And just like that, there goes any semblance of stability and joy I was hanging on to. I don't want to talk about that yet.

Monday, my Lucy will turn 11. She's the most amazing little girl with the most beautiful heart.

As I left the room, from tucking her and her brother in, he was imagining he had one wish. “I want to be Spiderman.” I smiled and kept walking down the hallway.

“If I only had one wish,” Lucy started, “I'd wish for mommy to be the happiest girl in the world.”

We had just discussed celebrating her birthday next weekend, when we could better afford to. She could have wished for anything.

I've spent my entire life choosing the happiness of others over my own. I don't know how to change that, but I have to, even at their expense.

I want to do this for you, baby girl. Im going to start choosing me.

Happy birthday, gorgeous girl. You deserve a happy mommy.

This is going to be a long, hopefully worth it, read.

Something I obsess over: women's obsession with weight, AKA the patriarchal obsession with women's weight.

This is coming from a place of understanding, not judgment, but the fear I had from an early age of being the "f" word my whole life.

And I was.

There are photos of me at 10-years-old, doing "before" pictures. Now, before you come for my angel of a mother, she was just a victim of the obsession, as was everyone I knew at the time. I grew up doing The Mayo Clinic Diet, Weight Watchers, that one Netflix church cult documentary diet (I can't remember what it was called), Adkins, etc... I remember vividly the days when I, as a child, only ate bananas and drank grapefruit juice. I would gag every time, as would my mom, but we made ourselves do it. Our church had so many programs.

None of this was for health. It was for skinny.

By high school, I was between 250 - 300 lbs, and bulemic. Yes, every single day for awhile. Where did I learn? We watched a documentary or docu-series from that woman from Growing Pains about her bulimia. All I gathered from that was that skinny is the goal, no matter the cost.

Eventually, I became obsessed with Tumbler's "thinspo." My life goal was a thigh gap, at 300 lbs. y'all, and boy was I determined. My mom was battling the same issue, as she had her whole life, but never as extreme as I became. In this day and age, people would judge how she parented. Please don't. She was a victim, and absolutely did not know any better.

Her weight fluctuated my whole life. She was fond of being a size 8. My heart hurts for her when I remember her pulling out photos of a time when she was. My dad would look at them and make comments, like awful comments, that had to hurt her so much. Again, he really loved her. The obsession was instilled in all of us. It was our culture. Diet culture was our lifestyle.

When I was 22, I had a roux en y gastric bypass. They "removed" (as I was told) my whole stomach and left only a pouch the size of a shot glass. Post surgery was the first time the doctor mentioned my future diet. "You can't eat pasta, bread, rice, or potatoes." I remember thinking, I've done the Adkins diet and failed. How was I going to make it happen this time? I was miserable for a long time after that.

I lost 130 lbs. quickly, simply starving myself.

During this time, my mom was taking the popular, now banned, Phen Phen. It worked for her. She was back at a size 8, but sick. After a million appointments with no answers, she went to her yearly appointment with a female Gynecologist. That woman saved my mom's life. She referred her to a heart specialist where they discovered Phen Phen destroyed her aortic valve.

She had open heart surgery to replace it with a mechanical valve. Later in year, on Thanksgiving, she was grilling a ham on the charcoal grill.

I'll never forget her waking me up crying. She had singed hair and looked terrified. She told me the grill exploded in her face. What actually happened was she had a stroke from Phen Phen and fell into the fire.

She joined a class action and was awarded $99k.

Then I got pregnant. I gained 80 lbs. Insane, right? It shouldn't have been possible, but it was. Everyone, besides my parents and Adam who were elated, jumped all over me. I wasn't supposed to get pregnant. I was just going to get fat again. So many people spoke of my "wasted" surgery.

The local gym had a weight loss competition a few years later. I remember our preacher loading his pockets with spare change to make his entry weight higher. I became obsessed with working out. I hit the gym an hour before work. After work, I attended Dance Fit, Kickboxing, and Step class. I got down to 179. The lowest I've ever seen. I won the female side of the competition.

Over these years, I noticed the doctor's visits for my baby were so focused on weight. One appointment I remember in detail. He looked at my child and said he was getting too big. He explained that he needed to eat off a saucer size plate beginning immediately.

Something changed in me that day. I started noticing my child mimicking me in the mirror. You know, that side pose where you suck in and rub your stomach. I was sick. Absolutely disgusted with myself. This life was not going to happen to my kids.

Around 2013, I went to the doctor with the flu. I left the appointment, stopped for gas and received a phone call. The doctor told me I was pregnant, very early, like 2 - 3 weeks. I immediately made appointment with the first OBGYN who could get me in. Adam and I were over the moon excited. The OB called before I even came in. Something in my bloodwork showed I was miscarrying.

Days went by as I never got out of bed. Crying, screaming, being comforted and taken care of by the man who was also hurting.

Finally, at the appointment, the doctor came in and the some of the most traumatic events of my life followed...

