Month: July 2025

Suddenly Silent and Still

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

I recently finished reading Suddenly Silent and Still: Finding Joy and Meaning Through Illness, a memoir written by Nin Mok. From the back cover: “In a life-changing instant, Nin is thrown into chaos by the onset of sudden hearing loss and violent vertigo.” 

Because Nin and I are Instagram friends, reading this book felt even more like a conversation between the two of us. This is not just a memoir written by some unknown author. This is the story of another woman, another mother, whose life was forever changed by a sudden illness.
 
My copy of Nin’s book is full of sticky notes. Because though our medical conditions vary, though our life circumstances differ, many of the emotions she wrote about really resonated with me. 
This week I’m pleased to share some of the excerpts that most touched me:

“I have no idea why I was certain my turn would come at the end of my life. I imagined being old and frail before discovering I had an incurable disease. I would then be afforded a moment of introspection before being shown the exit, like a happy-go-lucky partygoer who leaves when the music and fun are over. Never once did I imagine that I would have to stick around after the celebration for the long and arduous clean-up.”

“Jet and Jade were five and three when I got ill. They don’t remember their healthy mother, the one who chased them through the parks, raced them to the car, and sang aloud, albeit out of tune. They just know this mother. The one who struggled to make it through the day. Jet and Jade constantly needing my help and attention made my recovery more challenging, but at the same time, they made my recovery possible.”

“And what about all the other vital organs that I had only one of, such as the heart, liver, and brain? What if they suddenly failed too? My once safe world now felt fraught with unavoidable threats.”

“Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”

“My family relied on me as a co-breadwinner to keep a roof over our heads. This was a matter of survival. I was also our home’s central processor, who organised and coordinated our activities. Lives would fall into disarray if I remained incapacitated.” 

“It was this attitude that made me feel insecure about writing this memoir. I questioned whether my suffering was big enough, whether my misfortune was dramatic enough to warrant a book. Ridiculous, really.”

“Trauma has no size. Rather, trauma is like light, capable of filling the entire room regardless of its wattage.”

“I now lived in a world that was no longer made for me; it was made for the able. I no longer felt normal here.”

“The life I had planned, was looking forward to and counting on, was upended for real.” 

“Returning to work would have rubbed the comparison in my face. By keeping every facet of my life exactly as before, I would know for certain that my life had got worse. I would lead the same life, but now as a disabled person. Returning to work would make the downhill trajectory obvious.” 

“Young people were supposed to recover from illness, not remain ill indefinitely. Worse, I couldn’t rest as one might expect a sick person to. I was not retired; my children had not left home. I couldn’t curl up with a good book all day. I still had to put food on the table and my children through school, all while being sick.” 

“I could see the date creeping in from a distance. It marked the unhappy anniversary of my downfall. That date took the life I loved, chewed it up and spat back out something unrecognisable. It was the day I took a tumble and never stood back upright. That dreaded date will forever be remembered.”

“I no longer compared myself to the previous Nin, nor did I keep measuring up to her. I only cared about where I was now, and where I wanted to be, not where the former me wanted to be.”

“I went from feeling unlucky that this happened to me to feeling lucky that only this happened to me.”

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.


Diamond Head

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
This picture was taken when I finally felt strong enough to begin the trek back down. I admitted defeat. I looked awful, and I felt awful. But also, I was so very grateful. Things (mainly, me) could have been so much worse.

The topic of this week’s blog post involves our June trip to Oahu. In case you missed any of my earlier posts about our trip, I’m including the titles here. Click on the titles and you’ll be taken directly to that post.

Defining Disability

The Love Simulation

I Am Who I Am

When we began researching our family trip to Oahu, a visit to Diamond Head was one of the “must see’s” that showed up on list after list.

“Hawaii’s most recognized landmark is known for its historic hiking trail, stunning coastal views, and military history.”

“The 0.8 mile hike from trailhead to the summit is steep and strenuous, gaining 560 feet as it ascends from the crater floor.”

It didn’t take a lot of reading to realize a visit to Diamond Head isn’t easy for anyone, even someone in the best of health. Visiting Diamond Head required a “strenuous hike,” two words that don’t automatically come to mind when thinking of “things Wendy should do while on vacation.” 

My husband was the first to say we should skip it. Our seventeen-year-old son said he’d like to see it if possible. And, I said, “Of course we’ll go.”

When I told one of my closest friends about our upcoming trip and asked if she had any recommendations, she searched her phone, looking through the photos she had taken when last on Oahu. 

“There’s Diamond Head, but you’re not doing that,” she said.

“We already have reservations,” I said.

“Wendy…” she said. You could hear the rest of the unspoken sentence in just that one word. Wendy, what in the hell are you thinking? 

