Britt DiGiacomo

The Pace of Nature is finished!

November 7, 2025November 7, 2025Words by Britt

Just last week, I typed the final words I’ve been working toward for years: The Pace of Nature is finished. The last round of edits is done, and the manuscript is now officially out in the world.

I’ve started submitting to agents. I’m giving the traditional route six months. I’m giving the traditional publishing route one more shot. I’ve worked hard for this, I’m a professional writer with a degree in writing, and it’s always been my dream to be traditionally published. To see my book on shelves. To hold it in my hands and know I earned my place there.

But I also want to be honest: if the traditional path doesn’t land where it needs to, I’m prepared to self-publish, and to do it with intention, not as a last resort.

That means I’m currently deep-diving into what it takes to publish a book independently the right way:

Building a target audience
Growing an email list
Preparing a book launch strategy
Researching book marketing and PR
Identifying who I want to work with when it’s time for a campaign

If I self-publish, it will be professional, strategic, and fully backed by a marketing plan, not a “throw it online and hope” situation.

Who This Book Is For

The Pace of Nature will resonate with people who know what it means to survive something, and still be learning how to live afterward.

It will appeal to:

Survivors of reform and boarding schools
Individuals who have experienced trauma and are seeking a story of healing and resilience
Mothers struggling to connect with their teens
Teens who feel misunderstood or disconnected from their parents
Parents raising children with disabilities
Young people with learning challenges who need encouragement and representation
Readers drawn to stories of emotional endurance, redemption, and self-discovery

Help Me Build This Community

As I move into this next phase, I’m starting to build my email list. This will be the main space where I share monthly updates, behind-the-scenes insights, early release news, and eventually, launch details.

If you’d like to follow along and be part of this from the beginning, send your email to:

BrittDiGiacomo@gmail.com

I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Below is the pitch I’m currently sending to agents and editors. If the story speaks to you, keep reading. There’s so much more coming. Thanks for the support!!

The Pace of Nature

At seven, Lilly thought the hardest thing she’d ever have to overcome was the accident and her brain injury. Little did she know that at sixteen she would face an even greater challenge: the daily humiliations, forced confessions, and psychological games at Forge Academy, a “therapeutic” boarding school that pulls parents into its system just as tightly as it controls their children.

At home, Lilly’s life spirals between shame and self-punishment. Haunted by her mother’s constant reminders of the accident, she lashes out at classmates, breaks things in anger, and ends up in the hospital after one of her worst episodes. Her body heals, but her self-worth doesn’t.

Lilly is desperate to change, to become someone her family could believe in again. But Forge thrives on punishment disguised as progress. Classes are canceled for group shaming. Students stand for hours in the Arena of Shame. Meals are withheld. Every breath is a test of obedience.

Burdened by the learning difficulties that have always made her feel behind, Lilly fights to stay afloat in a place designed to break her. Then she meets Meisha, a gifted pianist whose talent and quiet confidence awaken something in her, a reminder that beauty can exist even in captivity. Shauna, her sharp-witted roommate, becomes both a lifeline and a mirror, showing Lilly what strength looks like under constant control. And Nora, the rule follower who betrays her in the worst way, teaches her how fragile trust can be.

But just as Lilly begins to rebuild her sense of self, she’s forced to choose between protecting her progress and protecting a friend. What follows is a reckoning with loyalty and the quiet courage it takes to save yourself without abandoning the people who shaped you.

The Pace of Nature is a tense, emotionally charged story about resilience, first love, and the brutal systems that call themselves your savior. Inspired by true events from my life as a former student of Hyde School, a boarding school that claimed to help troubled teens but is now facing a lawsuit for emotional and physical abuse, this story was born from what I witnessed and survived.