"Your pregnancy is not viable. The baby isn't going to make it." I blacked out at this point. He was explaining the process of miscarriage that I would be experiencing soon. Then he said, "You're just too big to have a baby right now." Again, this was at the lowest weight I've ever been. "You need to eat no more than a half a Lean Cuisine everyday. You've had the surgery. You have to act like it. You're the reason you can't have more kids, but you're going to fix that." He wrote me a prescription for Phentermine.

And I took it for years, even after all that happened to my mom. Skinny crept back into my mind.

The past few years have been nothing short of traumatic. My family passed, including my mom at 70 years old.

Last July, my stomach ruptured from ulcers. Right before surgery, a team of people gathered around me, while I was in screaming pain, asking me if I was on Ozempic or any weight loss meds. They told me that was the leading cause of this. I almost died. My lungs collapsed, but I made it through emergency surgery and I'm still here.

The scales go unused, calories and carbs, uncounted.

Please, if any of this resonates with you, take care of yourself by taking care of your mind. Society is slipping back into thinspo culture. Fight back. Your value has nothing to do with what you weigh. Diet culture affects your health far more than obesity.

My mom was the most beautiful woman I've ever known, inside and out. She was 69 in this photo, and she never acknowledged how absolutely gorgeous she was, only that number on the scale.

Break the cycle. If you wouldn't say it to your bestie, don't say it to yourself. You're perfect the way you are, and you're invaluable to more people than you know. Skinny mentality will kill you. Don't take their mom from them. You are so loved, just the way you are.

Don't get me wrong. There's consistent doubt and I nearly always feel like I'm not learning fast enough, but I'm giving everything I've got. When I feel like I can't give anymore, I look back at why I decided to do this in the first place.

I've always been opinionated to a fault. My taste in music was no exemption. When I went from getting maimed in the pit of a Norma Jean show to sobbing in the balcony of a Jason Isbell show, people had their doubts. Was I for real? Was I just getting older? Could I no longer regulate my emotions or was I regulating them too much? I asked myself many questions, including, did I actually age out of…taste? Could I possibly really like country music? Apologies in advance. My dad made me feel embarrassed for listening to Lynyrd Skynyard's “Ballad of Curtis Loew” very early on, because it was very country.

The truth is, Americana, Alt-country, or whatever you prefer to call it is really not a big jump from your typical scene kid music. Why, hello there, elder emo, who cries over “Cast Iron Skillet:” can we be friends?

The times in my life I have been moved, like actually physically incapacitated, “crying, screaming, throwing up” as the kids say, by music, are few and far between. Actually, I'd love to share my detailed accounts.

1. “You Outta Know”

   I was 11-years-old when Jagged Little Pill by Alanis Morissette dropped. I memorized each word, not only feeling, but also being very intentional, that I'd never be the same. “The old Ashley can't come to the phone right now. Why? Cause she's dead.” I'm not exaggerating when I say, I left 11-year-old me in the past. There's pre-Alanis Ashley and post-Alanis Ashley.

2. “The Path”

   There's a “Love-metal” band called HIM that changed everything I felt about love and death. It's impossible for me to explain, but especially at this point in my life, both of these things were both equally terrifying and equally beautiful. I may dig deeper another time. This band forever holds a special place in my heart and several places on my skin.

3. “If We Were Vampires”

   In 2017, my curiosity led me to listen to a song by Jason Isbell. My relationship was falling apart, and I believe I cried for 6 days straight. Sounds common enough. The only thing is I had just had a baby with my ex husband. We've always been the perfect couple until we tried to be a perfect couple.

4. “The Night”

   Morgan Wade and I just clicked. From the moment I heard her song on fb, I was enamored. Her voice stood out and her lyrics grabbed ahold of me like no one's at the time. I'm very fortunate for this time in my life because I wouldn't be where I am today if Morgan didn't believe in me. She's the one who told me I should be a manager. She's the one who told me she felt safer and comfortable at shows I attended. She inspired me to pursue my dream.

5. “Fraterville, TN,”

   My self doubt got the better of me when working with Morgan. Fortunately, nothing could stop her. I never thought I'd work with another artist after that. I'd introduced Morgan to someone I thought would help her expand her career and I was right. Just when I thought the music industry wasn't for me, a kid named Jake Kohn reminded me it was my home. The moment I heard that voice my path became clear. I knew the world needed to hear this kid sing. I knew that I was willing to commit my life to making sure people listened.

Since that day, that's exactly what I've been doing. I found where I belong, my calling. It's been hard. I've felt inadequate at times, but I can assure you, no one will ever be as committed as I am to getting people to listen.

I hope you all find where you belong. Try not to doubt yourself, but rather be your own biggest cheerleader. There will always be obstacles and folks who want to slow you down or even take your place, but remember why you started. Remember you want to change the world and the best way for you to do that is get people to listen. It's that simple.

Has listening to a song ever changed you?

