Supporting the Work & Feeling Seen

Welcome to the Holding On and Letting Go Blog Hop!

Hello dear ones, it is my great delight to celebrate one month of my book’s release with a blog hop! I was fortunate enough to have a group of brilliant creatives on my launch team, and it is a treat to see what stories poured from their pens.

Of course, a little story to kick us off:

I recall logging into a Zoom conversation hosted by Ashlee Gadd and the Exhale Creativity Team, which discussed books and book launches about a year ago. They opened the floor for any of our curious questions, and I asked them if they still found it pertinent to have a launch team for their books. Ashlee shared something along the lines of, 'If we want to have a team, let's make it our own.' Pour in the love and the energy that we wanted, and create an experience that we wish to remember.

After leading various online writing workshops, I decided to have a launch team experience like that. I envisioned an intimate gathering of women from all corners of the globe, utilizing the technology at our disposal to connect, converse, and reflect. I nervously sent out the signup link for the launch team and set up our Zoom calls, which would cover the themes of Holding On, Letting Go, and A Life in Motion (naturally!). I created prompts and “behind the scenes” talking points on making the book. I picked out special launch team giveaway treats too, which was such fun!

For the month surrounding the launch of my book, we logged in to our Zoom room and had warm, thoughtful conversations. It was an absolute JOY to be with these women. I was so focused on creating a beautiful experience for them that I don’t think I paused to realize what a gift our sessions would be for me, too. Their kindness, their championing of the book, and the warmth of their hearts when they shared their own stories are moments from this book launch process that I will always treasure.

It is no small thing to have a group of people stand up and say, “I support you and your work.”

I want to support their work too, and so I welcome you to the Holding On and Letting Go: A Life in Motion Blog Hop!

Below, I offer you a reflection and review from one of our sweet launch team members, Dee. She is in the middle of a military move (so on brand for the book and this summer season for military families!). With her family’s relocation in mind, she wanted to share her story, but knew her capacity would be limited. I asked if she would allow me to share her story in my Substack space, and she agreed.

Thank you to every launch team member who poured their time, energy, bandwidth, and love into helping to move my book into the world! I appreciate YOU and am grateful to have had this further connection with you all.

Once you read this reflection, make sure to follow along in the hop to discover everyone else’s story!

Feeling Seen, from Dee

As a military spouse, I’ve often struggled to find words for the mix of joy, grief, strength, and vulnerability this life demands. Holding On and Letting Go: A Life in Motion by Lindsay captures it all with such grace and honesty that I felt seen in every chapter. This memoir is both authentic and beautiful—at times, it felt like I was reading my own journal and hearing my personal thoughts echoed back to me. I’ve never related to a book so deeply. I feel as if I’ve found a sister soul. Lindsay quotes L.M. Montgomery from her book Anne of Green Gables, “Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.”

I wholeheartedly give this book a resounding five stars and want to share it with every friend and family member. If you’re a military spouse looking to feel heard, or someone with loved ones in the military that you’d like to understand better, this book beautifully captures the experience. While Lindsay is not intending to speak for every spouse, only her own experience, I do feel that her words describe so many familiar emotions. And even if you have no connection to the military world, this memoir speaks to anyone navigating change, transition, or the bittersweetness of letting go.

This book arrived at just the right time in my life. My family is on the verge of a season of transition, and I’m learning how to simultaneously hold onto and let go of precious things.

I’m learning to lean into the short time we have left. In our community, once people find out you’re moving, one of two things tends to happen: either people decide it’s not worth investing anymore, and the person moving checks out mentally, already focused on the next phase; or, everyone recognizes the value in soaking up every remaining moment. They choose to bloom where they’re planted. Relationships are still worth investing in, even in the face of impending change.

Lindsay refers to these dear friendships as “leftover friends.” “I had this one other person before,” she tells me. “We called each other leftover friends, because we were comfortable enough to eat each other’s leftovers from the fridge together.”

I am reminded of several ‘leftover friends’ in my own life, particularly of my friend Jessica. She was one of my very first friends from our current church. I remember the first time I met her; we just prayed together over different life circumstances and sin struggles for two hours in her van, parked outside Iron Bank Coffee. I had never experienced such beautiful authenticity. At the time, I was single, but now, 6 years later, we gather our combined brood of children at her house. We eat leftovers from the fridge and co-parent together. Her friendship is a treasure to me.

