Sheela Wolford, Writer

04/14/2026

Sixteen lonely years without you, Mother. Anyone who knows us would know how strange that sounds - as much as we collided the other- yet, you and I know the truth - we are the same - same cravings, crushing desires, panting dreams and a longing to reach high upon the hill,
yet you never told me, Mother, not
until it was determined you were booked on the next celestial plane and as you reached for a drink, I felt my wings grow because you saw me as you and you simply were afraid to do what you saw me do, sloppily and with great heart, your fear kept us apart, kept you from me and the reason you stayed silent even though it was what your heart craved most,
and as I said goodbye to you, I want you to know today, April 13, 2026, a few hours before you’d stop at 5:50 pm MST 16 years ago, I’ve kept them all, my Mother, my sweetheart, my friend, and every wish and every tear and every fallen tree that broke the roof of your refuge, I want you to know (well you already know) I have the materials now and am ready to rebuild your house in honor of you and with you beside me in my every move, in every vision, every song, every stumble off the curb I’ll reach for you and you are here and together, Nancy Lee, we will continue to fly in majesty

“What is Needed”, 4/13/26, sdw

04/11/2026

When life spins out of control…remember, the body wants to heal.

Half alive and suddenly living across the pond

04/06/2026

“If you have a deep scar, that is a door, if you have an old, old story, that is a door. If you love the sky and the water so much that you almost cannot bear it, that is a door. If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.”

— Clarissa Pinkola Estés

04/05/2026

Highly recommend “hillbilly” on Netflix. Eye opening and a good reason to remember we must not stereotype.

04/03/2026

Well, here I go, I think of this as a column (which I always wanted to have), so I present to you my column on Substack. Please share with anyone going through liver disease. I hope my story helps others.

Managing two, count 'em, two incurable diseases: Cirrhosis Non-Alcoholic Fatty Liver Disease and a recurrence of Metastatic Breast Cancer cells.

03/29/2026

03/28/2026

The men who left me, I think of them when the songs on Spotify are just right, churned into the emotion of loss and what once was or could have been, oh you men, you gutted me in want and the hair pulling truth was that you just couldn’t do it, couldn’t go there, couldn’t take me and so you showed me to the door and

still mourning you exhaust me until “True Love Ways” comes on and suddenly I see myself on the dance floor with my husband and way beyond the blush and crush of relationship, I take his hand

as I saw the women do with their men at our wedding

and I know this knowing, this urge that his hand be the one I’ll grasp to dance with while the men who left me watch as I weep and smile and ache on by

“Crush”, 3/28/26, sdw

03/20/2026

My message inbox is clotted suddenly- overnight- with pleas for donations - all political- all dire and I understand

Money, money, money, money has become the life force of our lives as children go hungry, seniors clutch their last coins, copays rise, homeownership a myth, less is available as more is required - and while I understand, I do, this is a brutal time- I want to say

Remember the poor, the sick, the hungry, the homeless

Pump up the community and watch the troubles of the White House lessen - give what you can- noble causes they are!

Stay here, though, stay here and please, dear hearts, take care and tend as best you can - the needs are many - a breath of relief so steady, so true- harvest time asks for your talents.

03/08/2026

Currently, I’m journaling alongside Suleika Jaouad’s thoughtful and powerful, The Book of Alchemy, where she has placed 100 small essay prompts for journaling. It’s called the 100-Day project.

She keeps my world warmer as I manage my two diseases and she, who has been in a bout with leukemia now into her second decade reminds me to stay focused on the magic of the present.

She heals me every morning.

In her latest Substack piece, she writes of making lists and how everything really means something and is of value when blended or seen as one (my interpretation, not hers). One thing she mentioned was making a list of things not to forget and one is skinny dipping with her two best college friends. I thought about this and wondered how people could skinny dip? I’m way too self conscious and shy for that.

But then I imagined who would I feel comfortable with? And maybe that’s key. You must feel comfortable. This past winter, a few days before I had to fly home from my daughter’s home in England, I watched her step into the shower as I had been instructed to hold her little one, barely at two months, and hand him to her when she was ready. It was the first time I’d seen my daughter naked since she was a child. I was blinded by love- my love for her and her love for her little son. She did not flinch in letting me stare at her beautiful woman body who had produced two precious babies.

If I could choose two best college friends to skinny dip with and feel comfortable, I’d choose Sue and Carol- two women who truly were a friend to me. I could splash
and float with them because they allowed me to be me- they’d have it no other way. I stood in both of their weddings.

Yes, I could skinny dip with them.

Who would you feel comfortable enough to skinny dip with?

& Beth Kephart on the literary list and the art of transcendence

03/06/2026

It’s a certain trill from the birds here in the southwest that signify spring is coming. I remember in Brooklyn when the last sludge of muddy snow finally evaporated, the park across from us would come alive with so many children and adults chattering away I mistook them for the birds!

Lately every winter in the last few years I’ve thought, “What’s the big deal with spring coming around again? Maybe the thrill is gone? And then I hear the birds early in the morning, busily moving and calling to each other in the yucca by the side of the house. Their song swirls me back to the days when mom sewed our sleeveless shifts that cut under my arms and screamed of spring. The birds sing the song of those days. The songs that inevitably and in time remind me to come alive for it is spring and the earth is awake. Slumber is only for the slush and the snow.

“The Trill of Spring” sdw, 3/5/26