1. Milissa Fleming-Wilson - my mom. She's only been gone a few months, and life is crippling without her. She was everything I want to be, and everything the world should be. She was the definition of good, a true example of unconditional love. It's impossible to describe her contagious joy and infectious laughter. The world grew dim with her passing. I can say with confidence that many people feel the same. She was the mom I wish every child was fortunate enough to have. I could write about her for days, and one day I will.

   

2. Sue Byrd - my granny. She was fiesty in the best way. She was quick-witted and would leave you in pain from laughing. She adored me, too much if you ask me. She was a tiny, frail lady who was not to be messed with. She's solely responsible for my childhood food addiction. That woman kept me fed. One of my fondest childhood memories is sitting in my granny's apartment watching Matlock, for whom she had quite the infatuation. The bad guy in this particular episode put a pistol in his pants, with the intention of going after the apple of my granny's eye. I'll never forget this magnificent woman loudly proclaiming, “I hope you shoot your d*ck off!” at the television. I knew right then and there, my granny, like Wu-tang, ain't nothing to fuck with. She was the leading lady and I knew it, before I even knew what that meant.

   

3. Eve Meyer - my English teacher at Russellville High School. She made me want to read, write, and be the best version of myself. Her classes were notoriously difficult at the time. Against all of our teenage wishes, she expected us to work. Until that point, no one outside of my family, paid any attention to me. I was good at flying under the radar. I wasn't the star student, though my grades were fine. I certainly wasn't popular, and no one really took notice of me until she did. One day she pulled me aside, and told me a poem I had written should be published. That one conversation was a turning point in my life. She would go on to encourage to write for our high school paper, for which I'd eventually become editor-in-chief. I'd continue to WKU to study journalism. One comment altered my whole path. Someone believed in my writing. Someone believed in me. I wrote in journals all the time, poems, short stories, chapters for the novel I never finished. It was how I handled my feelings, much like now. Confidence was nonexistent in my life until Mrs. Meyer noticed me. If you're a teacher, never underestimate your impact. I wouldn't be who I am without her. Writing has been essential in my life since that day. (I feel like she's going to read this and say, “Ashley has her comma shaker out.” hahaha I do like the commas.

   

4. Sandra Sharp - my aunt on my dad's side. You know the people who can tell you someone's life story at the mention of their name? She is that person. I'm fascinated at how much she knows about everything and everyone. I've recently been wanting to dive into my family history, and want nothing more than to sit and talk to her. She's a wealth of information. As fascinating as that part is, it doesn't compare to how fierce she is. She's the first woman I recall whom I could describe as a force. She's been through more than any woman should, and experienced loss that would break even the strongest of men. But life hasn't broken her. She is strong. I don't feel close to any of my unusually large family, but there's a bond between us that I can't explain. No matter how long we're apart, she gives me an overwhelming sense of home when I'm around her. I've always felt like she was the one person who understood me, because she's the one person in our family I was like. I never felt like the black sheep with her. I felt like myself. That may sound small, but it's the most incredible feeling to be accepted and loved. She has always made me feel that way.

5. Connie Collingsworth - she wears too many hats to narrow down exactly what she does, but that's what I find so inspirational in her friendship. As far I'm concerned, she is the quintessential businesswoman. I've never met Taylor Swift, but she's comparable on a personal level. I consider her a mastermind, as she's able to seamlessly blend art with industry. Connie puts her heart in her work. The quality is unmatched, without sacrificing creativity. She's what the media would refer to as a woman's woman. I consider her a mentor. Though I've never had the pleasure of working with her, she has pushed me more than anyone has in my work, and I’ve taken her advice as gold. She's the trailblazer in my world, with art at the forefront. This industry is cutthroat and very “every woman for herself,” but she is a constant reminder that you can build a successful empire without destroying another.

It took some time to narrow it down for me. I could go on to credit Morgan Wade for being the first person to push me to go into management. I could talk about Chris Cooper, the editor of our local newspaper who has been a friend to me through the most difficult parts of my life, and has truly hyped me like no one else has.

There are women all around you who are essential to your life in this moment. I always try to show gratitude and appreciation for the significant relationships I've developed along the way. The impression they leave is lasting, even if your relationship with the person isn't.

Who are the top 5 most influential women in your life?

Cynthia was my first, something I’ve always said. Growing up as a self-absorbed teen with all the angst any child of working-class parents, who seemed to do little more than fight about everything, she used to annoy the everloving shit out of me. Why? I have no idea. Jealousy, maybe. My dad thought she hung the moon. My granny, who spoiled me rotten, may have pushed me aside a time or two, because Cynthia walked through the door. Every other weekend was committed to her. We went and picked her up like clockwork, like her dad should have done.

He missed out.

When I moved out at 18, things started to shift in my mind. I felt grown, and more importantly, my empathy started coming back around. I began picking Cynthia up from my parents on their weekends. She loved staying with me, and eventually I was the one she liked hanging out with. I was the stereotypical cool aunt. I remember buying a blender, just for our movie nights. I remember nights when she'd come over and I'd make her fun drinks like layered, nonalcoholic, margarita and strawberry daiquiris in those extremely tall cups you can get at music festivals.