As I had explained to my husband and son, I wanted to see and do as much as I physically could. The truth is during the last couple of years my physical health has deteriorated. I am not as physically strong as I was. I own, and occasionally use, a wheelchair. Which is why, when it came to this trip, I wanted to see and do as much as possible, “while I still kind of can,” I told my family. 

We had reservations for Friday, June 13th. Maybe that was a sign.

I definitely should have paid more attention to the ambulance and helicopter we saw in the grassy field adjacent to the parking lot. 

“Maybe it’s for some sort of training exercise,” I said as I locked our rental car and double-checked my handicap placard hung from the rearview mirror. 

It wasn’t. 

Later in our visit, we heard the helicopter had been used for a rescue. 

We had our hats, our sunscreen, our bug spray, and water. We were ready. 

“Just take your time,” my husband said. 

I started off walking slowly, my usual speed. 

We stopped periodically to wipe the perspiration from our faces and to take sips of water. At times there was a handrail to hold onto. At times there was a bit of shade. Other times there were neither of those things. 

My husband repeatedly reminded me we could stop and turn back at any point. 

“Nope. I want to go as far as I can,” I said. Stubbornly, or stupidly, depending on your perspective.

The truth is I was worried and scared. About the steepness and the stairs I knew were soon to come. I didn’t know if my legs were strong enough. I worried this one outing would negatively impact the rest of our trip. (Remember it was Friday, June 13th. We weren’t flying back home until the following week, on Thursday, June 19th.)

Ultimately, it wasn’t my legs that forced made me stop; it was heat exhaustion.

I’ve always been sensitive to the heat. (Ask my dad to tell you about the infamous Dodger game we attended many years ago.)

But this time, it all kind of happened at once. I was over-heating. Dizzy. Nauseous. 

We found a spot, a ledge where I could plop. My husband dug in his backpack, producing a towel from the hotel. It felt like a magic trick. I was having a hard time concentrating, and my mind couldn’t make sense of how the towel had just appeared right when I needed it. (My husband had smartly packed the towel earlier that morning, without me knowing, without making a big deal out of it.) I turned my head, certain I was about to vomit, and trying my best to be as quiet and private as I could. 

Another woman sat nearby on the same rocky ledge. She was chatty, telling others who paused for a drink of water or to take a picture that she had a bad ankle. 

“I’m pretty proud I made it this far,” she said. 

Her husband had gone on ahead and would take pictures from the summit. She appeared so calm. So friendly, too, asking how I was doing and offering me anti-nausea pills. 

Why couldn’t I accept my physical limitations like this woman had? Why, instead, did I feel like I was letting down my son? Why did I feel weak and inept? Why did I feel like a failure? 

I was so quick to discount all I had done, how far I had gotten. (We stopped near a sign that read Audio Tour 9.) 

I have been living with this illness for fifteen years, and I still haven’t figured it all out, and I’m not sure I ever will. 

When am I persistent and determined? 

And when am I foolish and stupid to try and push through?

On the way back down the trail, we once again came across the woman with the bad ankle. 

“You’re looking a lot better,” she said. I thanked her for her kindness. 

I didn’t tell her I aspired to be more like her — accepting of her body’s limitations, content with her effort, satisfied with her experience. 

Diamond Head – best enjoyed from afar

I Am Who I Am

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
My husband took this photo, a quick, "Honey, look over here." And the result is this photo, one of my husband's favorites of me.

In early June, a week or so before we left Los Angeles for Honolulu, I spoke to my therapist about how self-conscious I felt about my 49-year-old body and how it looks in a bathing suit. 

“I’ve gained weight, and I don’t know if it’s because of the Prednisone or menopause, or both,” I said. 

“My bathing suit bottom doesn’t fit.”

“I need to buy new shirts.”

And on it went like that.

And, my therapist, being the kind, thoughtful, smart person that she is, said something so incredibly spot-on that it’s now become an internal mantra. 

“You are who you are,” she said.

When she said it, I knew it was a great phrase. But I didn’t realize during our Zoom session the impact of those five little words and how often those words would play on a repeating loop in my head. I relied on those words not just when we were in Oahu, and I looked at my bathing-suit-wearing-self in the bathroom mirror. 

Back home, I find those words to be a comfort, something I can carry with me and have available any time, and every time, I need it. 

Sometimes I softly repeat the words, I am who I am.

Other times I silently mouth the words, watching myself in the mirror. I am who I am.

On the one hand, it’s a super simple piece of advice, and yet it felt like something brand new, something I had never thought of before. Wise words I had been gifted. 

I am who I am.

Why waste my limited time and energy thinking negatively about how I look? Or how I don’t look? 

If a magic wand did exist, if I could swirl it around and abracadabra change my weight or the way my body looked, I wouldn’t use it.

The truth is I would much rather use that magic wand to alleviate my pain. Living with an invisible disability has taught me that I am so much more than my chronic illness. Likewise, I am so much more than numbers on a scale.

I am who I am. 

