Don’t come for me - I’m still drafting this.

My name is Lisa Brie Spagnoli. I was born Lisa Brie Weltmann. On paper - I’m a straight, single, white middle-aged woman. I have a job, I drive an SUV, I wear the overpriced leggings, I carry a designer bag. Don’t judge a book by it’s cover. Apperances can be decieving. This funky bag was my yia yia’s. These leggings - when I put them on I feel like a superwoman - I’ve worn them more than anything I’ve owned, and the confidence these shiny pants give me is like a cape for a superhero. This car - I nearly had to sleep in it when I lost it all. I’m rebuilding my life from the ground up - and not ashamed to be on the journey.

Build in private. Succed in public. Well - being quiet and acting like everything was ok, and hoping for a change is part of what got me here.

I am the last of a Holocaust-surviving bloodline. Contrary to the glossy images that zip codes conjure up, I grew up in a polarizing capacity compared to my peers. For over 40 years, I lived in a version of Stockholm. Not the country, but the psychological cage that keeps a prisoner locked in. Unbeknownst to me, teachers, doctors, and friends, I was raised in an abusive home, hurt atrociously by disturbed people, entrusted to protect.

Despite being in Stockholm, I went to school, had friends, and was around family members. In high school, I had Mormon friends who took me to church with them. Listening to biblical stories and being around loving families opened my eyes and heart. I loved being at church. I was determined to become Catholic.

I went to community college for a year, worked, and saved. My persistence paid off, and I was allowed to attend a Catholic college. I transferred to Marian University in Fond du Lac, WI. I wanted to be a cop, but ended up majoring in business. I doubted my capabilities - I couldn’t protect myself, how could I protect others? I stacked my schedule to ensure I graduated in 3 years, while working on and off campus. When I graduated, I was riddled with a panic I couldn’t vocalize. I went to the doctor for a check-up, and gave him a list of symptoms. When asked if I was depressed, I said no. What I couldn’t articulate was that the only life I knew was abusive.

Doctors prescribed me medications, which dulled my senses. It made home tolerable. I had my creature comforts. That was enough. I lived with a sacrificial mindset. To be needed felt like I was here for a reason. It took years to realize the script was wrong.

For years, I prayed - for love, to meet my “Boaz,” for peace, and to be without pain. Instead of having my own family, the kids I worked with filled a maternal void. In the church, I learned life lessons from the kids and their families. I buried myself in the comfort of a program and the holiness of a protective space.

I started writing because I needed a compass to find my way through a storm. Maybe someone reading would find solace, while I found a way, and these words could save another. I realized the handbook I searched for was the one I’d have to write. I’m wise enough to say I don’t know it all. I have the awareness to say, while uncomfortable, some stories, when told, are for the greater good.

I’ve been shattered. I’ve been betrayed. What I lost in the unraveling, I’ve gained in the repair. On the other side, the battle scars tell a story. Being diagnosed with complex PTSD changed my life. What matters in every-day changed. My tribe changed. What fueled my heart changed.

When I’m not talking about medicaI jargon - I enjoy writing, working out (up top for the Stairmaster), and talking about what’s next. I also enjoy the simplicity of a sunrise and the stillness of a sunset. I am content with a starry night. I am mesmerized by the glow of the moon. Give me a golf course or a quiet beach at night—that’s where the magic is.

I like music, argyle socks. tartan plaid, a home-cooked meal, chocolate chip cookies, a man in uniform, a slow morning sipping coffee, an infrared sauna session to retreat to, a steam at the end of the day, a crackling fire at night, leather, suede, animal print, a nip of scotch in a thick glass, fondue, steak - and chocolate. I believe in quality over quantity. I’m also a fan of Family Fued.

I like to help, even when I can’t. I’m a sucker for heavy philosophical conversations about life. Most people are racing. I appreciate a mindful pause and the sanctity of each day. I can’t quite shake the feeling that I’m on borrowed time. Each day is a precious gift.

I love people with the aura—it’s a rare gift. The people who have it have known great pain have come out on the other side deepened. You can find me at the deep end of life.

What do I believe? I still believe in love. I still believe I matter. I still believe what’s meant for me will find me. I still believe I have work here to do. I still believe in justice. I still believe the best days of life are yet to come.