Yesterday, I finally told God everything that I felt weighing on my chest. The emotions I felt inside were nearly inflicting physical pain. I wrote it all down. While God knows all that is on my heart, I truly believe-yet sometimes forget- that He nonetheless desires us to come to him with whatever sh** we’re dealing with at the moment. To most people, being vulnerable is usually an admirable and brave action, but to humble myself to the God of my life is an incredible gift.

I’ve done a lot of reflecting on these past eight months. Reflecting, questioning, accusing, and comparing. After working hard in school for eight consecutive quarters before transferring to a state university, I was absolutely crushed. Devastated when my health spiraled sharply downwards in less than 48 hours.

I convinced myself-once I became cognizant enough to do so- that after all I had already been through, I wasn’t deserving of a strong shove off the beaten path. A shove that screwed up my four year plan, and in my mind, wasted two years at community college for only three months at university.

By now, even writing this, I can trace a pattern. I dug myself into a grave that I almost didn’t escape. Can’t get a driver’s license? Failing at relationships? Relying on nonexistent relationships to move from Point A to Point B? Let’s direct all of that energy towards school. Now that I am able to control. I can either fail or flourish in this. All by myself. Shovel in hand I dug a grave six feet down and climbed in. image

I should’ve learned, especially during the aftermath of these events, how destructive pride is. However, even now I find myself reaching for that shovel. Or, conversely, spilling out all my guts and expecting too many people to understand too many feels. Desperate for any word of encouragement or empathy. Those conversations-usually short- end with whomever is at the other end saying “you’re such a fighter.” Instead of swelling with pride and taking advantage of such a dramatic story, I remain deflated.

I thought I wanted something to brag about. But what I’ve always truly wanted is to be understood. For someone to reach out to me. More sacrificial relationships and less of me explaining myself and experiencing the need to say “I promise I’ll pay for gas, I just want to talk to people again!”

After I was hospitalized and could not return to school immediately, I began to experience what I imagine many post-graduates go through. Community isn’t only right across the hallway or the parking lot or next to me in a lecture hall. I must actively seek it. The get well cards, flowers, balloons, and texts stopped coming. I realized how much I’d taken advantage of such a close knit groups of people that will always be different than those after college.

As I prepare to go back in less than a month, I’m afraid I’ll have to start over again with new people. That sounds easier anyways. It’d be a fresh start in many ways. But relationships-strong ones- aren’t easy. I’ll admit there are so so many times where I am sure that I’m the one being more slighted than others. I need thicker skin than that. IMG_5577

Physical wounds are so much easier than emotional ones. Speaking of emotions, I received new pictures Charley girl recently. School hasn’t started yet but I’m already counting down the days until I am able to meet her.  I could so use her by my side right now.

I am astounded by the generosity of you all. My community Everyday, $34,000 becomes more and more easy to comprehend. More than the money donated, it’s the sentiments shared by you all that gets me the most. I love that it has become an opportunity for people to encourage, empathize, and share stories.

4 Fabulous Books for Non-Fiction Readers and Writers

Creative Commons

Recently, I’ve been spreading myself pretty thin between various writing projects and extensive. Unfortunately, my blog has not received the attention it deserves. However, I wanted to share some great titles I’ve finished while I’ve been away. I’m quickly learning that it’s no easy feat to write 1,500 words towards my memoir in addition to my blog.

My nose has recently been in these memoirs listed below.

Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life by Dani Shapiro absolutely rocked my writing world. I’m absolutely devastated that I don’t own a copy yet, but when Tina Bustamante, my author and blogger friend  recommended it to me I immediately sought it out at the library. Thus far, this book has undoubtedly been the most influential regarding the specific craft of writing.

Beautiful Disaster: Finding Hope in the Midst of Brokenness  by Marlena Graves proved to be a wonderful memoir. As I begin my own journey learning memoir style, I’m exploring different memoir styles while I’m early on in my first draft. There isn’t a better way to learn than to read books published by authors who interest me.

On Words: Insight Into How Our Words Work-And Don’t by Paula LaRocque. Although not necessarily considered memoir, On Words is similar to Still Writing. I am learning that I enjoy short blurbs of wisdom, with chapters or sections only being 2-4 pages in length. Although this may not match up to my actual style of writing, as far as reading goes, I appreciate brevity in non-fiction. It’s so easy in memoir to want to give away all of what you have to say all at once.

Help. Thanks. Wow. by Anne Lamott. This book has been on my To-Read shelf for far too long. I was delighted when I discovered a copy of the on my grandparents’ bookshelf. Her books need not be geared towards writing in specific to positively influence my writing voice.

Also waiting on my shelf:

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott. I ordered this book nearly a year ago now. However, I have no recollection of reading it whatsoever. This makes absolutely no sense to me because everything I’ve read by Anne has made an impression on me. It’s likely that I ordered the book along with four others and couldn’t keep up with all the material I had started reading.

