hard days, and days that were nothing more than days we won’t pocket for memory’s sake.  It’s the pending promise that I am taking him with me. It’s a pending promise that I’ve found the one who won’t be another blue-eyed lesson in letting go.

I miss writing to you:

Even as I write this post, I keep thinking about how much I miss this blog. I’ve been so busy traveling, teaching, paying bills, killing student loan debt, trying to gracefully be engaged and assume my role as “bride,” volunteering at my local church and somehow reading fiction that I’ve barely picked up my pen in the last month.

It feels like pieces of me are missing when I don’t sit down to write. It feels like I am only half of what could be my best. My mind is as haunted as the town of Salem in October when I do not sit down and bury these words into journals and word documents.

All this to say: you need to do that thing that makes you most alive. If it’s writing. If it’s dancing. If it’s more school. You need to do that thing because, if you don’t, a part of you will die inside. You will shake hands with people in this world and only you will know what you are keeping from the world. So come back to that thing. It hasn’t been too long. Come back to that thing and don’t abandon it so easily next time.

Writing is that thing for me. It is very much my everything. And you– you are such a treasure to me. Whether you are in Spain or Iceland, Kansas or Canada, you are a treasure and you give me purpose with each new day. I love your emails. I love your tweets. I love when you stalk me out in the middle of Nashville from the bushes (yes, that happened). I love all of it and I am going to thank God that I got to write to you until the words gave up on me.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for supporting. I love you fiercely and I am making my way back to you one word at a time.


The Year of the Book: October 15!

It’s one of your life goals: write a book. You’ve thought about it. You’ve talked about it. You’ve even tried to make it happen before. Whether it’s the last few months of 2016 or 2017, this will be the year of the book. The year where you map it out, develop your story, and sit down to write the dang thing!

I created this course material for the ones who dream of getting their words on paper and want to produce bodies of works beyond 20,000 words.

WHEN: Saturday, October 15, 2016 // 12-3 PM EST, 9-12 AM PST

WHERE: ONLINE! No need to be live to attend. All attendees will receive materials + replay of the class!



Part 2 of the popular (3-time sold-out) Writing Intensive offered by HB, the Year of the Book is a course that only happens once in a calendar year!

This 3-hour class will cover 1) the nitty gritty of book writing, 2) the discipline of committing to a long-term project and 3) the art of the book proposal.

I will share my process and experience of learning how to write consistently and daily, outlining a book, and getting a book deal while helping you set goals to finally push that word count of yours to the maximum. Course comes with replay, Q&A session, a writing community to join & a writing accountability partner chosen just for you!


  • The difference between book writing & blog writing.
  • Making time to write.
  • Overcoming the fear of putting yourself out there.
  • The discipline of writing over 40,000 words: training for a marathon.
  • Accountability: why you need it and how to get it.
  • The bones of a book proposal.
  • A look at the publishing industry.
  • Why you need a platform.
  • Querying and finding an agent that matches your needs.

Snag your seat today!


Digging deeper into the Scriptures.

I don’t remember sitting down with a bible for the first time. I really don’t.

I know for the first few years of growing in my faith, I kept everything inside this one journal. I would write down my feelings and prayers. Somewhere in 2011, when I started going to a church for the first time as my own choice, I started sitting with a bible.

The bible at first glance is a pretty intimidating book. I didn’t know where to begin and there are some days, five years later, where I still question where to dig.

There was this one night at Taproom where I was sitting at the bar by the window reading through a Charles Spurgeon sermon I’d printed out. I kept having this reaction to the text– nearly every line– like, “Oh my goodness, how did I not know this? How did I not see this?” There was this overwhelming feeling inside of me that suddenly I had so much to learn. Though you could argue I have a lifetime ahead of me to learn about God, a lifetime suddenly feels too short for all the studying I want to do.


I used to feel lost when it came to studying the bible. My time with God was stale and a bit lifeless. I would read a page of a devotional and that would take up five minutes of my time. There was no space in that study time to get to know God better, to ask Him questions, or to search out answers.

Be encouraged if you are starting small: your hunger for the word of God can absolutely grow and expand.

Today, I study everyday. I do everything humanly possible not to miss these study times. They are the first thing I do on a daily basis. I either study from my office or I pick a coffee shop (usually Taproom) to sit down and dig in.

