Meghan C Rusco

Before there were wellness treatments or copper wire creations, there was a little girl with a briefcase and a dream. She called her column "As Our Stomach’s Turn," typed up stories between homework and hide-and-seek, and ran her newsroom from a bedroom outfitted like the Daily Planet.

I used to spy on my family, not for mischief, but for the quiet thrill of uncovering the truth and printing it in bold letters. I submitted poetry to Highlights for Children, imagining I'd someday be a journalist who mattered. Maybe I still am, just in a different form—a mother, a healer, a storyteller grounded in lived experience.

What you’ll find in these pages isn’t a tale of perfection. It’s a map of messiness and meaning, a testament to surviving and showing up. I’ve been the quiet girl and the barricade in the doorway. I’ve doubted myself and discovered pieces of strength I didn’t know I had. I’m still finding them.

This is me owning my voice—not with fanfare, but with the same curiosity and courage that started everything in that childhood newsroom.