In Search of Light: The Broadcasts of Edward R. Murrow by Alfred A. Knopf. The Chinook Public Library might not have any works by literary genius Anne Lamott on their shelves, but I found a couple books about the life and career of Edward R. Murrow. Murrow is the namesake of the College of Communication at Washington State University. Go Cougs!

Follow me on good reads or Instagram to keep up with all that I’m reading!

Status: Active

I’m baaaaaaackkk!

I would like to sincerely apologize for posting less frequently on the blog. I never intended to suddenly stop. I’ve been doing an insane amount of reading and writing. Ironically, I’ve even been working through a blogging course with Jeff Goins’ Art of Work Course and Intentional Blogging. Heck, I’ve even started listening to pod casts about writing.  In the past month I’ve read about four different memoirs, as well as various entrepreneurial books that discuss the subject of  writing throughout. I’m gleaning anything and everything about writing and doing my best to apply what I learn.

Thank-you for your lovely comments regarding my last blog post I published in April. I hope you’ll be able to use it as a resource Before Opening Your Mouth. It was a joy to write and as always a joy to see that others resonated with the words I had to say regarding the difficulties that come with having a chronic medical condition.

I’ve neglected the largest audience I have thus far obtained since starting this blog and that’s you! As much as I wish I were simply sitting around writing and reading all day, I finally gathered up the strength to join the working world and started working again a month or so ago as a substitute teacher here at the elementary and highschool. It has been an incredible experience working predominantly with special needs kids at both schools. Occasionally, on weeks I’m not caught up with the schools I’ve been picking up stories to write for the Blaine County Journal News Opinion here in Chinook.

I’m still uncertain about what the summer holds for me. Thankfully, this uncertainty is less frightening than it once was say six months ago when it seemed my entire life was in complete shambles. Montana has been so good to me, there is no doubt about that. Washington and Montana may have to battle for me this summer. I’m currently torn between both states, waiting to hear back from potential employers in Washington. For now though, I’m enjoying today, living in the present.

That dreaded sociology paper  you’ve likely heard me ranting about at one point or the other is finally finished. Praise Jesus. Aside from four classes I need to attend this coming school year, fall semester is behind me, unless there are surprises lurking behind the corner waiting to jump out at me.

When I’m not writing, I’m thinking about how I should be writing. I know that sounds obsessive but any writer can attest to the love-hate relationship with the blank page.  And my “to-read” list. I’ve not idea how I’ll ever finish the eighty books that I want to read eventually. Follow me on Instagram @kaylanbonar for a look at what I’ve been reading  in the past few months. I’ve been more active on there than my blog.

I’m writing a memoir and I couldn’t be happier than when I’m brainstorming how to use words to share this story that God has called me to live. I took a huge leap of faith and shyly asked an author I deeply admire to help guide me and check in with me weekly.She said yes!  Writing is an isolating task at times and I finally gathered the courage to ask someone with more expertise than myself to shepherd me along as I navigate these new waters.

Washington D.C. is officially in the books for this coming June. I’ve never been and am absolutely ecstatic about traveling someplace new.

Thank-you for following along my journey.

Much love,


Before Opening Your Mouth

These past couple of days, I’ve had some really great conversations with people about the healing process and how difficult it is to be an individual struggling with a disability. Emotional healing, physical healing, the whole spectrum.

I’m not sure why it didn’t quite hit me before, but most people are unable to provide adequate comfort and and use discernment around people-such as myself- who have undergone serious emotional or physical trauma. This shouldn’t come as surprising.

Although we- me and you- talk openly about trials and tribulations of all kinds, but when it comes to be affirming and empathetic, the discussion ends. An excuse I’ve heard for not practicing affirmation and empathy is that some people cannot understand because they haven’t gone through the exact same experience. While it would be great if we could all relate in this way, that would only mean more people suffering. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

After I returned home from the ICU in November I was struggling with borderline PTSD and severe anxiety and depression. The plethora of questions and promptings from friends and family that encouraged me to rehash the serious and unfortunate events was not something I was ready for. In fact, it’s been about five months now and only recently have I been emotionally prepared. Nonetheless, I answered the questions, but didn’t realize later on that re-visiting this trauma was horrible for emotional healing.

I’m sharing this with the hope that you will read and hopefully think more seriously about how to approach a friend or family member whose physical and mental health is in a shaky place. I want my experiences to become a teachable lessons that I can share with others through my spoken and written words.