My studying time usually averages an hour a morning though there are definitely days where I go for two hours easily. I find that the more time I spend with God in the morning, the more my day expands and I suddenly feel a lot more ease about the hours ahead and the tasks I need to accomplish.

I compiled a list of resources to help you dig deeper into the scripture:



I think She Reads Truth is an awesome resource for those who are new to studying the bible and are looking for a devotional to accompany their journey. They have a fantastic app that is easy to navigate and the studies are either free or available for two to three dollars. Mind you, that’s two to three dollars for a 14-40 day study! The benefits of this app are worth it. You’ll gain community and the council of wise voices who are writing the content for you.



I just started digging into this devotional and I am absolutely loving it. I bought it for $3.99 off of Amazon. Search the Scriptures is a 3-year devotional that leads you through the entire bible. It’s not overambitious but what I love about the devotional is that it leaves the text of the bible open-ended for you. You dig. You search. You write down answers.

A lot of devotionals out there are more for the “beginner mindset.” The devotionals are packaged with answers and wrapped with a bow. For me, I like the task of searching for myself. I am more likely to retain information when I discover it on my own.



I was debating on where to put my friend Jane in this blog post. I immediately concluded that Jane must be her own category. So meet Jane. Jane is about to be your bible study girl crush. I mean it.

Jane taught me how to dig in the Word of God. She is who I thank for teaching me how to develop a hunger for the Bible. Jane taught me to cross-reference, highlight, interpret and translate. She’s a beast and you should sit at her feet and learn everything she has to teach about Jesus.

I will just drop the link for her website here and you can go get lost in her stuff for an hour.



Lane and I are big fans of commentary. I feel comfortable enough with you guys to nerd out over the fact that I just bought three books the other week to begin our first commentary collection together. Bible commentaries “aid in the study of Scripture by providing explanation and interpretation of Biblical text.”

Most times, bible commentaries are broken down into books of the bible and are written by popular theologians who know their stuff. I recommend the following commentaries to get you started:

Matthew Henry Concise Commentary of the Whole Bible

Parallel Commentary of the NT (Spurgeon/Wesley/Henry)



The bible is especially intimidating (and not very attractive to keep coming back to) when you always stick with the grab-and-go method. In order to get the most out of the text, you must be willing to plant down your roots and do the hard work of studying, asking questions, and finishing.

By “finishing” I mean, commit to an entire book of the bible. Commit to studying everyday until you finish it. This summer, I committed to the book of Acts. It took me nearly three months but I studied every verse within every chapter. Now I have a rich understanding of the book of Acts and where it fits in the divine story of God coming to earth.

Lost on where to start? I cannot recommend this book by my friend Everett enough. Start with the book of James. Order this book. And begin. Read a chapter each day or read two pages a day. I met with a reader last month who said her study time expanded from ten minutes in the morning to thirty minutes because of this book.

Plain and simple, Everett goes through the book of James verse-by-verse. He leaves no stone unturned. If you’ve never dissected a book of the bible on your own then I recommend this book as a companion.

I would love to hear what works for you when it comes to digging deeper into the scriptures. Let’s dialogue in the comments below!


The fight to keep your “normal.”

I’ve told this story a few times before. It happened in November 2014. It was the week of Thanksgiving and I was on the verge of a 4-month battle with severe depression. I say “verge” because, even though the depression had technically set in, those first few weeks were nothing compared to the rock-bottom I would encounter throughout the months of December, January and February.

Talking with my good friend Clifton, I balled my fists up and huffed at him with frustration, “I just want to go back to normal.”

It was clear though that my “normal” had brought me to this destination already: tired, anxious, burnt out and unable to keep the facade of “driven, inspiring young woman” going any longer. I was at the end of myself.

“When a tree gets struck by lightning it never goes back to normal,” Clifton said. “It makes a new kind of normal.”


Making a new “normal” is a monotonous task. I won’t sugarcoat it and make you think otherwise. When your life falls apart– or when you realize you are in grave danger of soon holding in your hands the remains of a life that has fallen apart– the trek towards something different isn’t easy. The road is rarely paved. The signs on the trees don’t give clear directions. Much of forging a new life feels like fumbling around in the darkness until you find that next patch of light that tells you, “keep going.”

