I smiled, and she kept going. “I prayed to God—me and my husband—”
“We had to pray a lot,” he said.
“That we would see you so I could apologize,” she said.
“It’s really not a big deal.”
“Jessica Simpson,” she said, solemnly. “Can I have a picture with you?”
“Only if you smile,” I said.
She handed her husband the phone, and we took a picture. I hugged her goodbye and held up the Yoda flip-flops. “May the force be with you,” I said.
That night, I was in such a good mood that at ten o’clock I wasn’t having any of the nerves that nighttime usually brought me. Our children were all in bed asleep, worn out by the day. Ashlee and I were kids again, snuggled on a couch.
“Jessica, I don’t want to make fun of you or anything,” she said slowly. “But you still have your ears on.”
I reached up to feel the Minnie ears and smiled as I took them off. “I love you, Ash,” I said, snuggling closer to her. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”
“Me, too,” she said.
I thought back on how all those years ago, we were each other’s protectors in the night. Me saving her from abuse, and after, her keeping the demons of the dark away for me. I am so grateful for the bond we have.
I STOOD BACKSTAGE AT THE PACIFIC AMPHITHEATRE, SMOOTHING MY dress and shuffling in my cowboy boots. It was August 9, and Willie Nelson had invited me to perform with him at his OC Fest show. I’d talked to him about what I’d been through, and I was so glad that my first time onstage in so many years would be with him.
Maxwell and Ace, six and five, had never even see me perform, and they were with Eric in the audience. I was so excited for them to see me. “Oh, that’s what Mommy does,” I imagined them realizing. They played my Christmas albums all summer, but this would be different. Willie and I were going to sing “You Fool,” a song I wrote with producer John Shanks after pouring my heart out to him about what my friendship with Willie has meant to me. It has a line I came up with in Maxwell’s room, putting her to bed. She had stars on her ceiling, and I always told her I’d lasso them down for her.
Backstage, I listened as Willie sang his songs for the sold-out crowd. I cried a little through “Always on My Mind” and dried my tears during the fun instrumental “Twelfth Street Rag.”
“We got a real special treat coming up for y’all,” he said. “Our good buddy Jessica Simpson and I are gonna sing a song together, and we’d like to get her out here today.”
I walked onstage, shy at first, but all the cheers and Willie’s smiling face made me realize I was home. As I started to sing our duet, “You Fool,” the cheers and whoops got louder, and I spotted Eric and the kids in the front. “I’ll be that one true friend,” Willie sang to me. “You know you’re stuck with me.”
I was so grateful to be in that moment. As the song ended, I said, “Thank you, Willie.”
“I love you, Jess.”
I floated offstage. He closed the concert with a fast medley of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” and “I’ll Fly Away,” two songs that remain near and dear to my heart. They used to make me sad in uncertain times in my life, but now they made me happy, because I’d found my forever in my husband and children.
After the concert, Ace looked at me like he had no idea I was a superhero, and I picked him up to hug him. “I love you so much,” I said, and his eyes shined. Maxwell peppered me with questions. “That’s the man I listened to when I was a baby?” she asked.
“Yeah, honey.”
“And you said you’d lasso the stars, just like you told me.”
“Always,” I said, hugging her. “Always.”
Eric hugged me, placing his hand on my stomach. I put my hand over his and smiled at him. We had a secret, one that had come as a happy surprise to us. When we found out, what we’d been through made sense. We needed to clear the way for a new life.
We were about to be a family of five.
28
Birdie Mae
March 2019
I was so ready to have this baby girl.
I had spent the last several therapy sessions talking about how I needed her out of me. I honestly couldn’t think of anything else. She was laying on her side in me, and she was so big that they scheduled a C-section for March 19 when my actual due date was April 15. But first there had been the shock that at age thirty-eight they considered this a “geriatric pregnancy,” which is the oldest you will ever feel.
I was like, “What?”
“Really it’s just a box to check,” said a nurse. “It just means you’re high-risk.”
I chuckled. “You are full of good news,” I said. “What else you got? Thoughts on my hair?” We laughed, and she told me not to worry. But this was kind of the pregnancy from hell. When I wasn’t being hospitalized for bronchitis—I had it four times—I was breaking a toilet seat leaning back. At least I was really open about it. In January the Ten-Year Challenge was a big thing on Instagram, where you posted a 2009 photo next to a current one. I posted my old skinny legs next to my incredibly swollen ankle. It was so sweet, because I heard from many, many women who’ve been through the same thing.
The pregnancy was a crazy painful journey. And you were with me the whole way. I spent a lot of nights in our study working on this book, with just you and my little girl there to keep me company. So, you are cordially invited to her arrival.
The nurses and doctors at Cedars-Sinai told me they’d never seen a bigger group of people in the birthing suite. In about thirty minutes, they’d wheel me in for the C-section, and there were about twenty people packed into the room, friends and honorary family carrying on like it was a party. My friends were leaning back on my bed to take selfies with me, and my kids were peppering me with last-minute questions.
“Mom, how long’s it gonna take?” Ace asked.
“About an hour? Maybe?”
“Is it through your belly button?” Maxwell asked.
I pointed lower. “No, right about here, honey.”