She has the most beautiful, blue eyes, the kind of doe eyes that could melt your heart.

She quickly became my sidekick. It would make more sense if she felt like my little sister, but she never did. Once I grew up, she just felt like mine.

She's been through a lot, but that's not my story to tell.

In 2013, she called me to tell me she was thinking about dropping out. She'd gotten behind at school and didn't feel like she could catch up. At the time, Adam and I were making plans to build a house for our family. We only had Corey at the time, and we were finally getting out of our duplex. It wasn't really practical, but to me it was something I needed to do without question; we needed a bedroom for Cynthia. She was too important to me to just let her give up.

And she didn't give up. She moved in with us and did exactly what she thought she couldn't do. She graduated from Russellville High School and worked a part-time job through her senior year. Watching her attend prom and walk at graduation were some of my proudest moments.

After that, I took her back to live with her mom. She wrote me the sweetest thank you note. I'll never forget bawling all the way home. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows living together through her teens years. As a matter of fact, she endured mine and Adam's divorce, a difficult time in all our lives, but the good times were really good. It was hard to let her go. Now, Cynthia is a mom of 4 babies, all with the same beautiful doe eyes.

The ornament with the engraving Keep Making Her Proud means the world to me. She knows how much I want to share all my accomplishments with my mom, how she's the first person I want to call when something good happens: she's the first person I want to call when anything happens. There's a hole in my heart. It feels spectacularly huge and painful. The only thing holding me together is my family. I wish she hadn't gotten me anything, but I'm so grateful she did.

My second niece, Camryn, didn't get to come over as much as a child. Unfortunately, my brother left a bigger mess behind when he divorced from her mother. I don't hold it against her mom for holding it against us for awhile. Cam and I still had moments I'll always cherish. She was my little horror baby. It used to freak me out how much she loved scary movies. What 5-year-old is calm and content watching things like Amityville Horror? Cam was.

Trying to be the cool aunt, I took her to a live screening of what I thought was a horror movie on Halloween. I knew it was wildly popular, but I'd never seen it. Imagine my surprise when I took a child to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

The first time Adam went out with me and my family, we brought Cam along. We were seeing The Omen after all. We had her any time we could get her, but I wish it had been more. I hope I can make up for that now by spending as much time as I can with her and her baby boy, Braylen.

My nieces and I recently traveled to North Carolina to see Jake Kohn. We had an amazing time, but we didn't get to spend enough time together. I get to take her to her first big concert in May. I want to give them memories, adventures, and little moments of care-free happiness, all the things they'll hold onto when I'm gone.

My advice to my neices…

Pictures, videos, voice memos. Save them all. Be the best mom you can be, and that may not always be the best version of you. You'll still be the best to them. When you feel like giving up, try harder, ask for help, talk to me. Give everything time, and give everyone grace.

I know your nanny and papaw are proud of you. I am. I love you like my own.

Family is everything.

Brandon Boyd reads my heart with this line from “Dig” by Incubus.

There are many contrived and cliché ways to describe how I'm feeling at this point in my life. I could go on and on about gratitude and excitement. Those feelings are certainly there, but social media is where you'll find the highlight reel. I created this space for those of you searching for something real, a place for you to see who I really am and to answer the question I get asked more than anything, “Why do you help people?” The most honest way to describe how I’m feeling right now? I'm scared shitless.

I've never had much, and still it always felt like more than I deserved. I'm 40-years-old, and I've had three real jobs. I went to work when I was 14 in another town. After school, my mom would drive me to Lewisburg to work at the Minit Mart, 3 hours a day, 5 days a week, the legal limit for a 14-year-old in Kentucky. My parents both worked in factories. I remember being home alone a lot.

Mom and dad divorced when I was 5, and got themselves in loads of debt in the process. Mom got credit cards to stay afloat as we moved from house to house, once living with my uncle, twice living with her new boyfriends. I have zero memory of one boyfriend, except I got in big trouble by him once. He had a son my age. We weren't allowed in the house when he was home so we'd play outside. I remember the concrete sidewalk in front of our house being broken to pieces, and his son would pick up those rocks and throw them at cars going by. One day, a police officer pulled up and lectured us on the dangers of doing so, even though I wasn't the one doing it. When the officer left, that man yelled at us to come in. He let us have it. That was the last time I saw him. The other guy used to make comments about my weight. One day we were all piling in the car to go somewhere. I sat in the back seat and he slammed the door on my leg saying I was too fat and slow. My mom cried and cried. I never saw him again either.

I saw my dad every other weekend. I can still perfectly envision the mice running around the house. If I close my eyes I can see myself sitting in a blue recliner, holding a can of Beanie Weenies with a spoon sticking out, while my mouse friend sat on the chair arm watching Dire Straits “Money For Nothing” on MTV with me.