The Transformation from Hyde to Forge Academy

August 24, 2025August 24, 2025Words by Britt

Why Hyde Became Forge

The first time I understood how Hyde really worked, I was sitting across from my best friend in the dorm’s common room. The overhead lights buzzed, too bright, making the shadows under her eyes stand out. She had been gone for hours, pulled into an interrogation I knew little about. Now she sat hunched forward, hands tangled in the drawstrings of her sweatshirt, twisting and twisting until the cord was frayed.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. I could hear the hum of the vending machine, the muffled footsteps of staff pacing the hallway just beyond the door. Finally, in a voice that cracked halfway through, she told me she had turned me in. Not because she wanted to, but because they had cornered her, threatened harsher punishment if she stayed silent, promised her a way out if she confessed and gave up someone else.

It was like watching the air leave her body as she said it, her shoulders collapsing under a weight neither of us could carry. In that moment, I learned what Hyde thrived on: fear that seeped into every friendship, pressure that bent loyalty until it snapped, and betrayal recast as “character building.” Trust was dangerous. Silence was punished. And the walls were always listening.

When I began writing The Pace of Nature, I thought I would keep the school’s real name: Hyde. After all, it was where the story unfolded for me. But as the pages built up, Hyde transformed into Forge Academy.

The change was partly necessary, due to legal caution, privacy, the truth that no single account can ever capture the whole story. But it was also intentional. By renaming the school, I gave myself room to blend fiction with lived experience. Characters could be merged, events reshaped, and the narrative could hold not just my memories, but echoes of many. Forge became the crucible where it all burns down and takes shape again.

It’s been a whirlwind diving back into The Pace of Nature these past six weeks. I had put the novel on hold after my second son was born, due to being stretched too thin. And honestly, these past weeks have felt the same: pulled in every direction, between running a business, raising my boys, and now pouring myself back into getting this book ready for publication.

The days start at 5:00 a.m. and often end at midnight, every free minute crammed with edits, proposal drafts, blog posts, research. It’s exhausting. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because now is the time for my story to be heard.

I want to expose Hyde’s harmful “Brother’s Keeper” policy and their warped version of discipline that caused so much pain. Since the lawsuit was filed, countless people have reached out with their own stories.

Their voices are the fuel that keep me moving forward.

The more we speak, the more we refuse to be silenced, the more change can finally take root. We survived their system. Now we’re dismantling it. One story at a time.

The Hidden Harm of ‘Brother’s Keeper’ at Hyde School, by Britt DiGiacomo published by Hearst Media, appeared in print in The Norwalk Hour 8/3/25.

August 9, 2025August 9, 2025Published work by Britt

This summer, Hyde Boarding School in Bath, Maine was hit with a federal class-action lawsuit, one that echoes what many of us have known for years.

The suit, Fuller v. Hyde School, alleges forced child labor, emotional abuse, and coercive practices masked as “character development.” Since its filing, dozens of alumni have come forward with similar stories. I’m one of them.

I attended Hyde School’s Woodstock, Connecticut campus for three and a half years. While parts of the experience, particularly family therapy, brought growth, one aspect of Hyde’s culture never left me: the brutal enforcement of “Brother’s Keeper.”

On the surface, Brother’s Keeper sounds like integrity, students holding each other accountable. But in practice, it created a hierarchy of informants and interrogators. The system rewarded betrayal, punished privacy, and manufactured fear.

Here’s how it worked: one student breaks a rule. Another reports them. Then the Dean’s Area begins its sweep. Students are pulled into rooms and pressured to confess, name names, expose anyone else who might be “dirty.”

This wasn’t accountability. It was emotional warfare.

Sometimes it ended in full “school busts,” ritualistic spectacles where students were called on stage and forced to confess humiliating details, often about sex or drugs, in front of the entire school body. Later, the Dean would probe deeper in private, asking graphic, invasive questions under the guise of “support.”

If your name came up, your parents were called immediately. You were labeled untrustworthy. Not ready. A failure. And if you didn’t “come clean” fast enough, you were manipulated into believing you were hiding something. That you were sick. That you weren’t safe to be let out into the world.

Some students were held back a year, despite passing grades and completed credits, because Hyde didn’t believe they were “ready.” Anywhere else, they would have graduated. At Hyde, they lost a year of their lives, and their families lost another year of tuition, all because they broke a rule and failed to confess soon enough.