I only write this because I’ve been let down by way too many covers of Women’s Health magazine before. I’ve bought into the “7 simple steps” and the “transformation in 8 weeks or less.” I’ve wanted transformation, rebuilding, all of it, to be as simple as the world told me it could be. It’s not though. Baby steps aren’t sexy but they’re real.


I go through gaps in my therapy where I feel like there is nothing to talk about. Friends, let me assure you that there will alway be something to talk about. It’s in those gaps that my therapist will ask me, “What’s coming up?”

She knew over a month ago that I have a very busy fall coming up. I am speaking at a dozen places. I am working on a book. I am getting married in less than 3 months. It’s a time of craziness.

A month ago, we started poking holes in my schedule and asking the good questions: How will you continue to work out when you’re staying in hotels? What food do you want to eat on the road? When will you rest? How will you handle meal prep? 

I am the sort of person who thrives on routine. I need routine to feel my best and do my best. So our mission has become this: how do we keep “normal” happening in the midst of a chaotic calendar?

Here comes a small handful of things I did to ensure my routine stays intact for the next few months:

  • I went ahead and ordered a bunch of toiletries, snacks and household items in advance from Amazon Prime Pantry. This way, I am not overwhelmed when I come home from a trip because I need toilet paper or ran out of toothpaste.
  • I bought extras of items like razors, toothbrushes, and even my iPhone charger so I could keep one set in my suitcase and another in my home. Losing things can seriously throw you off your A-game so why not keep extra?
  • I packaged up little “snack packs” for each speaking engagement ahead. I fill quart-sized baggies from IKEA with my favorite beef jerky, granola bars, vitamins, etc. so I am prepared for every airport and rest stop I come across.
  • I am planning to look at my calendar in the next few days and draw a big “NO” over some of the dates from now until December. That “NO” will symbolize a day where I cannot pour myself out through coffee dates, meetings, or social events. If I don’t carve out my rest in advance then I cannot complain when the fatigue shows up at my door with a cup of coffee and a tired grin.

If you know that you are the kind of person who thrives with a routine then you will have to fight extra hard to keep that routine when things start to feel chaotic.


Plain and simple, you are the sum of your victories. You’ve already told yourself– for far too long– how you don’t manage to add up. What if you added something else up instead? When I was in the middle of the woods– that severe depression that hollowed me out– I would make lists of all the tasks I managed to accomplish. My lists held things like “did my hair” and “went to a diner” or “sent an email to Tammy.”

You would think those tasks were too small. However, when I added them all up, they meant something. They meant I was living. They meant I had kept on living. They meant I hadn’t gone back to bed that day. And on the days when I couldn’t do anything but go back to bed, they meant that I would be able to start again. I would not have to go back to START. I could pick back up at Victory #17 or wherever I’d stopped.


I am still working on this one every day. I have a great ability to talk down to myself and belittle my own progress. I need reminders (too often) of just how powerful language is.

For a long time, I said I suffered from depression. I placed myself into a victim role when I said the word “suffer.” It’s not that I didn’t struggle, grapple or, yes, even suffer at times. There were 2am hours full of night terrors for an entire month where I know I suffered. However, there are better ways to acknowledge my mental illness.

I deal with depression. That is what I say now. To say I “deal” with depression implies that I am handling it. I am figuring it out. I am applying new wisdom daily. I am learning the foods I should eat in large quantities that will curb my anxiety and the foods I should steer clear of. I am learning about supplements and natural treatments. I am dealing with it.

I like the idea of “dealing” with depression because it gives me more control. I deserve more control. Because here’s the thing: I am not my depression. I am not defined by it or confined by it. It happened to me. It still happens to me. My depression does not, on any day of the week, give me a new name though. It will never have that sort of permission.

No mental illness, no horrific tragedy, no person who did you wrong or left you broken is allowed to name you. It does not work that way, no matter what other people tell you.

This is your life. These are your lungs. This is your space. You get to breathe here and you get control over the language that covers you. Let them be good words. Let them be kind words.

Screen Shot 2015-06-04 at 11.19.25 AM

On Jealousy.


I wanted to write to ask your advice on jealousy. It’s such a silly part of our human nature, but how can we combat it.  I struggle with it so much and it is really taking away from me allowing myself to be fully happy for others in their achievements and joys. Don’t get me wrong, I do get excited for them and share in their happiness. But when I’m alone and in my own head, I let this little green monster creep in and tell me all these lies.