By the time they got remarried 3 years later, they'd both racked up bills, and those days of me living in a 2 story house were over. That's how I knew we no longer had money. Our new house didn't have stairs. If my parents were home, they were fighting, always about money. My mom would be on the phone asking my aunts or uncles to borrow money, and my dad would be in the next room, screaming profanities and throwing things because she was embarrassing him. He had the best job in the county after all. He worked at Logan Aluminum, swing shift, a job still coveted by people here. I was always scared they were going to divorce again. One day, they told us in class you could work at some places as a freshman in high school. So I asked to work. I was sure me bringing home $65 a week would save everything. I wanted to help.

I suppose it did help some. My mom told me that if I was going to work, I was going to pay for my own things. So at 14 I was buying my own toiletries, even my own detergent to do my own laundry. Eventually, a Minit Mart opened in my hometown. I transfered and worked there until I graduated high school.

I got a scholarship to WKU for journalism when I graduated. I was Editor of our high school newspaper and participated in an impromptu competition at Western Kentucky University during a school field trip. We'd just listened to a lecture from the Editor of the Courier-Journal when they said, Surprise! We want you to write a news article about what you sat through! I won first place out of every journalism student in Kentucky on the fly. A scholarship was the only way I was going to college. I remembered finding out my scholarship was $2k short for my tuition. My dad sold his golf clubs so I could pay the rest. Golf was the only thing he left the house for other than work. He never played again.

I worked at Subway to pay for an apartment and a vehicle through college. I made $7.25 an hour and between us, I supplemented income charging $100 per page to write papers for other students.

My Freshman year my dad had a heart attack. He had quadruple bypass surgery, and it rocked our whole family. By then he'd been diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, and he was sick all the time. By the fall my mom had her aortic heart valve replaced due to damage from the popular diet drug, Fen-Phen. She was diet obsessed, and taught me to be. By age 10, I was attending Weight Watchers meetings. We participated in a diet program at church, the one that now has a dedicated Netflix documentary boasting it as a cult, where you starved yourself. You were supposed to fast a few days at a time and pray instead of eat. There are tons of “before” photos of me in my family photo box, all through my teen years, because whatever the current diet trend was, it was going to give us that perfectly toned and skinny “after” photos. There aren't any of those photos in the box. It was not surprising at all that a diet drug is what took my mom out of commission for awhile. My family was sick and needed me, so I moved back home.

Thanksgiving of my Sophomore year, my mom woke me up, crying and hysterical. She had been grilling a ham for Thanksgiving dinner, and said the grill exploded. I jumped out of bed to help her. Her hair was singed. I still remember the smell. She said she'd gotten the ham on and the grill just blew up in her face. It was a charcoal grill, so the story didn't quite make sense. By the time we were sitting at the table at my aunts house, I started noticing her voice wasn't right. Her mouth drooped slightly and her eye wasnt quite open. We all had to stop eating Thanksgiving dinner and demand she go to the hospital. She cried the whole way, because she felt like she ruined the holiday and there was nothing wrong with her. The grill never exploded. She had a stroke and fell into the open flame, burning her clothes and her hair. The stroke was a result of complications from her open heart surgery.

You would think we had learned our lesson about weight loss, given that dieting nearly took mom's life. Quite the opposite though. If she'd just been skinny, none of this would have ever happened. The focus quickly turned to me. Preventative measures needed to be taken so I wouldn't end up diabetic (even though my dad was Type 1 and it's genetic) or having open heart surgery (even though a diet drug caused my mom's condition). When I turned 22, it was decided. I would undergo a roux en y gastric bypass. Essentially, they would bypass my stomach and food would go immediately to my intestines for digestion. How did we pay for it? My mom used money from the $90k settlement she received from Fen-Phen, the drug later described as legal meth. We also got a house with stairs.

I don't have many regrets in life, but if I could undo one thing, it would be that surgery. I weighed 385 at my heaviest. I lost more than 200 lbs. in less than a year. I'd developed bulimia before having surgery, and guess what? Surgery wasn't a magical fix for all my problems. If anything, it made throwing up my food way easier. It gave me the ability to fake confidence though. Even though I'd hung out with Adam prior, I would have never made moves like I did had I not lost weight. Still, I was never skinny, and now there was loose skin to be ashamed of.

Adam came over to my parents house one day. We ended up staying up all night in my room talking. When we finally fell asleep, me under the covers and him on top of them, my dad came upstairs to find us there. He didn't wake us. When we left later that day, my mom called to ask what the hell I was doing. She said my dad cried. Keep in mind I was 23-years-old by this time; however, I'd never had a boyfriend. Adam went to his house that week and packed a bag. He was 20-years-old and jobless. At this time, Id gotten a part-time job at Blockbuster while still working full-time at Subway and going to school. I was planning to move into an apartment in a month and Adam was coming with me. One morning, very early, my dad came upstairs, woke him up, and asked him to come outside. Waiting on our porch was our new neighbor. My dad told Adam he was to be at the hospital the next morning at 5:30 AM for work on a construction project our neighbor was leading. My dad decided if Adam was going to date and move in with his daughter, he was going to work. Adam took my dad seriously. He worked until the project was over and then got a job at a factory. He's still at that same job today. Turns out some of these stories end well. He turned out to be a hard working man and has supported me the last two years while I built my career in the music industry.

