When the Floorboards Creak

When the Floorboards Creak is a collection of poems about growing up, becoming an adult, loving people, raising a child, overthinking absolutely everything, and trying to figure out who you really are underneath all the versions of yourself you have learned to be. Some of these poems are hard. Some are funny. Some started as memories I hadn't thought about in years. Most somehow became a little bit of all three. As a child, I learned to listen. I listened to footsteps and creaking floors. I learned to read faces, moods, and rooms. I learned to be helpful, stay busy, and pay attention. There were no cartoons or coloring at one house, but there were plenty of chores. There were monitored meals, complicated family relationships, Barbies that sometimes came after apologies, and moments I didn't fully understand until I was much older. Then I grew up. The funny thing about childhood is that sometimes the things you learn to survive it come with you. Reading the room became understanding people. Staying calm became being the person everyone calls when something goes wrong. Being useful became helping others. Independence became having a really hard time admitting when I need someone. And learning to protect myself sometimes became pushing people away when they got a little too close. This book is about all of those contradictions. I like myself. Sometimes I don't. I am confident. I question myself constantly. I love people deeply. I can also build a wall incredibly fast. I tell other people to give themselves grace while apparently believing I am exempt from my own advice. I can help someone believe in themselves and then go home and wonder if I am good enough. And then there is motherhood. There is something healing about being able to give your child things you once wished someone would give you. There is also something mildly terrifying about handing that child car keys and then watching a tiny dot move across a GPS map like it is your new full time job. These poems are about the little girl I was, the woman I became, the people I love, and the parts of myself I am still getting to know. This isn't a book about having everything figured out. I definitely don't. It is about realizing that maybe healing isn't becoming a completely different person. Maybe it is understanding why you became who you are, keeping the parts that made you strong, and slowly letting go of the things you don't need anymore. Maybe you leave the dishes in the sink. Maybe you stop explaining yourself so much. Maybe you let someone get a little closer. Maybe you laugh too loudly. Maybe the floor creaks and, for once, you don't stop to listen. You just keep walking.