At Hyde, you weren’t measured by your growth, your grades, or your honesty over time. You were measured by your submission.

If you protected a friend, you were dishonest. If you kept something private, you were manipulative. If you didn’t collapse and rebuild yourself publicly, you weren’t ready.

The culture didn’t just fracture friendships. It severed our sense of self. It taught us that loyalty to the institution mattered more than loyalty to ourselves. That humiliation was a necessary step toward redemption. That our mistakes were more defining than our progress.

I remember gripping my seat during a senior-year bust while a girl on stage sobbed through a confession that never should have been public. I stared at the floor, praying I wouldn’t be next.

I was terrified. Afraid of what my family would think. That everything I had done to change, to earn back their trust, would be erased. I was terrified they’d believe Hyde over me. That they’d see me as a failure again. That they wouldn’t let me come back home.

What Hyde called “character” was just control.

Hyde didn’t break me. If anything, it made me tougher, but at a cost. I didn’t leave feeling weak or insecure. I left guarded. Wary. I learned to flinch before trusting, to scan for danger before connection. I see the bad in people before I see the good. And it takes time, sometimes too long, to believe someone is safe. To believe that I am.

Since I started speaking out, I’ve heard from dozens of alumni with similar stories, many just beginning to untangle what happened to them.

I’ve spent the last decade writing a novel about my experiences at Hyde, titled The Pace of Nature. It’s currently in submission for publication. The story explores how I ended up at Hyde, what happened there, and the long road to reclaiming my identity. Starting this month, I’ll be sharing updates as the journey unfolds.

To Hyde, I say this: the world doesn’t need more control dressed as character. It needs healing. Accountability. And the kind of strength that doesn’t rely on fear.

Introducing The Pace of Nature: What Happened at Hyde

August 9, 2025August 10, 2025Words by Britt

The Pace of Nature is a two-novel series I began writing in 2010 for two reasons:

I believed I had an important and compelling story to tell.
I wanted to help people, especially those who’ve been told who they are before they ever had a chance to figure it out for themselves.

I wanted to show that just because someone, whether a doctor, a parent, or a so-called authority, smacks a label on you, it doesn’t mean you have to accept it. You can reject their version of your story and write your own.

The Pace of Nature is set in two primary places: home and Hyde. These were the two worlds that shaped me, one rooted in family, and the other in forced reinvention.

When I entered my MFA program in 2014, I seriously considered telling this story as a memoir. I tried. I drafted sections as personal nonfiction. But I kept running into a wall, one that I think many writers face when mining personal history. I realized I couldn’t write intimate truths about my family or the people from Hyde and claim them as the truth. Because truth isn’t singular. Everyone sees through a different lens.

Take the house I grew up in, for example. I remember it as light, grand, and full of places I could disappear into. One of my sisters remembers it as dark, crowded, and hard to breathe in. Both are true, in their own way. That’s the problem with memoir: it asks you to write your truth as the truth, and I couldn’t do that in good conscience.

So after a few different versions, I landed on telling the story through fiction, specifically, through the voice of a character named Lilly Difeo. Writing in the first person, from Lilly’s point of view, gave me space to speak my truth without claiming ownership over anyone else’s. It gave me room to explore memory, emotion, and experience with honesty and creative freedom.

The Pace of Nature is based on true events from my life. It’s creative nonfiction disguised as a novel.

But for now, what I want you to know is this:
Sometimes fiction can tell the truth better than fact ever could.

Next week, I’ll share more about Lilly Difeo, who she is, how she came to be, and why I chose her to carry this story. I’ll also begin pulling back the curtain on The Pace of Nature itself – its themes, its secrets, and the personal experiences that shaped its pages.

Home gave me silence. Hyde demanded confession. This is the story of what broke, and what survived.

Hyde Lawsuit: The Damage of “Brother’s Keeper”

July 27, 2025July 27, 2025Words by Britt

Hyde Lawsuit: The Damage of “Brother’s Keeper”

Hi there! I wanted to share an update regarding the recent lawsuit against Hyde School—especially since I left this out of my last post and received a lot of feedback and interest.