For example, one of my best single friends is now starting to see this guy. I am beyond excited for her and that she found such a great guy, but there is a little part of me that selfishly says ” why not me? When’s it going to be MY turn to share the fun first date story with all my friends who are eagerly waiting.”

I just want to find sincere and genuine happiness while not letting jealousy bog me down.

Thanks so much!



I’ve been learning a lot about my brain lately. I got tired of blanket statements about depression and anxiety and I decided to get some answers. A stop on my journey was sitting across from a dear friend of mine who is a cerebral neurologist.

He met me at Taproom a few weeks ago and he talked to me for two hours about the brain: how it works, how to manage it, how we seriously don’t give this noggin of ours enough credit. I will probably write six or seven blog posts about my cerebral neurologist friend because he literally blows my mind every time we sit down to talk (blatant pun intended).

So we were sitting there, T, and it was nearly impossible to stay focused on the conversation because the most unfairly beautiful playlist kept wafting through the speakers and I was instantly swept up in nostalgia and memories of senior prom and breakups in college. I was basically sitting there with Ryan Adams, Ben Rector, Ray LaMontagne, and a cerebral neurologist.

He paused talking somewhere in the middle of “She is Love” by Parachute and said to me, “We only have two kinds of emotions: love and fear. Everything stems off of those two.”

Process this with me for a second, T. We only have two emotions: love and fear. Every other emotion sits in one of those two family trees.  You’re experiencing jealousy. Jealousy is a bucktooth cousin of the Fear Family. He’s sitting there in that Fear family photo wearing a wool turtleneck and righteous comb over.

I could probably build upon this visual for the next 750 words but there are more important things to say. For instance, your jealousy is rooted in the fear that good stuff will happen for other people and not you. Your jealousy is rooted in this belief that every other human is going to find their soulmate and you won’t even become a cat lady because all the cats will find love before you do too. Your jealousy is rooted in the fear that God has good for other people but He has forgotten about you.


I feel you, child. I can’t say I know everything there is to know about jealousy but I can say this: jealousy knows no boundaries. I know a lot of people who also have no boundaries and the truth is that eventually you have to cut those people off or else they are destined to trample all over you.

Jealousy is territorial and it will take as much of you as it can get. We make the mistake of thinking that a little jealousy is understandable and that we can just shove it down and that means we won’t feel it anymore. Everything we shove down does, indeed, come back up again. It comes up again a million times more forceful, more powerful, and more overbearing.

That’s why beauty experts say it is not good to shave your eyebrows. Once you shave them, they grow back quicker than before. Shaving does not get to the root of the problem just like stuffing feelings down doesn’t mean you’ve dealt with them. You have to pluck, girl. You have to see the root before you think about shoving the feels off. That’s the only way fear stops winning-  when we all stop acting as if it isn’t real.


I want to tell you a story from a few years ago. I had an acquaintance going after the same dream as me. Her dream of publishing a book just happened sooner than me. When I first realized I was jealous it was just this little tinge in my heart, just this little voice that whispered, “Mine. I want that to be mine.”

It started off as an innocent feeling. You and I have those feelings daily and on the regular. My mistake was in not dealing with that feeling. I didn’t pray about it. I didn’t write it down. I didn’t tell anyone about the feeling and I should have. That’s one of the best ways I know how to combat jealousy and other nasty feelings: tell someone they exist. Be vulnerable. Admit it. Do not, I repeat, do not let those feelings fester in dark corners of your brain. Like mold, they will spread.

I did nothing what I just recommended to you. Instead, I let those feelings of jealousy grow stronger and stronger. They turned into bitterness. They turned into resentment. Before long, I felt like I was unable to talk to that person. Worse than that, I was unable to cheer that person on. I blocked her notifications. I took her number out of my phone.

I remember there was this one day where I went into the bookstore and there was this jealous pull inside of me to go and find the book. It’s that same sort of pull you experience when you know you don’t want to check a person’s social media to see how they are doing but you find yourself there on their page anyway and you proceed to wallow in their good stuff.

I was standing at the front of the bookstore and I felt this prompting in my heart that was like, “Yea, you are going to go find her book. And you know what else? When you find her book you are going to pray for it. You are going to pray it does well.”

