My Training Grounds

A brief timeline of trauma, tenacity, and the unfinished work of becoming me.

If you only ever read one piece of my writing, let it be this one.

This piece was inspired by a few Notes I’ve seen on Substack in which writers offer a brief timeline of their lives. Once I started doing it, though, I quickly blew past the word limit in Notes and moved it over here.

This is the clearest, rawest, most vulnerable timeline of my life I’ve ever shared publicly — a year-by-year map of survival, reinvention, heartbreak, and growth. From childhood traumas and a train crash to motherhood, divorce, and late-blooming love, this timeline doesn’t attempt to tie everything up neatly. It just tells the truth.

I’m sharing it because maybe you’ve lived some version of it. Or maybe you’re somewhere inside your own mess right now, and you need proof that it's possible to claw your way through.

Writing this nearly broke me open again, but I believe in telling the truth, even when it’s hard — especially then. I hope reading it somehow helps you feel less alone.

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The actual “new” me, unaware of the training that lies ahead

Born (1968) MY TRAINING BEGINS

Age 7 (1975) THE BREAKING
Parents split up.

Me, sometime after the tooth fairy paid a visit.

Age 17 (1985/1986) ASSAULTS
Survived sexual assault from 2 peers, and physical abuse from my dad.

Age 19 (1987) DRAMA
Dad married wife #3; they filed for divorce 49 days later.

Age 21 (1989) GROWTH?
Dad acknowledged his alcoholism for the first time.

Age 22 (1990) ASSUMPTIONS
Got engaged to my college sweetheart. I believed in my heart that a new, drama-free course of my life was set. Began a career in advertising/marketing.

Age 23 (1991) TESTING OF A VOICE
Dad is arrested again for driving under the influence. Asks me again to bail him out of jail. I’m getting married in a month. A timid voice told me to thank him for bringing me into the world, then to step into my new life without him. I did. Got married on a stiflingly hot, uncomfortable day. I was certain life would feel simpler and happier now.

Age 24 (1993) BLOWN AWAY
Survived a fatal Amtrak crash in Comstock, Michigan, after our train collided with a propane truck that had slid down an icy slope and slammed into our engine. The truck driver was killed, the train engineer suffered traumatic injuries, and most of us were thrown from our seats and/or suffered burns and minor physical injuries. Miraculously, everyone on the train walked off alive. I had no idea what PTSD was. There was no internet, no social media, no digital journalism to help me investigate and understand what happened to me. I had no understanding that my emotional wounds were as catastrophic as the collision itself. I muscled through, forcing myself to be grateful to be alive. Survivor’s guilt became my companion.

Age 25 (1994) SHOCK AND LOSS
I was at my maternal grandmother’s side when she died following a massive stroke. For years afterward, I’d have flashbacks of her death, unable to recall the date (and sometimes even the year) she died. That same year, while at the soul-sucking advertising job, I experienced my first panic attack; I spent the next week feeling broken and embarrassed. I began therapy in earnest.

Age 26 (1995) SECRETS
I was prescribed Prozac. I prayed that no one would find out. I didn’t know anyone who had depression. Soon after I started taking the SSRI, my boss pulled me aside and asked if I had a drug abuse problem “because you really seem out of it”. He insisted that he knew drug abuse when he saw it. His assumptions were incorrect, but I was too embarrassed to admit I was taking an antidepressant. I was also miserable in my job. Soon thereafter, I was terminated. I found another marketing job, but I ached to be a mom and to write. Since my husband was not yet ready for kids, I enrolled in grad school for a Master’s in Teaching. I also volunteered at a hospital, where I got to hold and take photos of newborn babies.

Age 29 (1997) PURE JOY
Gave birth to my first child, a son. I’d never known love so full and pure. I left the business world to become a teacher so I could spend more time with him.

Age 31 (1999) GRATITUDE
After a scary, complicated delivery, I held my second baby, a daughter. My love for her, with its fierce, warrior-like dimensions, amazed and even overwhelmed me.

Age 33 (2000) SHAME
I miscarried my third pregnancy. More attention was given to the blood I accidentally leaked on my in-laws’ couch than to the unspoken shame and sorrow I carried inside my broken heart. I wondered: What did I do wrong? Why doesn’t anyone seem comfortable talking about this?

Age 34 (2002) TRYING
Attempted my first Chicago marathon but gave up halfway. I had a good excuse — I was pregnant again.

Age 35 (2003) COMPLETE
My third child’s delivery was the easiest of all, and my baby boy came out smiling.

Age 36 (2005) ACCOMPLISHED
I earned my Master’s Degree in Teaching.

Age 40 (2008) SELF-CARE
After 8 years as an educator, I took a year off to write a children’s book. I started a blog and wrote about how I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I wrote and shared snippets of my life as a mom and a writer-wannabe.

Age 41 (2009) GOOD TIMING
A digital news editor saw my blog and offered me a paid job as a journalist.