What I Know

A federal class-action lawsuit (Fuller v. Hyde School, Case No. 2:25-cv-00354) was filed in July 2025 by former student Jessica Fuller.
The complaint alleges:
- Forced child labor
- Emotional abuse
- “Attack therapy”
- Compulsory physical punishment (known as “2-4”)
- Public shaming rituals
All of this was framed under the guise of “character development.”
Since the suit was filed, dozens of alumni have come forward with similar stories.
Hyde has denied all allegations.

What troubles me is Hyde’s complete denial. I understand wanting to protect a legacy—but when that comes at the expense of truth and student well-being, it’s dangerous. Too many people have been hurt.

And this isn’t Hyde’s first lawsuit.
You can read more about that here.

You can hear Jessica and other’s story here.

The Damage of “Brother’s Keeper”

One of Hyde’s five core ethics, “Brother’s Keeper,” is based on the idea that students should hold each other accountable and report one another when they break a rule or “ethic.”

In theory, it sounds like integrity.
In practice, it was a tool for shame, control, and psychological harm.

Here’s how Brother’s Keeper typically played out:

A student breaks a rule.
Another student reports them to the Dean’s Area.
The Dean interrogates the student and demands names of anyone else “dirty.”
Those students are then interrogated.
In some cases – often a few times a year – a full school bust would be declared.

Then came the public spectacle:

Students are called on stage in front of the entire school.
They’re forced to “come clean” and confess deeply personal acts—often involving sex or drugs.
The Dean would sometimes ask for explicit details in private sessions.

If you weren’t called on stage, you may be sitting in the audience, sweating, terrified, wondering if your name was next.

And if your name did come up? Your parents were often contacted immediately and manipulated into believing you weren’t “ready” for the real world.

Meanwhile:

Students were divided – you were either “dirty” or “on track.”
Seniors who seemed “on track” were often revealed to be breaking the same rules behind closed doors.
The system bred hypocrisy, fear, and mistrust.

Recently, someone reached out to share that after they graduated from Hyde, their former roommate, who was still enrolled at Hyde at the time, turned them in for an ethic violation they had both been involved in. A staff member later contacted this person at college, shamed them, and asked them to return their diploma.

This was after they had already graduated from Hyde, moved on, enrolled in another school, and were doing well.

This person was thriving, focused on their future, working hard. And yet, Hyde couldn’t let it go.

How dare you graduate dirty? That’s the message they sent.

There were also cases where seniors were accused of being “dirty” – whether true or not – and Hyde would decide to hold them back, even when they had the grades to graduate. At any other school, they would have walked. But Hyde expected total rule-following, and if you didn’t meet their definition of “ready for the real world,” they convinced your parents to keep you another year. It didn’t matter that you were a teenager, learning and making mistakes like any young person does. What could have been a milestone moment – graduation – was taken away. At Hyde, they called it character development. But really, it was another year of control, and another year of your parents’ tuition.

During my senior year, in the midst of a school-wide bust, I remember gripping the edge of my seat while another student stood on stage, sobbing as she confessed things that never should’ve been anyone’s business but her own. I stared at the floor, barely breathing, praying my name wouldn’t be called next.

Why Does Brother’s Keeper Trump Everything Else?

At Hyde, the message was clear: coming clean about breaking a rule, especially when someone else turned you in, mattered more than almost anything else.

Your academic progress, emotional growth, family relationships – even your leadership on the field – none of it mattered once you were labeled “dirty.”

So why?
Why did Hyde treat rule-breaking, and the public confession of it as the pinnacle of character development?

At Hyde, confession equaled transformation, regardless of the damage it caused. Integrity wasn’t measured by your values or growth over time, but by whether you confessed, turned in others, and accepted consequences without resistance. Loyalty to the institution mattered more than loyalty to yourself. And if you resisted, even quietly, you were seen as manipulative, dishonest, or not ready for the real world.

So when a student:

Kept something private because it was personal…
Refused to expose a friend out of loyalty…
Struggled to “come clean” in a public setting…

They weren’t seen as someone with boundaries or quiet integrity.
They were labeled as dishonest, untrustworthy, or not ready.