It was the strangest feeling inside of me. Nothing inside of me wanted to go find the book and pray for it but that’s what I found myself doing. Any time that jealous feeling would creep into my heart, I would turn it into a simple prayer. Soon enough, my anger and my bitterness had subsided. I can’t say I became her best friend or that I ever really cultivated a friendship with her, but I can tell you that I no longer feel the pangs of jealousy when the thought of her comes up.

I still pray when I get jealous. I pray a lot when I get jealous. The jealousy can be so real and palpable sometimes but I turn my feelings into simple prayers. They don’t have to be long. They don’t need to be eloquent. Sometimes they are as simple as, “God, here’s what I am feeling. And I don’t want to feel this way. So help me not to feel this way.” Simple. So simple that it is almost dumb. But it works.


I think you need to do something, T. I think you need to go to the store, buy a cute card, and give it to your friend. Write her a message inside about how you are happy for her. Force yourself to do these things. Jealousy and all the blood-hungry feelings don’t stand a chance when we refuse to acknowledge and, instead, propel ourselves forward with action steps.

Celebrate your friend even if you don’t feel like it. Half the time (if not 3/4 of the time) your feelings are wrong. Don’t depend on them. If you want to keep your friend then choose to celebrate her. The key word in that last sentence is “choose.” You get to choose. You get to choose whether you are going to love your friend well or if you are going to walk away from her, talk behind her back, or secretly wish bad on her while she walks through a really exciting time in life. Would you want her to stand by you and celebrate you? If so, become active in loving her well. The more you love her, the more you will send a message to the jealousy telling it that it can no longer occupy the space you’ve given to it.

In the battle between love and fear, love always has the power to win. But must train your love. You must invest in love more than you give fear a pedestal. Love always has the power to win but you need to learn to train it for battle first.

tying you closer than most,


Screen Shot 2016-08-29 at 1.17.47 PM

You already know what happens to those caterpillars.

I flew into Boston on Saturday.

The first thing I usually do in any airport is search for a landmark. I look for something to remind if I’ve been here before, if I like a restaurant beside one of the gates, if something happened to me in one of these airports that was pivotal. There’s a tequila bar in the Charlotte airport where I spent my Valentine’s Day alone heading up a solo Single Girls Anonymous meeting in 2015. There’s a diner in the Baltimore airport where I stop, nearly religiously, for the bison breakfast. I’m a writer who spends a lot of her time in airports so forgive me for trying to make the experience of to-go Friendly’s and baggage claim a little more poetic.

The first thing I saw when I touched down in Boston was this tiny Dunkin’ Donuts crammed into the corner beside the escalator that leads you to ground transportation. I’ve been to the Boston airport a dozen times before but I remember this little coffee joint. I remember, two years ago, stepping off the plane and seeing the familiar pink and orange signage. I remember starting to cry. I was five months into living in Atlanta at the time and I couldn’t remember anymore why I’d chosen to move there.

I would have conversations all the time with people about my move to Atlanta and my tone and demeanor was beginning to shift as they asked me questions like, “And how do you like it?” The honeymoon period in Atlanta had worn off. Things weren’t shiny or new anymore. The hole I’ve written about– the one that always felt like it was expanding in my chest with more nothingness– only got bigger. I started answering the questions people asked me differently with responses like, “It’s good here. But it’s not home. Home is New England and I am hoping I can go back there soon.”

I didn’t realize at the time that my response, as honest as it was towards people, was my way of crossing my arms across my body and saying, “Don’t come any closer to me. Don’t get to know me. I am leaving soon. I am always leaving soon.” It was a defense mechanism. It was my way to cover up the fear that I would never belong somewhere. Fear had written this story in my brain that I would always be running and chasing thing after thing. I didn’t know how to take off the running shoes and nail them to the door.


Two years ago, that airport in Boston was the first time I’d stepped onto familiar New England ground in several months. It should have been exciting. I should have been grateful for a chance to feel the fall air that I missed so much. Instead, I was so sad. I wheeled my suitcase to that Dunkin’ Donuts, ordered a small coffee, and ended up crying before I paid for it. I felt like Boston, and every other city in New England, was breaking up with me. I felt punished and weak. I wanted to just come home.


I went to my hotel, changed into my sneakers, and found a coffee shop nearby. I made the mistake of opening my laptop and writing a really pathetic blog post. I felt vulnerable and raw. I probably should have called my mom and cried into the phone but instead I chose to use the internet as my means to say, “Help me. I’m falling apart here.”