Age 43 (2012) A VOICE RISING
After submitting a random question to Google, I was selected to interview President Barack Obama from my dining room table in the first-ever, virtual Google Hangout from the White House. I pulled my kids in front of the camera and introduced them to the President, who smiled and told them to “pay attention in school and do what your mom tells you.” They laughed and rolled their eyes. During the interview, my parents sat just off camera, but my husband didn’t take the day off work; he was busy with very important work. I let him know I was deeply disappointed.

Age 45 (2014) ANCHORED
I launched my first writing retreat and immediately found my people.

Age 46 (2015) DISMISSED
When I returned from my first writing residency, I was told that my writing was nothing more than a hobby and that our household ran more smoothly when I was not around.

After crying for what felt like forever.

At age 47 (2015) DISAPPEARING
During the first meeting with our new couples therapist, my husband announced that he was already one foot out the door and was leaving the marriage. I was in shock. Our therapist pulled me aside and urged me to a) put on my own oxygen mask and b) enter intensive treatment for anxiety to gain tools to help me navigate the road ahead. I became severely depressed and was prescribed more psychiatric meds, but they only left me feeling exhausted and catatonic. One med left me unable to swallow my own saliva. I no longer recognized the world I lived in or the person I saw in the mirror. I lost 40 pounds without trying. Despite intensive therapy, I held fast to the armor I’d built around my heart. Nothing in my life felt safe or positive. My two constants were my kids and my writing. I wrote every day — in journals, on scraps of paper, in emails — trying to make sense of my upside-down life, eager to offload the pain, the bewilderment, and the loneliness. Writing kept me alive. When I stumbled upon an email from my mother-in-law encouraging my husband to leave the marriage, I sobbed. Weeks later, when she sent me silky pajamas for my birthday, I tossed them in the Goodwill pile; I never spoke to her again. Early in my separation, I became locked out of a joint bank account and had no idea how to access money. My attorney tried to convince me to file a motion for financial terrorism — a term I’d never heard — but I refused. One friend, in an effort to stimulate my appetite, taught me how to smoke a joint. I was convinced I’d never wake up from this nightmare.

Age 48 (2016) TESTING WATERS
Encouraged by friends and family, I started dating — an oftentimes HILARIOUS shit show. After six months, I gave up. I accepted that I’d be single forever and found peace in starting my new journey as an independent woman. For the first time, I worked with a trauma therapist and started EMDR. The work was sometimes agonizing, but my heart finally cracked wide open, and my true healing began. Soon thereafter, I met Eric, a wonderful man who felt like family immediately. Not long after that, I signed my first book deal.

Age 49 (2017) NUMB
My divorce was finalized. Two months later, my younger sister died suddenly. Two months after that, a family member experienced a life-threatening medical emergency. My brand-new ex-husband brought his brand-new fiancée into the pre-op theater and the post-op waiting area. I find myself unable to speak.

Age 50 (2018) WARMING BACK UP
The desert of Arizona beckoned my frozen, midwestern heart, and I took myself on my first solo trip. I spent a long weekend in the sunshine, crying as I read everything by Joan Didion. Later that month, I helped to organize my late sister’s celebration of life. When the ex-husband announced he was bringing his new woman to the event, I protested. Despite many emails back and forth defending his desire, he wisely acquiesced. A few months later, while having dinner with Eric in Chicago, my car was stolen, and then my basement flooded, but by now, I’d already dealt with so much worse, so I rolled with a calm that I hardly recognized. I finally understood Nora Ephron’s brilliant line: EVERYTHING IS COPY (and as you can see, I’ve been keeping notes).

At age 51 (2019) GAINING MOMENTUM
I trained for and finished my second marathon; Eric cheered me on from the sidelines, handing me my “secret weapon” — a Portillo’s hot dog (mustard only). That year, I incorporated my first business. In December, I spent 11 days in the ICU with diverticulitis; Eric was there every day, even on Christmas, even on his birthday. Later, I had surgery (bowel resection) to remove a portion of my damaged colon. This time, in the pre-op theater, Eric was with me. This time, in post-op, Eric was in the waiting room. I left the hospital just as COVID shut the world down. My post-surgical visit was my first-ever telehealth experience.

Tough times, but still hopeful.

Age 52 (2020) EMBRACING A NEW LIFE
Still recovering, I spent my birthday by myself (thank you, COVID), but Eric arranged a surprise Zoom call that brought everyone I loved into view. That year, after stumbling into online memoir coaching, I incorporated my second business (Writers’ Haven LLC). While training for my 3rd marathon (which, thanks to COVID, was DIY), I raised $10k for charity.

Age 53 (2022) PARTNERSHIP
At a restaurant called Café Touché (the site of our first date), Eric proposed on our 5-year dating anniversary, and I joyfully accepted. And, since I’d been burned in love before, I told him I wanted to take things slowly. He understood. In March, a DNA test revealed I had an older half-sister whom I had never known existed. Like our late younger sister, this “new” sister was also named Elizabeth at birth. Physically, they appeared to be twins. I took myself back to Arizona for Mother’s Day and climbed a granite summit called Pinnacle Peak. In October, I completed my fourth marathon.