They didn’t just want you to follow rules.
They wanted you to confess, collapse, and rebuild yourself – under their terms.

The Cost of That Thinking

Students who had worked hard to earn trust, repair family relationships, or stay committed to schoolwork could have everything torn down in one day, simply because they made a mistake and didn’t report themselves first.

It wasn’t about accountability.
It was about reinforcing Hyde’s grip on your identity.

And if you resisted?
If you felt ashamed but didn’t want to share your private life on a stage?
You were told you were hiding, manipulating, not ready for the real world.

In Hyde’s eyes, you were only as good as your last confession.

Hyde, the world doesn’t need more control disguised as character.
It needs compassion, accountability, and growth. It’s time to break the cycle.

Where I Go From Here

I want to share that I’ll be self-publishing my novel, The Pace of Nature. I’ve spent the past week diving back into the manuscript, and I know now – this is the time to tell my story from beginning to end.

How did I end up at Hyde Boarding School?
What happened while I was there?
Why were my parents so desperate to send me to a place like that?

These are the questions my novel will explore.

Starting next Sunday, I’ll be posting weekly updates to walk you through the journey leading up to the book’s release.

Thank you for your continued support.

To my fellow Hyde classmates:
I’ve received countless messages this week from people sharing their stories. If you have something to say, anonymously or not, please email me.

I’m here to listen, and I’m here for you. Always.
📧 BrittDiGiacomo@gmail.com

How You Can Help

If you’re reading this and wondering how to support those affected by Hyde or similar institutions, here are a few ways:

✅ Believe survivors. Even when their stories are hard to hear.
📣 Share this post to raise awareness about abusive “character-building” systems.
🧠 Educate yourself on trauma-informed practices and coercive control.
🗣 Speak up if you see similar systems of shame or manipulation in your own schools or communities.
❤️ Offer compassion, not correction to those who are still healing.

Hyde School Lawsuit: It’s about time

July 19, 2025July 20, 2025Words by Britt

Hyde School is a college-preparatory boarding school in Woodstock, Connecticut, known for its intense focus on character development and family involvement.

Here’s My Story.

Hyde School changed my life in many ways – some of which I’m still grateful for, and others that left deep emotional scars. My experience isn’t black and white. It’s layered, complicated, and painful to revisit, but now, with a lawsuit finally bringing long-overdue attention to what so many of us went through, I feel compelled to share it.

When I arrived at Hyde, I was fifteen and only knew two things about myself:

1. I was a fast runner and a strong soccer player.

2. I was “stupid” because I had been in an accident at age seven that affected my ability to learn.

Hyde challenged that belief. Through its grueling structure and relentless push for self-reflection, I learned I wasn’t stupid. I was capable. I was strong. I learned how determined I could be. I came to understand that I had value beyond my accident. These are things I still carry with me today – I’ve graduated at the top of my class in both my undergraduate and master’s programs. I am now a mother, a wife, and a woman I’m proud to be.

But here’s the truth: none of this justifies the harm that was done.

There are things Hyde gave me – yes, like a deeper bond with my family through facilitated group sessions – but there are also things it took from me. Things that took years to reclaim.

The structure of Hyde was militaristic: 5:30 a.m. workouts, “24s” (24 hours of isolation, cleaning, and forced self-reflection when you got in trouble), intense peer and faculty evaluations. I could handle those. In fact, they made me stronger. But it was the Brother’s Keeper philosophy that broke something in me.

At Hyde, if you broke one of the Five Ethics – no smoking, no sex, no lying, no stealing, and being your “brother’s keeper” – you were labeled dirty. When someone was considered dirty, an announcement would go out. Classes, sports, and all daily activities would shut down. We’d be herded into the theater for hours without food or water while students were pulled onstage to name others who were also “dirty.” If your name was called, you were forced onstage too – humiliated, terrified, and powerless.

This wasn’t accountability. This was public shaming.