We moved into an old funeral home. I'm not sure many renovations were done to turn it into apartments, but what did we expect? Our 18-year-old friend bought the building and all of his friends moved in and paid him rent. Sounds fun, right? It wasn't. Our bathroom constantly had mushrooms growing out of the floor. When it rained slugs would appear in there. That place was terrifying and gross, but it was ours. We literally survived on love and we were so happy (and always sick from the mold). Our linen closet in the bathroom had a dirt floor. The kitchen was so small, the refrigerator door opened and hit the counter. We got married April 28, 2007. Just a few months later, I was pregnant. We couldn't raise a baby in that place.

I'd gone back to WKU after taking time off to take care of my parents, but I was back in, planning prenatal visits around school and work. One professor told us the only days we could miss were exam days. We could take all 4 of them at the end of the semester if we wanted, but we never needed to miss class. I scheduled doctor's appointments on exam days. We moved to Auburn, into a 2 bedroom duplex. We had a perfect little family, and a clean place to live. Our baby was due on Father's Day in June, a few weeks after the semester was over. Everything was going great for us for the first time ever.

I'd gone to bed after studying for my 4 exams the next day when the contractions started. After some convincing, Adam took me to the hospital. “Your baby is coming now,” the nurses told us. I still can't get over how it was way before my due date and not once did I consider how dangerous that was. I was just happy my baby was coming. We were in the hospital 11 days. My blood pressure nearly killed me during labor, and our baby boy was 3 lbs. 15 oz. at his lowest in the hospital. Still, I was young and oblivious, but now that all sounds terrifying to me.

That professor failed me.

I retook his class the semester before graduation. I never once went to class and only showed on test days. I made a 99 in his class. Asshole.

I was second in my program upon graduation. Of course my program was no longer journalism. I graduated with my sites set on probation/parole. Why? Whyyyyy? I'm not sure what I was going through. I was a Pretrial Officer for 10 years. Everyday, for that long, I talked to people at their lowest point. By the end, I was so depressed, and if a man stared at my babies too long in the grocery store, I'd just leave. Seriously. The amount of sex crimes in my small town is unreal. I cannot stress enough how oblivious we are. I'm so thankful for it now. That may seem odd to say, but when you know, it's too scary to leave your house.

I already won't let my kids have sleepovers.Not that I would have if I didn't work there. My mom never let me either. She was raped at 5-years-old by her best friend's dad while sleeping over. That was the second time she was hurt. She'd already been grabbed by the neighbor while playing outside. So I already knew to distrust. Working in that environment was the worst thing I ever did to myself. All I ever wanted to do was to help people. I found out really fast, most people in the thick of addiction and anger, couldn't be helped. I'd just come home and be sick. I never could leave it at work.

Music was my savior. By this time I was seeing Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit regularly. One day I heard “The Night” by Morgan Wade. I reached out to her on Facebook and met her later in KY. I think I probably annoyed everyone I knew about this person. I begged, pleaded with people to listen because I knew that's all it would take. She let me book a few shows for her, and set up a session in KY. I introduced her to her now manager at that show/session in Somerset. Morgan said it wouldn't be a bad idea if I was her manager. I knew I wasn't capable then. I had a full time job, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.

During the pandemic, I worked from home. The hours were insane. All I did was work. One day I put I worked 12 hrs. I got in so much trouble for not getting approval for 12 hrs. So I changed it to 11.5. The next day my supervisor's supervisor asked me to cover court for him. I did and he sent me an email profusely thanking me. The next day he fired me for falsifying a timesheet by changing 12 hrs to 11.5

Sigh. Even though I filed for unemployment and won, this settled it for me. I was never meant to be there. All my supervisors got fired and they offered me my job back.

But something happened that changed me. I was adminning Stopping By, and this boy posted a cover for approval. We didn't allow those but he looked young. My heart just could decline it. I was so scared they were going to roast this kid in the group. I went to youtube to listen, something I never did. “Fraterville, TN” was the title of the youtube video. I thought he was playing in TN. No. It was the title of a song that changed my whole life. I'd never heard anything like it. I can't even describe the way my heart jumped when I heard the lyrics. His voice startled me. It could not be the voice of the child I was seeing. The story in the song ruined me. I just sat there crying. I messaged him,

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Is it OK if I message your mom?”

His mom responded and now I'm his manager. My life doesn't feel real.

There's so much more to this part, and maybe I'll tell it one day, but just know I earned the family's trust and I'm so grateful they made me earn it. I finally found a family as protective as me. Other than my kids, there is no one I'm more protective of than Jake Kohn.

He's always been otherworldly. He doesn't make sense. He's a glitch in the Matrix, as they say. He means what he writes. How can he? I don't know. I've never known. But, I know when people are not being real. I have 10 years experience in that. Jake is as real as it gets.