One of my readers would one day tell me at a speaking engagement how her therapist brought that specific blog post to her attention in a session and asked her, “Do you think she is depressed? I think Hannah is facing depression again.”

You know you’re close to your readers when their therapists are the ones diagnosing you with depression from behind their computer screens in Oregon.

I got a phone call from a guy I was talking to on a dating application after I closed my computer. I walked around the streets of Boston talking to him, hearing his voice for the first time. He was also not from Atlanta and I thought this would be a good match for the both of us. We could both be “not from Atlanta” together and then, eventually and appropriately, not end up in Atlanta. I wasn’t aware that my own disgruntlement had nothing to do with a place on the map. It had to do with the fact that I was resisting a painful yet necessary transformation.




People move to different places for a lot of different reasons. Some move for jobs. Some move to find themselves. Some people move for other people and it ends up being either really terrible or really beautiful. I moved to Atlanta partly because I wanted to and partly because I thought God told me to move to Atlanta.

I think we need to be really careful when we say “God told me to…” because, a lot of times, we equate the requests of God with our own feelings about a situation. Just because I feel something doesn’t mean God is confirming it. It’s a lifelong quest to decipher our feelings from the plans of God.

What I mean when I say “God told me to move to Atlanta” is that it kept being confirmed to me. It kept coming up in prayers. It came up in conversations with other people. It would not relent or leave my brain. It was an uncomfortable decision, and a brave decision, and I think that God lives inside of those kinds of decisions. Regardless of if God really wanted me in Atlanta or not, God went with me to Atlanta. He packed his bag too. He filled up the gas tank too. He didn’t wave me off at the site of my childhood home, saying, “Good luck, chica! You’re going to need it because I don’t honor your decision and I am not going with you.” That’s not the voice of God. That’s a lie from the pit of hell.

Here’s what I think God does though: he uses our decisions to teach us something, move us closer to Him, and do whatever He can to make us better versions of ourselves. That’s the mission that God has for our little lives: that we could become less selfish, less absorbed with our own thoughts, less critical, less negative, and ultimately happier because of all the “less.”God is not a god of self-improvement but He is a God who knows that if we could just get out of our own way– just stop thinking the world revolves around us– then we would be so much happier and the world would be so much better off.

You see, it doesn’t matter if you can’t figure out whether God wanted you to break to break up with him or not. If God wanted you in that city or not. We make decisions. We move forward. And God, because He is good, never leaves us in our decisions. He will allow painful things to happen for the sake of transformation, yes, but He will never leave you alone and holding the bill. He sees better for you and so He is constantly trying to get you somewhere better. Most of the time, I think that’s all life is: a chance to get somewhere better and a chance to pull out the better in other people and make it shine.

I used to hate when people would liken “going through a hard time” or “transforming” to the process of a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. I thought it was the stupidest, most overused metaphor out there. I read somewhere that caterpillars go through something called “diapause.” Diapause is this spot in the transformation process where some caterpillars try desperately to cling to their larval life. They don’t want to change. They try to resist it. I think that’s probably because they have no idea what is coming up ahead. They have no idea that there could actually be something better at the end of themselves. They hate the fact that darkness could be good for them.

It’s a state of clinging. A state of unrest. We go through it too. There is something inside of us that rises up and begs to hold onto what we know, what is most familiar to us. We try to resist change. We look for people to be our lifeboats. We hate the fact that darkness could be good for us.

I don’t have to tell you how the rest of the story goes. You already know what happens to those caterpillars. You know what happens when they just let go.

Screen Shot 2015-11-17 at 1.10.10 PM

Men in blue jumpsuits.

I’ve been trying to figure out God for the last eight years now. I’ve got too many journals stuffed inside of a mail crate I should have returned to the Post Office four years ago. Those journals are filled with questions like, “Are you good? Are you real? Do you like me? Do you want me?”

These are the questions I’ve asked God. To me, God was like this charismatic guy who swept onto the scene and charmed the daylights out of everyone I knew. They talked about Him like He was Fabio. They weren’t skeptics. They didn’t want to do a background check. They raised their arms up and flung their hearts at God without fear that He would break them. They acted like they’d found something, something a lot of people spend a whole life looking for.

I grew up watching other people give their whole lives to God without a second thought while I stood in the back of the room asking questions.


