tim, Author at Tim Gallen

The procedure lasts a little less than an hour. I am reading a magazine in the waiting room when a nurse comes out to fetch me. “You can come back now, Tim,” she says. “Nicole’s out.”

“She did so good!” exclaims the doctor when he sees me.

“That’s great to hear,” I say, looking over his shoulder at my wife, Nicole. She is lying in a clinical bed, her eyes still closed. It doesn’t take long, however, for her eyes to flutter open as she begins to come out of the anesthesia.

The first thing she asks, in a slurred, groggy voice, is: “How many eggs?” They don’t immediately know the answer, as the embryology lab staff is still counting. But it doesn’t take long before we learn the answer: 13. “A baker’s dozen!” exclaims one of the nurses.

Nicole lets out a still-groggy, “Yay!” Then she proceeds to make a joke she later will forget about how she’s now 13 periods closer to menopause.

As the anesthesia wears off and Nicole grows more vivid, a nurse checks her vitals every few minutes. While we wait, I lean against the side railing of her bed. “Can you imagine having 13 kids?” My wife’s blue eyes go wide in faux shock. “Ha! No,” she says, with a laugh. “I don’t want to be like the Duggers.”

Neither do I. But in that moment a thought pops into my head and for the first time in several weeks it doesn’t sound totally bad: But one baby wouldn’t be so bad.

No, we won’t end up with 13 kids. And thank god for that. We will learn later that of those 13, five began to split following fertilization but that only three would make it to the freezing process. They will be flash frozen to await the day when two of them will be implanted in hopes of growing into a fetus, then a baby, then to be born into the world.

But that possibility still lies somewhere in the not-so-distant future. An exciting, delightful possibility, for sure, but with all we’ve been through so far, we do our best to stay in the present moment. A moment of pure emotion. Of relief.

I notice Nicole’s eyes start to get misty. “Are you OK?” I ask, taking her hand in mine. “I”m just a little emotional,” she says with a deep breath.

I give her hand a squeeze then lift it to my bearded cheek. “Me too,” I say, as the emotion of the day finally strikes me.

Blogging saved my soul.

I know that’s a pretty bold and, perhaps, strange declaration. But in my case, I believe it to be true.

About five years ago, I was in a deep depression. I felt lost in the void of life, spending my days at a soul-sucking job and questioning just about everything in my life.

Blogging saved me.

Well, to be more accurately, writing saved me.

You see, I’m a writer. But following college, for various reasons, I had neglected my writing, and that neglect gnawed at my soul, causing an infection that spread to other parts of my life and caused a deep depressive state from which, at my worst moments, I believed there was no escape.

Then, in the summer of 2012, something seemingly occurred. Nothing earth-shattering on its face, but, in retrospect, proved to be a humongous turning point for me.

I stumbled upon the website of some blogger named Jeff whose words were the balm I didn’t know I had been looking for. He also was seeking signups for a free course for writers he was running. Without another thought, I signed up.

The following two weeks, I received daily prompts about what it means to be a writer and reflected on those prompts with my very first blog posts.

These weren’t novels or screenplays or anything particularly earth-shattering. Just a couple hundred words each day on writerly lessons.

But a curious thing happened:

I came alive!

Where I once had been a member of the walking dead, my soul sang. With each word and each blog post, my heart resumed a thunderous, life-giving beat.

The words had brought me back to life.

During this period of rebirth, I wrote more than I had in the previous five years. I even started work on what would become my first high fantasy novel, Niscene’s Creed. (Yes, an unabashed plug for my 2-year-old novel!)

As things do, however, that initial surge of new life from blogging ebbed and my writing priorities shifted toward more fiction-focused efforts and away from regular blogging.

In recent months, though, my heart again has grown restless and some familiar feelings of doubt and confusion have bubbled up. I am nowhere near the depths I was half a decade ago. I have grown immensely since then.

But I am still human and I still struggle.

And I’m still a writer.

Which brings us to now.

In an effort to process and wrestle with these new doubts and heavy things that weigh on my heart, I believe it is time to return to blogging.

I won’t make a big deal out of posting regularly or even do much promotion because, well, I’m not returning to blogging in hopes of making a name for myself or attracting attention. Rather, it’s a medium to share some thoughts, feelings, and stories about how I see and experience the world.

In other words, this is a place to share my story.

Sharing our personal stories is not always easy. It is, perhaps, one of the most difficult things we do. When we share our stories, we open ourselves up, making ourselves vulnerable to the slings and arrows of the world.

At the same time, only in the sharing of ourselves and our stories can we find common ground and empathy and understanding.

Only in sharing our stories can we truly save our souls.

Thanks for stopping by.

A day of eggs and tears

On saving my soul and my return to blogging

Let’s Socialize