I began Rowan’s story as a way to understand my teenage years. I wanted to return gently, sit beside the girl I was and see the patterns that began there.

Somewhere along the way, publishing the episodes began to feel like putting on a play. I started thinking about the audience, the next episode and whether I’d finish what I’d begun. I felt responsible to people who might be reading and wondering how the story would end.

What makes this so interesting is that I don’t actually know whether people are reading. I’ve received little response. And yet it still feels like a performance. So who am I performing for? An imagined audience? The Universe? God? Maybe some old part of me that’s still waiting for someone to tell me I’m worthy?

This connects directly to Rowan’s story. When she couldn’t perform at the academy, she became bored and disconnected. Performing had become one of the ways she felt good about herself. I can see that I’m doing something similar by publishing her story. I don’t want publishing Rowan’s story to become another place where I look outside myself for my worth.

So I’m pausing the public episodes here. I’m not taking down what I’ve already shared. These chapters are part of the journey, and for now they may remain without a public ending. I don’t know whether the rest of Rowan’s story will return to the website, take another form or remain private.

I do want to keep writing the remaining years for myself. I want to take my time and write them without worrying about whether anyone else will read them. I want to learn what it means to witness Rowan rather than perform her. I want to sit beside the girl who lived these years and ask what she needs me to see, even if no one else ever reads the answer.

I also know I like to finish what I start. When I stop something that matters to me, especially something creative or transformational, I can feel as if I’ve let myself down. Or walked away before it had given me what it came to give. That’s part of this too. But maybe finishing doesn’t have to mean giving an audience a polished ending. Maybe it means staying close to this and giving it the time and space it needs to keep working in me.

For now, I’m stepping away from the stage and returning to the living board. The Crone will sit with me there and listen for the silver thread. Thank you for walking with Rowan this far. I’m not abandoning the story. I’m taking it back to the quiet place where it began.

My Mom, brothers and me my senior year of high school. (Rowan at 17).