There was a tipping point for this blog nearly a year and a half ago. If you were reading then you saw it happen. I went from being a young woman who folded God into cautiously written sentences to posting boldly about my relationship with Him on the regular. God went from being this distant uncle who occasionally sent postcards from off the coast of Maine to someone knit into my most inner of circles. Today, God could show up at my front door with no place to sleep for the night and  I, without hesitation, would give him a bed.

I’m not afraid of God anymore like I used to be. I’m in awe of God in a way that makes me fearful but I am no longer afraid of what He would do to me.

I was afraid to write about God because I thought people would be turned off by it. I would spend this time in the morning communing with God– feeling like He was my best kept secret– and then try to boost people and lift the whole world with the strength of my emotions and feelings. I crashed hard when I could not keep the whole world spinning. I crashed hard and God crawled closer.


I walked out of the ring after a five-month fight with severe depression last year. Every day of that depression was more confusing than the one before it. I sat in waiting rooms and asked myself, “How did I get here? How did my life come down to this?” I was of the belief that if you did the right things– if you were good to people, kissed babies, and didn’t try to stir up drama too often–  then you would not have to face hard stuff. Things would naturally align and you’d be spared the depression, the heartbreak, the sickness, and the mess.

You meet God in the mess though. It is often in the mess that you find a man walking towards you with a name-tag that reads “God.” You shake hands because you’re desperate.

I think God stands there the whole time though, even before the crash. I think God, in those moments before the crash, is like Waldo. He’s always in the picture with His bright red cap and wiry glasses. He’s content to wait for the moment that you actually feel called to seek Him out.

I think we– as the eager, self-sufficient perfectionists that we are– ignore red flags and the nudging to slow down as long as we possibly can. We drink more coffee. We worship the hustle. We grow tired of waiting on a God who sometimes seems to be slower than dial-up internet. We say hasty things like, “You aren’t handling this mess fast enough so I am going to take it into my own two hands.”

More mess comes.

And still, God is not afraid to assume the role of custodian.


You know what’s funny? I wrote that last line and I thought to myself, “I cannot write that. There is no way that I could refer to God as a custodian.” The only image in my mind of a custodian is a man in a blue jumpsuit rolling trash cans out of the lunch room. The closest thing I’ve ever known to a custodian is my own father– a man who wore a blue jumpsuit, drove a garbage truck his whole career, and brought food to the table by hauling away the unwanted things of people I grew up with.

Custodian is just one of those words that makes me want to belittle the role because I grew up surrounded by people who taunted me when they found out my dad was their garbage guy. It’s taken me 28 years to realize that my father never worked with junk, he worked with stuff that used to be valuable– used to be chosen– until someone decided they didn’t want it anymore. He’d pull stuff out, he’d shine it up, and it would be new again.

I looked up the word “custodian.” The definition that comes up first shocks me a little bit: one that guards and protects or maintains. I love that definition. I love the idea of God as a protector rather than God as the tyrant people talk him up to be.


I wanted to write today. I wanted to write and this is the only thing that would come out of me. It looks different than what I set out to write but that’s what happens when you invite God into the writing room, you write the sort of stuff you’re afraid will serve no purpose and He uses it to reach some girl in Akron, Ohio who has just gotten her heart broken. She used to feel valued and chosen until someone decided they didn’t want her anymore. And then you and God fist bump later in the day because the girl from Akron, Ohio writes you an email and tells you the words meant something.

You’re thankful you sat down today. You’re thankful you wrote. You’re thankful those three letters– GOD– came out on the page and refused to leave until you clicked “publish.”

That’s God though. He’s not a best kept secret, He’s meant to be shared. He’s meant to be shared especially by someone who grew up fearful that He didn’t want her, didn’t love her, and didn’t see her. He uses someone like that to say to a large group of people, “I do see you. I see the mess. I see how you got here. I’m listening. I’m here.” He uses someone like that, someone who almost walked away from Him, to say, “It’s okay if you don’t have all your God questions answered. I don’t either. Welcome to the club.”

You say a prayer. You click publish. You go get ready for a date and you think about Akron while you’re curling your hair. You think about men in blue jumpsuits who guard and protect.

You’re thankful. You’re thankful for someone who sifts through a pile of the forgotten, pulls something out from the rubble, and says, “You’re not junk. You’re mine.”