On March 15, 2006, with the birth of my second son Declan, my dream of being a picture-perfect mom of two boys was hijacked by the realization that my life had drastically changed forever. With Declan’s arrival, it was painfully obvious that — everything and everyone — I knew had not only disappeared but had been replaced.

The congratulatory phone calls that came with the birth of my first son were overtaken by a suffocating silence. Soothing lullabies intended to be sung in the comfort of my home were cruelly replaced by the relentless beeping of the monitors in the NICU. And the peaceful sense of joy that once flowed through me vanished, giving way to a gnawing fear that took root in me. With each passing moment, it became harder to ignore the sinking feeling that the dreams I had for my boys and our life were quickly slipping away.

From that moment on, Declan and I were thrust into a foreign world: the world of medical care. I quickly learned that as a mother in this world, my voice seemed to matter little. Despite my advocacy, I was treated as a nuisance. Three years later, Declan was diagnosed with PTEN Hamartoma Tumor Syndrome, a rare genetic condition that brought with it numerous challenges.

The diagnosis offered some relief and clarity; we knew what we were up against. We could go home. I could return to the life I had been forced to leave so long ago. However, I soon learned that my life had been irrevocably altered. Countless hours spent in doctors’ offices and years of declining social invitations to care for my son’s needs set me apart from so many. I found myself in my own world with nobody left.

In search of connection, I turned to writing. Through writing, I could find the words for feelings I didn’t even know I had. It became my lifeline, a way to make sense of my experiences and reclaim my voice. I learned that writing had the power to heal. In fact, research confirms that creative writing lessens depression and burnout while helping us make sense of our experiences, ourselves, and others.

I instinctively knew creative writing and storytelling could help other parents and caregivers who, like me, had felt isolated and unheard. While I believed that my time for dreams had long passed, this one refused to let me go. At the time, however, I was a single mom of three young boys, juggling a full-time job as a professor, and caring for Declan, who still required a great deal of attention. It felt like there was no room to pursue anything beyond survival. Though my dream felt distant, it remained constant.

Years later, I discovered narrative medicine, a blend of healthcare, reading, and creative writing, and I enrolled at Columbia University’s School of Narrative Medicine. Earning my certification was a defining moment -one that brought me closer to my dream of making a meaningful impact in lives of parents and caregivers of children with medical complexities and disabilities.

Now, as both a professor and a mother, my mission is to share with others the joy and resilience that comes with creative writing, reading, and storytelling. I hope my narrative-based workshops can offer parents and caregivers a space to feel less alone on this lifelong journey.

If this is your story too, I hope you’ll join me. Because no parent should have to find their way back to themselves alone.
— Moira 🌿