After the theater came the interrogations – one-on-one sessions with faculty who would pressure you to confess to things. If they thought you were withholding, they would keep pushing until you gave them something. And there was always the looming threat: Tell the truth or stay another year. And they meant it.

It felt like prison. We lived there. We couldn’t escape. And we were repeatedly told our parents were on board, fully supportive, even brainwashed. That was the most terrifying part – believing there was no safe way out, no one to believe us.

Senior year was supposed to be the highlight of my high school experience. I had worked so hard to get there, to rebuild my life and relationships with my family. But a series of these “school busts” events turned it into a nightmare. The emotional toll of being trapped, silenced, and threatened left deep trauma I carried for years. I’ve since undergone EMDR therapy to deal with recurring nightmares and panic that I didn’t fully understand until I faced them in therapy.

There were some faculty at Hyde who left a meaningful mark on me. Mr. Murphy showed me unexpected kindness and opened my eyes to the beauty of writing and English literature. Mr. Edwards taught me what it meant to be tough in a way that didn’t break me. And Mrs. Dubinsky was all heart – someone whose warmth and sincerity stood out in an otherwise harsh environment.

But not all faculty interactions were positive. During my time there, the dean of students demonstrated deeply inappropriate behavior that the school seemed to ignore or quietly dismiss. He was power-hungry and manipulative, often saying unsettling things and showing up unannounced in our dorm rooms when no one else was around. He would take students on strange, unexplained drives, and there were countless rumors circulating about his behavior – particularly toward the girls who babysat his children. These were not isolated whispers; they were persistent, deeply uncomfortable stories that were never properly addressed. Looking back, it’s clear that many of us were left vulnerable in ways we never should have been.

If you never felt unsafe at Hyde – if your experience was wholly positive – I am happy for you. Truly. But many of us had a different reality. We’re not just jumping on a bandwagon. We’ve been carrying this pain for years, often in silence.

In 2010, nearly a decade after I left Hyde, I wrote a book about my experience called The Pace of Nature. I entered an MFA writing program with one goal in mind: to become the best writer I could be – not just to tell my story, but to tell it well.

Life, motherhood, and time have kept the manuscript on hold. But with this lawsuit now shining a long-overdue light on the school, I’m seriously considering self-publishing. Not for recognition. Not for revenge. But for truth.

It was always my dream to traditionally publish The Pace of Nature – and as a professional writer who invested deeply in my education, I believed that was the path. But right now, what matters more is the purpose behind the book: to share my story in the hope that it helps others. The cycle of abuse must stop – and Hyde needs to change its methods, because they’re not realistic, and they’ve caused real harm to many.

This is my story. I wrote a book to tell it fully – and if there’s an audience that needs to hear it, I’ll be ready to publish.

An Emotional Day: My Sister’s Recovery After a Double Mastectomy 9/19/24

September 19, 2024September 27, 2024Words by Britt

Today is an emotional day. As I sit here, my heart heavy with both relief and worry, my sister lies in a recovery room after undergoing a double mastectomy. She faced one of the toughest decisions of her life—choosing to have this surgery not because she had to, but because it was the only way to guarantee the cancer that was diagnosed wouldn’t come back.

We share a curse, the BRCA II mutation, which has haunted our family for generations. Our grandmother and aunt, both taken far too young, never had this opportunity to fight cancer so proactively. Their lives were cut short, leaving behind memories of their strength and resilience, but also the pain of watching them fade away. The cancer hung over our family like an unforgiving shadow, looming, waiting.

My sister made this decision for her future—for her children, for her peace of mind. I admire her bravery so deeply. She looked cancer in the face and said, “Not again. Not this time.” Watching her go through this has been a mix of heartbreak and admiration. It’s a tough surgery, one filled with both physical and emotional weight. But she is strong, as were all the women who came before her.

And now, it’s my turn. I am next in line for this surgery. I’ve watched our loved ones slip away from this disease, and that fear, that same shadow, has loomed over me for as long as I can remember. But today, as I see my sister fight for her life, not out of fear but out of hope, I am filled with a sense of strength. The women in our family have always fought—fought for more time, for health, for each other. And today, I feel them all around us, their legacy giving us the courage to keep going.

