MY STORY
My journalistic career stopped abruptly one afternoon, just as it was about to take off.
Fresh out of college, I had been writing investigative stories for a regional Catholic paper, pursuing the dream I had nurtured since grade school. Things got more challenging as I added children to the mix but I learned to do interviews with a baby on my lap or splashing in the kitchen sink.
Now an important story had been picked up by a national magazine and I was rushing to make edits by a noon deadline.
My husband had come home on his lunch hour to wrangle our toddler, who had his own ideas about what mom should be doing. As I typed I could hear howling from the back yard as my husband tried to distract him just long enough for me to file my story. Our four-month-old rocked placidly in his swing but the howling outside the back door was getting closer, splitting the peace of our quiet neighborhood; I could tell distraction wasn’t working.
That’s when a neighbor called the police. When I answered the door the young police officer took one look at mom in pajamas, baby in swing, and dad at wits’ end wrangling toddler. He assessed the situation sympathetically, told us not to worry, and left.
I made my deadline that day and got out of journalism.
Over two decades chasing six wonderful children who defined the term “spirited,” I often looked back and wondered if I would ever write again.
But children grow fast, motherhood nurtures creativity, and before I knew it, I was back at the keyboard.
The pandemic and chaos that accompanied it unleashed a torrent of words.
And when I had said them, paused, and taken a breath, I realized, to my surprise, that I had picked up my writing career again. It had been waiting for me, like a shell dropped on a beach and rediscovered on the return journey.
Stepping back into writing has been both a challenge and a delight. Our old farmhouse near the California coast is a not-so-empty nest, echoing with music and constant conversation. During the day I'm busy with a myriad of things here at home, and enjoying my interesting editorial job.
But late at night, when the house is finally quiet, I write.
Why do I write?
I write because I love words. I write because even in our social media saturated, AI-obsessed world I believe words have the power to change hearts.
I write because, truth be told, I never stopped writing. I'm still busy chasing down a zillion half-written essays that bounced around in my head during those years of births, diapers, toddlers, schoolwork, teenagers.
What do I write about?
I write about faith, culture, and family life. I write about life issues—a sterile-sounding name for things that break my heart.
Yes, I wear my faith on my sleeve. As a repairman once said to me upon entering my home, "You're a very Catholic lady, aren't you?" No apologies for that.
What don't I write about?
If you're reading about email or cozier topics like children's books or nutrition, that's probably not me.
I’m grateful to be writing…
I’m grateful for the unwavering support of my husband and the people who call me mom, momma, mater, mamaleh.
I used to say, "With these kids around, who needs TV?" and that's still true. They inform my work and inspire my words. They also put up with late dinners, their mother's ADD, and mountains of laundry—they're candidly adding to the list as I write this. They're the heroes of my story and they’re still writing it.
Monica Seeley writes on faith, culture, family, current events and life issues. Her work has appeared in Catholic World Report, Crisis, The Epoch Times, Hearth and Field, and Catholic Exchange, among others. A graduate of Thomas Aquinas College, she writes from Southern California, where she's raising mostly grown children and wrangling chickens.