This Isn’t Goodbye — It’s the Third Act

It’s been three months since my last intentional poisoning.

Not a sentence I ever expected to say out loud… again.

Physically, I’m starting to feel like myself again.

Mentally… well… let’s not get carried away.

Some things are just part of the brand.

But somewhere between surviving, recovering, and figuring out what normal is supposed to look like now, I realized something important:

I’m ready to move forward.

Not because that chapter didn’t matter.

It did.

More than I can probably ever put into words.

But I don’t want to live the rest of my life as “cancer woman.”

I fought that battle.

I rang that bell.

And now… I want my life back.

Here’s the part I didn’t see coming:

I fell in love with writing.

Not the polished, perfect kind.

Just the kind where you sit down and tell the truth about what happened that day —
the good parts, the hard parts, and the moments that make you laugh when you probably shouldn’t.

Because I’m not a celebrity.
I don’t have a grand platform or a special talent.

I’m just me.

And like all of you, my days are filled with real-life moments —
some beautiful, some messy, some completely ridiculous.

Turns out… that’s where the stories are.

And once I started telling them, I realized something else:

I’m not done.

Not even close.

So I’m opening a new door.

Third Act With Pattie (insert link)

This is where I’ll be now —
writing about life after the bell.

Retirement surprises I did not fully think through.
Lake life (which looks peaceful but has opinions).
Creative projects in various stages of “we’ll see how this goes.”

And, of course, the daily observations of one very watchful — and slightly judgmental — dog:

Sassy the Wonderdog.

But before I go, there’s something I need to say.

Because none of this — not one word of it — would have happened without my cousin, Robin.

Robin has been writing stories for as long as I can remember. Honestly, probably since she first figured out how to hold a pencil.

Years ago, when my thoughts were getting too jumbled, she gave me one simple piece of advice:

Write a blog.

I did what any reasonable person would do.

I ignored her.

For years.

Because I was absolutely certain no one wanted to read anything I had to say.

But Robin…

Robin does not give up easily.

Even when cancer got loud — and it did — she kept showing up with the same quiet, steady belief:

Someone needs your voice.

Eventually, I ran out of ways to ignore her.

So I started writing.

And somewhere along the way… it changed me.

Thank you, Robin.

For the nudge I resisted.
For the encouragement I needed.
And for believing in me long before I believed in myself.

I am more grateful than I know how to say.

And constantly amazed by the way your creativity shows up in the world.

Writing under the names Celia Ashley, Jo Allen Ash, and Alyssa Deane, Robin creates stories that pull you in, carry you somewhere else, and somehow leave you feeling more human when you come back.

Do yourself a favor, visit her blog at https://robinmaderich.blog and get lost in her stories.

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So this isn’t really goodbye.

It’s more like…

If you’ve been reading along,
if you’ve laughed a little,
or found yourself somewhere in these stories…

come with me.

Pull up a chair.

We’re just getting started… and I have a feeling this part might be the best yet.

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You’ll find me here now Third Act With Pattie