Do Not Say

1. God has a plan.

2. Jesus loves you, therefore, you have no reason to be depressed. Depression is sinful.

3. You’re such a fighter!

Explanation: When I was hospitalized, I felt like my life was falling apart. It DID fall apart. When my plans for school, work, and relationships fell apart in a matter of twenty-four hours, I did NOT feel comforted or encouraged by the phrase “God has a plan.” I didn’t disown God, by having these feelings. Depression is a mental disorder. The many stigmas Christians have attached to the word “depression”  and “anxiety”  are wrong and the result has been a lack of healthy discussion about the issue. In the hospital intubated, and in a wheelchair and at home when I found myself crying about my situation, I did not feel strong. I don’t feel worthy of praise for merely surviving a life-threatening event.

Don’t get me wrong, I am so thankful for my friends and family who helped keep me standing these past few months and I’m not disqualifying anything they said to me. If you read this and thought “oops I said that to her” it’s OK. No long term damage was made. My goal with this blog post is to promote better conversations, not idle on ones that weren’t my favorite .

Do Say

1. Nothing. Zip. Zilch.

2. I’m sorry that you feel this way. What can I say or do (if anything) that would make this better?

3. I don’t know what you’re going through and I’m not going to pretend that I do. Forgive me for anything that comes off as insensitive and if you feel like talking, please help me understand your situation more fully so that I can better serve you and help you with this healing process.

Explanation: this may sound weird, but have been many times when I asked people like my sister or my mom to simply sit with me. I said “if I feel like talking, I’ll speak up, but for now your presence is enough.” Sometimes it is that simple. Instead of assuming you know the right words or actions, ask! What can I do or say? Another “do not say” would be, “I know how you feel.” No you don’t. Everyone is unique and so are there issues.

Lastly, nobody likes a heart breaker. Don’t pretend to care and then leave. Let’s try and be better supporters of our friends and family who are struggling!

Montana Meanderings

I’m typing this blog post from a lovely little loft bedroom in my grandma and grandpa’s house in Chinook, Montana. It’s the type of room I’d imagine Charles Dickens, Herman Melville, or Ernest Hemingway wrote their novels from. However, I suspect my room is much  more comfortable, cute and neatly organized than any habitat those drunkards wrote in.

I haven’t visited Montana in close to six years. Since then they’ve moved from the forests and mountains of Libby to the prairie land that is Chinook.

The only sounds that I’ve heard this evening from my work space have been nothing more than the sound of wheels and horns from nearby train tracks and a couple of dogs yipping  and yapping at each other from across the neighborhood. But for the most part, my stay has been beautifully quiet and still. Simple.

Today I proofread a newspaper article.I hadn’t edited another person’s work  in months. It was a beautiful thing to return to my element. My grandpa didn’t appreciate me marking up his completed article in red pen. Heck, at the last minute I almost packed my brand spanking new Associated Press Stylebook. But I didn’t. Only because I had too many other notebooks, binders and reading material to strategically pack in my one suitcase.

I’ve read more books these past six months than I have in two or three years. In one train ride I finished Franny and Zooey and over half of Catcher in the Rye, each by J.D. Salinger. I’m certainly not short on reading material. Nonetheless, I cannot figure out what to read next.

I shadowed my grandpa and followed him to his job at the Blaine County Journal ~News Opinon weekly newspaper, the grocery store, bank, library, and credit union. Did I mention we were able to walk to all of these locations? And it nearly reached seventy degrees? It reminded me of Pullman, minus the hills.

After these important errands we searched around hunting for postcards. I’m a cheesy tourist and couldn’t refrain.

I’m still writing, in case you were wondering. I’ve been working on a lot of personal  projects all of which include writing of some sort. I won’t go into much detail but this includes learning more about writing from a handful of my favorite authors and applying those lessons. For more hints you can see my Instagram profile. I have been doing my best to make the most of this short blip in time where I am taking a semester off from school.

One project that is not secret at all has been my Indiegogo fundraiser campaign I started for my service dog Charley—who’s litter has not been chosen or likely born yet. Boy has that been an experience. Hardly halfway through my campaign and already over thirty percent of my funds have been raised.  A couple of others include two different news outlets, two dreadful sociology papers and my church back in Pullman!

Three. The number of times some dear soul has paid me to write. Beginning and ending my job at the newspaper was awful. Not long after my first front page article was published in The Daily Evergreen I had to abruptly leave. I had to abandon many people and classes and activities I love. I know soon I’ll be back. I’m not concerned about returning. I’m anxious about being uprooted again.

Not knowing is an awful feeling. Not knowing when or where my health could suddenly take a downward spiral. More than a feeling this has been a journey of trust. On more occasions than I can count I’ve asked God “why me and why now?” I realize I placed so much faith and hope that moving out and being independent. November was terribly disappointing.

All of that mess was redeemed. And through people and events that only God could orchestrate. You and I will consistently fall for the the lie that good things cannot come through difficult circumstances. But God breaks our fall. He doesn’t leave us abandoned. He intervenes. I say this now, after he’s picked me up. I offered no pleasant words to God or anyone in the midst of my mess.  It’s OK to not be OK.