I don't want this to change me, and I don't want it to change him. We're in this together. We watch these numbers climb together. We make it through these tours together. I'm so grateful to have this work with people who absolutely care more about people than money. It's rare.

All I want now is to do right by this extremely talented singer/songwriter. My kids adore him. My life revolves around his schedule and it still feels like a dream. I wish I could tell my dad about everything. He'd be so proud. My mom was.

I just wish they were here.

I got a lot of these messages. The internet is a cruel place, but there's one little corner of it that can turn your day around.

In 2017, I first heard Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit. I'd read in Rolling Stone that an alternative country singer put out a song called “White Man's World.” I couldn't roll my eyes hard enough. Country music was dreadfully boring to me. I lived my life in the pit, screaming, getting pushed and shoved and doing it back with all the rage of a 15-year-old girl. The rage started then, and it never went away. Country music was not for me. I even had a year post-divorce where I didn't want to feel anything at all so I listened to the local hip hop radio station. It played the same 10 songs

on repeat. I still know them by heart. Well, at least this Jason Isbell guy is telling the truth. It *is* a white man's world. Maybe don't be so proud of it, I thought. Straight to YouTube I'd go. It was there a song called “If Were Vampires” was first on Isbell's recommended. Oh, great. A country song about vampires. This should be painfully bad.

It was painful alright.

Adam and I married in 2007 and had our first child in 2008. He was my first boyfriend. We never really dated. We just hung out one day and he never left. We divorced in 2013. It was painful and mutual. We didn't do the things you hear about couples doing. We'd had one child. We'd adopted my 17-year-old niece. It was messy, but the mess was strictly between us. We found out quickly how people really felt about us. He told me that when he was packing a bag to move in with me his mom sat on the end of his bed and cried, not because be was moving, but because he was moving in with me. He told me to prepare me that it was going to be an easy split for her. She could finally show it. People chose sides even when we didn't. Adam lived with his dad for 3 months and then moved back in with me to coparent. To be honest, I missed my best friend. He got sober the day we split, and had 10 years under his belt now. We quietly gave it another chance a few times.

When my dad passed in 2015 Adam was right there by my side the whole time. I wasn't ok. I found out I was pregnant right after he passed, and less than a year after we had our second child, I was pregnant again. After having our third child in May 2017, I was angrier than ever I couldn't make us work as a couple. We were even falling apart as friends. No matter what I did or how much I changed myself, I could never make him love me how I thought I should be loved. That doesn't mean he didn't try, and it doesn't mean it was his fault. I'm very self-aware. What I want verses reality are two very different things. I'm not sure the relationship I want exists, and I'm not sure I can be in one otherwise. I'm the problem.

And that is the time I listened to “If We Were Vampires.” It wrecked me. I mean really wrecked me. I spent the day throwing up, crying, and just…feeling. Feeling like shit, but feeling.

I looked up Jason Isbell on Ticketmaster to find he was playing 5 nights at the Ryman, all sold out. How had I never heard of a person who could sell out 5 nights at the Ryman? I looked him up on Facebook and he wasn't on there. I did find a group called Jason Isbell Superfans, though. It was the first Facebook group I ever joined.

I found the group of people at my lowest point. A few days into being a member someone posted Jason Isbell added a 6th show, a Monday at the beginning of the residency. I managed to snag 2 tickets. I'd posted a few times in the group, the usual newbie posts like, “Where should I start?” I was bombarded with Southeastern recommendations, with an emphasis on the crowd favorite, “Cover Me Up.” I'd noticed there was an auction going on in the group. I never even figured out what it was for, but I offered to do a woodburning for auction. I was just learning and it was really bad, but everyone was nice and accepted it as a donation.

A few people from the group were meeting at Robert's before the show. I could already tell the guy who was supposed to go with me didn't want to go early to meet these people. So I did what any sane, rational person would do. I left without him and gave his ticket away in the group for free.

When I arrived at the meetup, I brought the woodburning with me. The person I was supposed to give it to asked me to hang onto it until after the show, because they had to go get in line for a Hatch Print. I had no idea what that meant, but I took this giant tree round in the Ryman with me so they could run (literally) upstairs. I awkwardly introduced myself to everyone. I was so bad at making friends, but everyone was so nice. They made me feel like I belonged.

That first show was incredible. I knew about 4 songs, but I was in awe of this band. I'd been to so many concerts in my life. This was the second time I'd cried at one, the first being Fleetwood Mac because my dad was supposed to go with me but he didn't make it. I cried at this one because I knew my life was changing again, because I had failed again at the only relationship I ever cared about, because I felt guilty for leaving my 3 kids to go to a concert when I was struggling so much financially, and mostly because I wasn't happy with who I was anymore. The music made me feel more emotion than I'd felt since my dad passed away.

