Nancy Ann Creed

  Etched Upon My Heart The world was wide and waiting The day you took your start, And every step you’ve taken since Is etched upon my heart. I’ve watched the boy of wonder Turn to a man of grace, With courage in your steady hands And kindness in your face. It isn’t just the things you’ve done, The trophies on the shelf, But the quiet way you choose to act When you are just yourself. Through every doubt and shadow, Through every climb and fall, You’ve found the strength to stand back up— The greatest feat of all. I look at you and see the best Of everything I know, And feel a pride so deep and vast It has no place to go. So keep your eyes upon the sun, Keep honest, brave, and true; There is no greater joy I own Than simply knowing you. More Works by Nancy Ann Creed https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

  For a long time, I participated in the Goodreads book challenge, a digital ritual where you commit to a specific number of books to read over the course of a year. Initially, it seemed like a harmless way to track my progress and stay motivated. However, over time, the experience transformed from a rewarding hobby into something that felt more like a demanding second job. Instead of finding solace in the pages of a new story, I started feeling an underlying sense of anxiety every time I looked at my progress bar. The quantitative tracker, meant to encourage, began to exert an unhealthy pressure, making me feel that my value as a reader was tied strictly to my output rather than my engagement with the material. The Numbers Trap   I used to use Goodreads' book challenge where you set a goal for yourself for how many books you will read that year. One year I was planning on writing a middle grade book so I read a lot of popular and award winning middle school write...

  Courage in Chaos: Overcoming Anxiety Daily The walls are leaning inward, though the level says they’re straight, And the air feels thick and heavy, like a physical, dull weight. It’s a static in the marrow, it’s a ringing in the ears, A list of "what-ifs" blooming into catastrophic fears. The door feels like a mountain, and the phone a jagged stone, The mind builds up a prison that it’s crafted all alone. But the kettle starts its humming, and the clock begins to chime, The world doesn't pause its spinning just to give me extra time. So I breathe a shallow rhythm, count the floorboards near my feet, And find the tiny pocket where the fear and duty meet. It isn't that the shaking stops or shadows go away, It’s the shaking hands that reach out to begin the work of day. I carry it like luggage—bulky, frayed, and overfilled, Across the bridge of "must-do," where the panic isn't stilled. I take a single, trembling step, then find the strength f...

  A poem from the book Echoes and Whispers books2read.com/u/bO0zDK

  I will be writing a series of blog posts about my experiences at the Ron Clark Academy (RCA), documenting this transformative professional development journey. Part 1 Traveling to Atlanta This trip marks a significant personal milestone, as it is the first time I have traveled by air since before September 11, 2001. The experience felt somewhat surreal; even the airline check-in agents expressed surprise when they realized how long it had been since my last flight. Over the years, the rising cost of air travel had made it a luxury that simply wasn't a regular part of my life. Consequently, this journey served as my formal introduction to modern TSA procedures. Being unfamiliar with the current strict regulations regarding liquid sizes, I unfortunately had to surrender my lotion at security. Despite this minor setback, the overall travel experience was positive and smooth. I am fortunate to be traveling to the Ron Clark Academy thanks to a generous scholarship provide...

    Photo by Alexander Zvir on Pexels.com The Unbreakable Bonds of Family: A Poetic Reflection The heart's vast, inexplicable room Knows no boundary, feels no gloom, Refuses to tally "by blood" or not, Or ledger a love that can't be bought. It scorns the line, the legal draw, In the deep, emotional valley of awe. For a lifetime, this house was the core, The table as full as the love I bore. I was the anchor in a whirlwind wide, A universe where eleven reside. From my body sprang three, a simple truth, But all eleven are mine, from age to youth. Yet a cruel, invisible wall now starts to rise, Built of "stay away," and "move on" lies. A denial of all I’ve fiercely done, As if this life-love could be undone, Commanded to vanish like dust on the wind, A heart-breaking suggestion, absurdly pinned. They demand a silence, my place declared gone, Insist my role is over, my duty withdrawn. But the only sound now in the empty space, Wher...