Dear Readers, do you have a mantra or phrase you use to help overcome difficult situations and/or help you get through a rough patch? If you’re comfortable doing so, please share in the comments.

The Love Simulation

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

When it came time for our family to start packing for our summer trip — a week in Oahu — there was one item in particular I had to give serious thought to: which book did I want to bring with me on vacation?

I had finished reading a novel two days before our trip. Which meant I had to make sure the book I packed, the book that would take up valuable carry-on space, would be a book that would grab my attention and not let go until the last page. A book that would distract me and keep me entertained while flying. A book that would keep me company as I looked up from the page every now and again, to gaze out at the endless Pacific Ocean, marveling at the many shades of blue. 

I couldn’t just randomly grab a book from my stack of not-yet-read books. Generally I alternate between fiction (lately rom-coms) and nonfiction (usually a memoir). I had just finished a novel; however, I broke my own rule and decided I needed a romantic comedy with me on the trip. A feel good story with a guaranteed happy ending. A book that wasn’t a question mark in any way. I didn’t want to take a chance and hope I would like this new book. I wanted a book I was certain to enjoy.

From the dozens of unread books I have at home, I chose The Love Simulation by Etta Easton. (You may remember I wrote about how much I enjoyed Ms. Easton’s debut novel, The Kiss Countdown. In case you missed it, you can click here to read that blog post.)

The Love Simulation was everything I hoped it would be. 

During our trip, we visited a spacious Barnes and Noble, and of course, I couldn’t leave without purchasing a book. While I roamed around the store and picked up several different titles, I decided to maintain the romance theme. I purchased Heidi Shertok’s Unorthodox Love. Though now that we’re home, I’m in the middle of reading a memoir, so Ms. Shertok’s rom-com will need to wait a bit. But I like knowing it’s here. As an added bonus, I felt quite proud to be supporting an African-American author and a Jewish author.  

Now my question for you, dear readers — what’s your decision-making process like when it comes time to pack a book for a trip? Do you bring physical books or e-books? Or, do you not read books at all and instead opt for magazines? I’d love to know. Feel free to share in the comments. 

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

Blank

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

Many readers are familiar with Zibby Owens and her many roles in the book world, including: her independent bookstore in Santa Monica, California (Zibby’s Bookshop), her podcast (“Totally Booked with Zibby,” formerly known as “Moms Don’t Have Time to Read Books”), founder and CEO of Zibby Media – which includes her publishing house (Zibby Books), children’s book author (Princess Charming, published in 2022), anthology editor (Moms Don’t Have Time to Have Kids: A Timeless Anthology and Moms Don’t Have Time To: A Quarantine Anthology), and memoirist (Bookends: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Literature). 

And with the publication of Blank in 2024, we add novelist to the list.

I found myself quickly turning pages, not at all able to predict how things were (or weren’t) going to work out for our protagonist Pippa Jones. Plus, I was delighted to find many real life, book-related references throughout the novel, including the mention of the memoir My What-If Year (a memoir written by Alisha Fernandez Miranda, which was the first book published by Zibby Books) as well as a nod to real-life “Goodreads.com,” named “FabulousReads.com” in the novel.

(By the way, are we friends on Goodreads?)

The novel has a lot going on, tackling a range of topics including the publishing industry, female friendships, marriage and adultery, social media, and anti-Semitism. 

Honestly, my favorite parts were those that were clearly written as a celebration and tribute to the magic of books. Allow me to share a few passages:

“Publishing a blank novel would be a commentary on the literary world. I could say that I was addressing the reader’s almost nonexistent attention span. To keep the reader’s attention, they’d have to be able to read the words in, well, no time. To read this book, they wouldn’t have to do anything.”

“Imagine someone just came up with the idea of reading. Like, ‘Hey, let’s launch a product with no pictures, just words and letters. To enjoy it, you have to sit in one place and stare at it for hours, and then the whole story will slowly unfold just to you inside your brain. It might take you months to find out what happens in the end. It’s a completely solitary endeavor and you can’t do anything else at the same time. Oh, and you need to purchase it up front, hoping you’ll like it. But if you don’t, there’s no refund. Sorry! And there are literally millions of other products that look basically identical — some are great and some are terrible, and there’s almost no way to know ahead of time. Good luck. Go spend thirty dollars.’” 

“That’s what books are supposed to do:  connect readers to authors. Readers to each other. That’s why book clubs are so popular! It’s like that mural on Montana: ‘Stories are best when shared.’” (This is a nod to the mural outside of Zibby’s Bookshop, located on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica, California.)

This photo was taken back in January 2024

Friends — one more thing to share this week. If you didn’t see my Instagram post from a few days ago, I made some changes to the home page of my website. I’d love to know what you think. And, if you know of a reader, writer, and/or someone living with a chronic illness who might enjoy my weekly content, please let them know about my blog. 

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.