When the show was over I walked all over the place looking for that guy. I checked my phone and saw a message, “Had to leave. Can you bring it back tomorrow?” I live a little over an hour north of Nashville, but I guess the concert high made me reply, “Yes.” So I left and started to walk back to my car. I walked through what I lovingly call the “garbage alley,” and saw some people from the meetup before. A man everyone seemed to know was coming down the stairs. Derry walked right up to me and asked what I was holding. I told him about it and he took it and said he'd be right back. A few minutes later he returned with my woodburning, signed by the whole band.

The next day I shuffled to work out a last minute sitter and bolted out of my office to get to Nashville in time for the meetup. When I handed over the woodburning, everyone overreacted. They didn't want to take it. They said I should keep it because it was worth too much now. I don't like any of my art so I explained to them I didn't want it and I drove all the way just to give it to them. They finally took it, and in return, they gave me a ticket to the show. Two nights in a row seemed crazy to me, but I stayed and even though I was there alone again, I had the time of my life. Before I left someone stopped me. They said they'd posted the woodburning in the group and someone paid $450 for it. I still can't get over that. Then, they said something even crazier. “Come back tomorrow. The group has a surprise for you.”

I went back the next night only to have the ushers walk me to the foldout chairs in the front. I sat with a group member I'd met earlier in the show. About halfway through Jason brought out a special guest. I leaned over to Martin, as the crowd went wild.

“Who is that?”

“Ashley. That's John Prine.”

I had no idea what was going in or who any of these people were. All I know is I was living in a dream, and I felt happy again.

By the 4th night so many people were trying to make sure I had a ticket that I ended up with 5. I was handing them out to everyone by night 6.

I never wanted that feeling to end, the one whereI helped the group raise money and the one where I gave people tickets. That's how it all started.

My last show at the Ryman was #93, and it was just as special as #1 because of the amazing people in Stopping By. People credit me too much when it comes to the group.

You all helped me as much as I helped you, and I will always be grateful for all 16,000 of my best friends.

Lately, my life has been a whirlwind of emotion. I'll forever credit this time as the worst and best time of my life. I've gained a lot of perspective. I have three little people watching and relying on me at all times. I've never felt that more than now, when I look for my parents and they aren't there. I've also been learning to trust again. I'm dedicating my life to managing, and I'm so glad I put my trust in the right people. It's not easy for me or them.

I lost my dad in 2015. Adam and I took the kids to Panama City Beach for Christmas that year. I received a call on Christmas Eve that my dad had suffered a heart attack and was in the hospital. By the time I got to him he was hallucinating, acknowledging me, but also talking to people who weren't there. He snapped out of that one day, the same day he told me I was going to have a baby. He argued with me, and I cried all the way home, because I looked pregnant to my dad. He had finally came back around and that one day of time we had together he basically called me fat, something he had never done before. He was everything to me. He instilled my love of music. He was the reason I wanted to work in the industry very early on. I had a scholarship to WKU for journalism, because I was determined I was going to work for Rolling Stone. He passed on January 8th. I found out I was 9 weeks pregnant January 31st.

I was lost for the next two years. I searched the airwaves for a friend, but like a bad drug, music only kept me numb.

In the Fall of 2017, my life was falling apart. Since losing my dad, I'd only learned to push people further away. “If We Were Vampires” was my introduction to Jason Isbell, Americana, and feeling something. We'll talk more about that another day, but pushing people away became a thing of the past. Through social media, the thing everyone so boldly proclaims is fake, I started collecting real friendships.

In 2022, my brother shot himself. Looking back hurts more than ever, because I know how my mom must have felt with his sudden passing. I laid beside her in bed and held her while she screamed. I can still feel her scream. It rattled every bone in my body. I'd never heard anything like it. Last week I heard that scream again in the same room. It rattled every bone in my body the same way, only it was coming from me.

My first official managing gig is going well. I've helped a few artists you may have heard of in the past, but my life now revolves around Jake Kohn. The gratitude I feel just being a part of this is unreal. I, happily, devote my days to this work. I can say without a doubt he is saving me.

My mom had an emergency aortic valve replacement in October, the same day Jake made his Opry debut and signed with Atlantic records. Every day of Americanafest, I drove to Nashville to work and to see my mom in the hospital. She was in a coma for 10 days. I played Jake's Opry debut for her. I told her we signed a record deal. I cried on her chest full of wires and tubes and begged her to wake up. One day, she did. The doctors told us it would be a long road to recovery. One day they were telling us about rehabilitation plans and the next day they asked us if we wanted to make her comfortable as she passed. It was that fast. I can't believe my mom is gone.

Today, we announced the release date for “Frostbite.” Mom loved that song. Work keeps me going. I don't have any surviving family. It's just me, Adam and my children. I'm living a dream. I'm learning to be more grateful for all of you. I was before, but now when I have news, when I have joy in my life, when I need someone, you are my phone call. You are my person. I've needed you lately, and you've been there. Thank you.

Tonight, I'm in Sheffield, Alabama. I'm currently standing in the kitchen talking to two of the greatest musicians I've ever known. One was already my client. One is my new client as of today. Normally, I'd call my mom and tell her about my day. Maybe I'll tell you tomorrow.