We carry this mutation, this burden, but we also carry a power that our grandmother and aunt never had. Modern medicine has given us the chance to act before it’s too late. It’s a hard road, and the emotional scars run deep, but we’re not doing this for ourselves alone—we’re doing it for every woman who came before us, and for those who will come after.

As my sister recovers with a long road ahead of her, I’m reminded that this battle isn’t just against cancer. It’s a battle for life, for hope, for the strength to keep moving forward, even when the fear feels overwhelming. To anyone who has faced this journey, I admire you. You’ve paved the way for those like me to face this head-on, to not feel so alone in the fight.

I’m thankful for the hope that modern medicine provides us, and even more so for the strength of the women who give me the courage to follow in their footsteps.

The Space Between Me and Yellow

February 17, 2023February 17, 2023Published work by Britt

There’s this fire in my belly

Restless, tying my hair in braids
I don’t have everything
figured out, but I’m getting
good at removing expectations

like
picking up a pencil
without checking to see
if it was sharpened first

and trying my best
to be clear because
people can’t read
my mind

Continue reading ➞ The Space Between Me and Yellow

Twenty months later and here I am

February 1, 2023February 3, 2023Words by Britt

It has been a wild ride these past twenty months. Raising a baby into a toddler was not at all what I expected. Or let me clarify; I assumed I would have time. At least three hours a day is what I recall telling myself when I was pregnant. Three hours a day to write, blog, submit, and continue to build up my career.

That was not the case. Somehow, I turned from artist/writer to stay-at-home housemaid. With the free time I did have, mainly with Jax sleeping on my chest, I spent answering emails and running my bridal business. I was exhausted.

Spending time with Jax, teaching him new things, and the constant awe I’m in when watching the expression on his face with each discovery he unfolds will always be the highlight of my day. But, the non-stop cooking, cleaning, and laundry is something I don’t have a talent for and so because of that, from months four to eight of my son’s life, I fell into a deep depression, feeling like I lost a big part of my identity.

Jax was eight-months-old when we finally hired afternoon help. From 3:30 – 5:30 pm Tuesdays – Thursdays, I had a little more time to focus on other things I needed, such as running Share Journal, finding and featuring talented artists, and putting their work out into the world. I had some time to start submitting The Pace of Nature again. Yup, I have not given up on getting my novel traditionally published! And, submitting February 23^rd, the third short story to Jackie Chronicles. You can read Part I Honey here, and Part II Stefan here.

But I still don’t have the time to give these things 100% of my attention and it takes a toll on me from time to time.

Back in June of 2021, Mike and I showed up at the hospital on Friday, June 4^th to start the induction process of delivering our baby. We didn’t know Jax’s gender until he was born, so we referred to him as baby throughout my pregnancy.

Jax needed to be induced three weeks early, due to my placenta “tiring out,” it was unable to produce enough blood and nutrition for Jax, so, he had stopped growing. Needless to say, he needed to be earthbound so we could physically start feeding him.

The induction was a slow process, which included many procedures, along with loads of chemicals pumped into my body, all intended to prompt labor. I started going into slow labor Saturday evening. Thirty-six hours of labor later, I was still determined to have a natural delivery, even though the doctor was losing patience and wanted to roll me into the OR. Luckily, Jax’s heartbeat was strong throughout the entire process, as was mine. I said no way; I’m willing to wait and let nature take its course.

Thanks to the hypnobirthing classes I had taken, I was able to breathe through the stressful moments, remain calm, and await our baby’s arrival.

Monday, June 7^th at 2:30 pm, I began pushing with Mike on my left, holding one leg, and my doula on my right holding the other; Mike wiping my forehead with a wet rag, my doula feeding me ice chips and holding a hand-sized fan in front of my face. At 3:48 pm, Jax was here. Moments later, my doula looked at me and said, “don’t you feel empowered. What a weekend, after everything you went through, don’t you feel so strong?” I took a moment and soaked in the question. And at that moment, my answer was no, I did not feel more strongly or inspired by what I had done.