Age 54 (2023) CONVERGENCE
Eric joined me for an Amtrak ride on the 30th anniversary of the crash I’d survived in 1993. Later that month, I met my newly discovered half-sis for the first time. Two months later, I won my first Moth Story Slam (a 5-minute story about losing one sister and finding another). This same year, I started blacking out at random times for no reason. I began training for my 5th marathon, but was too exhausted and never made it to the starting line.

Age 55 (2023) A YEAR OF FIRSTS
Out of the blue, I fainted in a crowded restaurant; Eric was standing next to me, and he caught me before I hit the ground. After extensive testing, I was diagnosed with Long Covid. Two months later, I facilitated my first Write to Heal workshop in Tucson, AZ. A week later, I hosted my first Write to Heal retreat in Carefree, AZ. I moderated my first panel at the Association of Writers & Writing Programs (AWP) in Kansas City, then attended my first writing residency at Ragdale in Lake Forest, IL. I completed my 6th marathon in October. In December, I celebrated the launch my first book — a biography about one of the first 50 women elected to the U.S. Congress.

Age 56 (2024) BLOOM
I spent the year coaching memoir clients, promoting my first book, and planning my wedding. On a whim — and figuring I had nothing to lose — I pitched my “Expressive Writing for Emotional Healing” workshop to Northwestern University, and they hired me. I planted purple flowers in my yard to celebrate. I completed my 7th marathon.

Age 57 (2025) ARRIVAL
Of the 200+ clients I’ve worked with since 2019, ten have signed book deals and been published. In May, I watched my daughter, the one whose delivery had been so scary, graduate from college (she’s my first kid to do so). After the ceremony, we celebrated with my newly-discovered sister.

LOOKING BACK

If there’s ANYTHING I’ve learned from this writing exercise, it’s that life will always be filled with twists and curveballs we cannot possibly see coming.

And, the longest, most detailed passage is the one in which I suffered the most (2015).

How did I rebuild my life after sexual assault, divorce, a loved-one’s sudden death? There were many things:

1. I had hope. To be sure, in my darkest hours, hope was often waaaaay, WAAAAYYYYY down deep (and barely discernible), but I always told myself (often through tears, clenched teeth, and a tsunami of self-doubt) that things would eventually work out.

2. I had good and loving friends who allowed me to express vulnerability and who stood by me until I was ready to fly again, reminding me that the difficult times would one day be in the rear-view mirror. They were all right.

3. I learned how to let go of the relationships that didn’t serve me. One of the best things I ever did was to step away from my toxic relationship with my father. Looking back, I should have also stepped away from my first marriage, too, but I didn’t have the courage (or awareness of how) to do it. When my husband left ME, I was devastated. I can see now that it wasn’t as much about losing him, but about waking up from my assumed dream of forever.

4. I had access to therapists who validated my struggles. These professionals taught me emotional skills that continue to help me manage distress, and they gave me tools that help me cultivate acceptance on a daily basis.

5. Most importantly, I WROTE — constantly, imperfectly, honestly — about how I was feeling. In doing so, my broken heart lightened a little every single day.

I wish I’d learned so many more emotional skills earlier in my life, like how to set boundaries and how to prioritize self-care without feeling guilty. I believe I’d have been a better wife, mom, and friend had I known then what I know now.

Still, I’ve taken what I’ve learned and tried to share that awareness with others through my coaching, teaching, and, most importantly, in my evolving relationships with loved ones. I still screw up constantly. I still struggle to unlearn patterns of behavior established from my earliest days. But goddammit, I’m trying.

That’s my journey so far. I will always be a work in progress. And, I’m proud of what I’ve managed to pull through and overcome. I’m so excited to see what the future holds.

TODAY

I’m coaching, teaching, and working on my own memoir, titled TRAINING GROUNDS: A Memoir of Sisterhood Lost and Found. I’m currently training for my 8th marathon (October 2025). In one month, on June 21, 2025, I’ll marry Eric. At our reception, we’ll have Portillo’s hot dogs and a cheese fountain for the fries. I’ve never been happier in my life.

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I hope my work touches you in some way, and that the vulnerability I share will inspire you to feel safe about opening up, too. I believe the world would be a better, more peaceful place if we all let down our guard a little and spoke our truth a bit more.

Thank you for reading this piece. Please hold on to hope, and please, if you are able, consider writing

Sincerely,
Christine

YOUR TURN

If you put your own timeline together, what are the major turning points? If you gave those turning points a name, what would they be? I’d love to know YOUR path.

Teaching Expressive Writing for Emotional Healing at Northwestern University, May 3, 2025 (photo by Eric Ronne)