Knowing that we will soon leave this friendship behind physically, this quote also deeply resonated with me: “The coming and going of friends is constant. It feels like I’m saying hello and goodbye on repeat, sometimes in the same breath. It is painful and yet purpose-filled, teaching me to hold the bonds of friendship with open hands.”

A central theme that stands out to me, especially after talking with a friend, is the beauty entangled with the hard. This friend, AshLeigh, and I have discussed the weight upcoming moves have on both of our hearts. We have a pact to be ‘leftover friends’ for one another, and also processed what it means to hold onto certain friendships and lessons, and let go of others.

When you share the painful experiences of this military lifestyle, such as the weight of moving or solo parenting, people often respond with, “Well, you signed up for this.” It can make you feel like you’re only allowed to talk about the positives, and that acknowledging the hardships is unwelcome and viewed as complaining.

Lindsay captures this in almost a haunting way, “Can I be a mother, a military spouse, and myself, tangled between bold and breaking? Can I love the adventures of this lifestyle but also feel exhausted with each new trial?”

The answer is yes. We can hold both. We can love the military life and still feel overwhelmed by it. We can love our spouses and our communities, and also acknowledge the challenges that come with this way of life. There are countless beautiful and unique experiences, but just as many uniquely hard ones.

Two challenges that feel especially fresh and real to me are solo parenting and moving our children.

On solo parenting, Lindsay writes, “I am always in the room, the one parent present daily, finding new ways to pour out love from an empty vessel.”

My spouse went on an extended work trip when our oldest was just shy of two, and our youngest was only three weeks old. I remember the long nights and even longer days when I felt like that empty vessel. The “plastic bag” in Katy Perry’s Firework, if you will. I am eternally grateful for the friends and family who showed up for us, and for the mentors who reminded me I could just “do the next right thing.” These lessons were hard-won and have become deeply rooted in my heart.

Thinking of my weakness and striving to parent through it, this passage still brings me to tears every time I read it:

“Am I allowed to show my weakness? How much crying in front of my kid is too much? When is it damaging? When do I hide it? I can’t remember my mom crying. Or my dad. Or my grandparents. That doesn’t mean they were right or that either of us is wrong. So much of parenting is navigating answers we don’t have in the moment. We only know what we know, and we do our best with that knowledge. But I long for guidance on what is good. Good practice for our hearts, for our minds, for our souls as we navigate challenges together as a family.”

Just weeks ago, I found myself wrestling with this very idea while my cousin visited from out of state. I wanted to wear a mask of positivity for her—to prove I could be “super mom” and balance three kids, a job, and major family events all on my own. I thought that if I admitted I was struggling, it would mean I couldn’t handle my children or this life. That if it was hard, it somehow meant it wasn’t good or worthwhile.

But I’ve learned there is beauty in vulnerability. It’s more than okay not to be okay. Depending on one another is something to be celebrated, not shamed.

Amidst the hardship, there is also hope. We’re now getting the chance to move closer to family. As we waited for this opportunity, I felt waves of uncertainty and anxiety, excited by the possibility, but also dreading that it might never come to fruition. Lindsay writes about a similar experience: “My heart expands and contracts. I dare not entertain the idea, though, in case I jinx it.”

In the end, this quote best captures the essence of the memoir—and the life we’re living:

“Whether I chose this sojourner life or it chose me, I have a heart that carries many places and people. They live on my person, branching out and extending my tendrils. I might never see some of the houses I made into homes again, or hug the people who loved me in those places, so perhaps the purpose of these threadlike appendages is that they are meant to stretch out and find a support of their own. They can root as stories, built from the mortar of memories, a growing roof that extends across time and space. Our stories are our homes, we can take them with us.”

If you’ve ever loved deeply, let go reluctantly, or lived a life in motion, Holding On and Letting Go will feel like a warm, honest companion for your journey. I will carry its stories—and the comfort they brought me—for years to come.

This post is part of a blog hop with author Lindsay Swoboda in support of her book Holding On and Letting Go: A Life in Motion.

Click here to view the next post in the series.