The Mother of It All

Oh hey, you made it. I’m so glad.

I’m Haley. I spent a tragic amount of time convinced that storytelling was for other people. I ran to education—partly because I was passionate, and partly because it felt like a professionally acceptable way to make money as someone who just liked to “read and write.” 

For six years, I debated metaphors with colleagues during 15-minute lunch breaks, turned vocabulary lessons into escape room scenarios, and polished the impassioned ramblings of thirteen-year-olds. 

I taught. 

I coached.

I led departments.

I burned out. 

Then, because I didn’t think I had enough challenges to keep me occupied, I became a mother. A single one at that. 

These days, as I stir oatmeal for my son and sing my latest breakfast parody (“Huevos Rancheros” to the tune of “Viva Las Vegas,” anyone?), I feel the same impulse burbling to the surface: creating space for someone else’s voice to grow stronger, bolder, even sillier—until it finally feels like their own.

So, welcome to Motherwrite. Part work. Part witness. 

I might be a little late to the game, but I’m here.

Get comfy, and let me know what you need.