Much love,


Where Words Fail Art Prevails

I’ll always call myself a writer. There is no doubt about that. But there are some seasons where words-of any kind- don’t come easily. I’m not necessarily saying I give up on writing completely during these periods, but typically any words I do write don’t make sense or bring satisfaction or healing (if I’m working on personal writing that is). Writer’s block. I hate it. Mostly because I consider it my craft, but also because the habit writing relieves me of my burdens and also reminds me of life’s many, many joys.

And so, this week I decided to give the arts another chance. Painting, sketching, sewing, crocheting. They’re all things I’ve experimented with, but hardly ever been consistent in. I can’t say I’m completely disciplined in my writing but I think you get the picture.

I went to a Women’s Retreat with Northshore Community Church and during our very first session Lindie Freed shared her testimony in the most unique way. It’s called a Storyrope™.

. She held in her hand one long strip of fabric. Thick and sturdy. On it various scraps of fabric. Some patterned, others with different textures. All represented different seasons or events in her life. I nearly cried hearing her share her story. The imagery was simple and beautiful. She was so transparent. By the end I was close to tears. I knew that I had to make one.

The rope I interpreted as Jesus, the one firm and sturdy thing on to which everything else is wrapped around. He has been constant every single day of my life. He hasn’t always felt close. I’ve pushed him away. I’ve doubted. But numerous times I’ve come to the end of myself, mentally and physically and been reminded that he really is everything. By pushing him away I render myself incapable.

For every area of my life that I feel like I don’t measure up I’ve chosen to try and prove myself in an area I feel that I am proficient. My junior year of college and my first time away from home I took six classes, started working two jobs, and tried to keep up with different clubs and activities. I burnt out quickly.

Nobody asked me to work. Nobody said “Kayla, you have to finish school in two years.” I brought all of those burdens upon myself. After pushing my limits and then suffering a serious health event I realized that school is secondary to my well being. School and work isn’t going to make me happy unless I allow God to take control of the steering wheel.

I’m both nervous and excited for this special season in my life where God is bringing people and ministries into my life to help heal past wounds and turn them into something beautiful. Only He can completely restore. When we try in our own strength to stuff and hide our garbage it makes for a heavy heart.

What’s funny is that after working on my story rope today I’m here, on my blog writing again and sharing with all of you. It’s good to be back.

Much love,


P.S. For more information on how to make a rope see http://storyrope.blogspot.com/

Travels with Kayla: In Search of Funds for Furry Friend

In my twenty years on this earth I’ve read hundreds of books. One of these  titles was Travels With Charley: In Search of America, a short memoir written by John Steinbeck. In high school, The Grapes of Wrath turned me off. I never picked up another book written by this famous author after reading it in American Literature.  If it hadn’t been for the recommendation from the lovely man behind the counter at Re-Read Books in Edmonds, Washington, I would have looked for or found this hidden gem.

But man. I’m so glad this book made its way into my hands. It has reminded me to never stop dreaming, learning, traveling, and living. Even if I did suffer from a life threatening seizure that nearly killed both me and my dreams.  Life will have an abundance of trials.(I know what you’re asking “why will no one stop telling me this?!”) The answer my friend, is because very few people go through life without them. Don’t view this negatively. Hard circumstances, hard people, hard questions have grown me and will undoubtedly grow–if you allow them.

Steinbeck embarked on his journey across America so that he could adequately write American Lit. And besides, who doesn’t love a good road trip? I’ve begun a a quest of my own. The best part is that like Steinbeck, I’m meeting a lot of cool people along the way. Unlike Steinbeck, I’m starting out without a dog. Unfortunate for me, but I’m making friends along the way and they all want the best for me. They’ve donated their time, skills, and finances. For that I am grateful.

Hop on the bandwagon with me!

Huge shout out to http://www.ericfossphotography.com/  and my friends at WSU, CWU and U of I.


Sometimes I Write Poetry

Sometimes I write poems. Not really. One time I took a poetry class and that poem, an ode to be exact, was published in an art and literary magazine. A few of you were asking to read that poem. Here it is!

Ode to Boots

My grandma gave me a pair of boots

chosen by herself especially for me.

Two durable covers smooth

as saddles.

The mustard colored leather

keeps a firm grip

on the ground.

They promise to carry me anywhere.

I showcase the gift the way

I imagine Cinderella modeled her

glass slippers.

My boots appoint me

a royal adventurist.

With wool socks,

my feet become two durable vehicles

with the power to bring me to

any destination my heart

so desires.

They smell of asphalt and dirt,

of course gravel ad dark mulch.

Sweet grass and dust.

They have danced down

empty hallways and bustling stairwells.

Kicked dead leaves and hopped puddles.

Many steps are left in their lifetime.

All I know is where I have been,

not how far I will go.

The path ahead remains a mystery.

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