There was a season in my life when I was not writing for publication. I was writing for survival. In fact that season was a long one. It was a hard one. But it got me through.

I was at a breaking point, not dramatic from the outside, perhaps, but deeply unsteady on the inside. I had given much. I had carried much. I had poured into others for years through work, family, service, and study. I was depleted in so many areas of my life.

And somewhere in that pouring, I felt empty. I did not know where to turn. So I turned to words. I turned to story. I turned to a beautiful place in my imagination where my body could breathe again.

That is where You Make Your Own Medicine was born.