I had made a conscious decision to get pregnant and have this baby. From that choice on, it was not about me or my feelings. It was about protecting this baby. My job is to do what I need to do to help this baby flourish and grow to be a well-rounded, kind, humble, giving, self-aware human being. So far, I had brought him safely into the world. I still have a ton to do, is what I’d told her. She looked taken aback, but that was how I felt.

And so, in these times when I get down about not having time for myself because I’m cleaning, cooking, and doing laundry, I remind myself of that day, of that question my doula had asked me right there on the labor bed. I remind myself of my answer to her. I ask myself if I still feel that way. My answer is yes. I tell myself that one of these days, probably too soon, I will have more time for other things I love. Until then, I will raise Jax the best I can, continue to submit The Pace of Nature, and run Share Journal. If I have time to do anything extra, well, then that’s just cool.

Where’s she at now? Inkblot Q & A: Britt DiGiacomo

February 3, 2022February 3, 2022Words by Britt

Thanks for stopping by! This Q & A was featured in Inkblot back in June 2021 when I was in the hospital giving birth to my son so I missed the release date. Inkblot is Manhattanville’s MFA program’s newsletter with a Meet the Writers Series column, featuring MFA alumni.

I’ve finally gotten a little time to post the Q & A here.

Q: What have you been doing professionally and creatively since you graduated from Manhattanville with a Masters in Fine Art in Writing in 2014?

I’ve been pretty busy since graduating Mville in 2014. I have finished a few different full-form drafts of my novel, The Pace of Nature, a coming-of-age story that tells the tale of Lilly Difeo’s horrific school-yard accident and how it shapes her life. The current draft of The Pace of Nature is currently in submission for traditional publication.

I’ve also written The Jackie Chronicles, a short story series about a tenacious vigilante with a secret past who wreaks vengeance on criminals who never get caught by the authorities, or those who get off too easy. Part I and Part II have been published in Honey Suckle Magazine, and Red Fez Mag. Part III is currently in submission for publication.

In January 2020, I launched SHARE, an online literary journal that publishes fiction, non-fiction, essays, poetry and visual artwork, and features a new artist each month. It’s always been a goal of mine to create a space where people can come and express themselves in whatever way, shape and form.

Share Journal has also been actively working towards uniting with a non-profit organization & social good cause. I want SHARE to stand for something and to be a part of a lasting community, one with an aim to help children and youth who have learning difficulties and/or financial hardships find their voice through the practice of writing.

It’s my hope in the near future for SHARE to host a workshop called Finding Your Voice Through Writing, where I and other contributors will travel around the tri-state area and beyond, and pass the gift of writing onto those who need to find creative outlets to express themselves.

Share Journal is also a proud member of the CLMP (Community of Literary Magazines and Presses) where we actively network and make proper connections to further our goal of associating Share Journal to a social good cause.

Q: In what ways have you been involved with writing, creativity and/or the arts? And in what ways did your time at Mville prepare you for these endeavors?

My time at Mville has been a stepping stool, giving me the extra reach I needed to attain my goals. I had excellent teachers – award-winning authors, Elizabeth Eslami and Alex Gilvary to name a couple, who provided credible reading lists, where we actively studied the craft and style of various authors from around the world. Eslami and Gilvary also held inspirational classroom discussions from the reading lists and from their own experiences as writers, which helped pushed my creative limits when it came to forming fresh, original ideas within my own work.

Both teachers often prepped us on the harsh reality of the publishing world. What writers face through the submission process. How rejection is a huge part of our lives, and boy is that the truth! But I was encouraged to never give up, taught that publishing is subjective, that it’s a numbers game, to keep submitting no matter what because someone will eventually connect with your work and share it with the world. These lessons I learned during my time at Mville have always stuck with me, and because of it, I was able to develop a thick skin when it came to criticism and rejection. And due to the education and knowledge, I’ve attained at Mville – and since leaving, my confidence in my work continues to grow. Most importantly, I stay true to myself as a writer, and true to the integrity of the stories I wish to tell.

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