“So, it’s not down where you pee?”
“No, but some mommies do that. It’s all good.”
Someone suggested people write down their guesses on the weight of the baby, like it was a jar of jellybeans.
“I’m thinking eight pounds,” said CaCee.
Everyone took one look at my belly and laughed.
“No way,” said my mom.
“Yeah, much bigger,” said my dad.
I smiled at them, smoothing my hand over my belly. I looked around the room. Eric’s parents, Ashlee, my second mom Carol, all my girlfriends. My parents were each here with their significant others, and it was okay. All the stuff that would normally bother me, just didn’t. This was my new normal. And maybe that was okay after all.
It was only awkward for the nurses. One of the veteran ones said she needed to take me to the bathroom, and as we moved, she whispered, “Can I get these people out of here?”
It hadn’t even occurred to me. “Oh yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
“Okay,” she yelled. “Can we clear the room? Give Jessica a second before she gets sliced open and has her baby.”
“You’d be a good bouncer,” I said.
They took me into the operating room. Eric had to wait about twenty minutes before coming in because they do the spinal tap and epidural when you’re by yourself. It was just me and my baby—and the doctors that came in scrubbed up in blue with their hands in the air. It looked like they’d raised their hands in prayer.
“Do you have a birth plan?” one asked.
“Uh, I’m here,” I said. “Have you guys done this before?”
“Are you going to eat your placenta?”
I laughed. “Nope,” I said. “No. You can throw it out.”
There was so much going on, and I was numb from the chest down. I could kind of lift my arms, but I was thinking, Don’t fall off.
“What kind of music do you want?
”
My mind went blank. “Whatever y’all want to listen to that makes this go by, that’s great,” I said. “Just get her out.” So, they put on the Grey’s Anatomy soundtrack and cued up “How to Save a Life.” Oof.
“Okay, we’re ready,” a doctor said.
“But Eric is not,” I said. “Don’t forget my husband!”
“Oh, he’s just getting scrubbed up,” a nurse said.
Just then, he came in. “Babe, I’m here.”
“They asked me about music, and I forgot to say Zeppelin!”
He held my hand, and I started crying. I just wanted her to be okay after everything we’d been through. After the incision, I felt a hard tug, and she was out.
Why isn’t she crying?
It was not even a full second. But that second was the longest moment of my life. She started to yell, and I don’t think I’ve ever cried more cleansing tears.
Birdie Mae Johnson was named for my father’s grandmother Bertie, and in tribute to songs that have carried me through my life: “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” and Dolly Parton’s “Little Sparrow.” I don’t know what it means for her life, but I know she gave me the strength to go back out onstage and write this book. Birdie entered this lucky world weighing ten pounds, thirteen ounces. No one guessed her weight high enough, but Eric’s dad came the closest, so he won. Maxwell was not happy that Birdie was bigger by a pound than when she was born. But she was so excited to see that they had the same stork bite birthmark in the same place, right between their eyes. Immediately, it was like, “This is my sister, and this is our thing.” Ace has smaller ones, and not in the same place as theirs, but he can brag that he has five of them. You only see them when the kids get upset. I always called them “angel kisses” because a stork bite sounds pretty aggressive in my opinion.
We took Birdie home, our family of five all together at last. Birdie was welcomed by so many people, but one of the best presents was a package of photos I received from Casa Hogar Elim, Mama Lupita’s orphanage. They sent us a letter welcoming Birdie, along with tons of pictures of the kids having fun and learning at school. They have the same spark of joy that my children have and seeing that was one of the best gifts Birdie and I received.
I’M WRITING TO YOU IN THE THICK OF SUMMER NOW. WE SPENT THE DAY OUT back with the kids, and it was Birdie’s first time in the pool. She loved the water, and the kids were excited to be able to take turns carrying their little sister. I watched her in the water wondering if she would take to it like her brother and sister. She did, her dimpled smile growing as she splashed her hands in what must have seemed like a giant bathtub.
I have fallen more in love with my family watching them love our Birdie. She came at just the right time for us. Sweet Ace is so quiet with her, always wanting to hold her. He is so intuitive, knows so much about people without even spending a lot of time with them. He will know his sisters so well, and always look after their hearts.
Maxwell is not the junior diaper changer I thought she would be, but she loves her little sister so much. The other day I caught her singing to Birdie about Peter Rabbit. The baby had just woken from a nap. I stood in the doorway, listening with my heart about ready to burst.
I laugh because they all need me, and poor Eric, we all need him. I’m so happy not to be pregnant anymore that I still just lay on his chest and breathe these big sighs of relief. When I am with him, wherever we are I feel at home. When I hold his hand, I feel like I can just step forward into the future with grace and strength. Music is part of that journey again. Teresa, who helped protect me as an artist all those years ago, is back in my life. I am so proud of the work we are doing together.
Finding peace with total quiet is possible, but I do still struggle with insomnia. All my fears and doubts do come once everyone is asleep and there is nobody to distract me. When thoughts come, I’ve learned that they’re okay. I can’t say I’ve made friends with them, but lying in bed I can at least shake hands with them now. Like, “Okay, I see you. I’m aware of you, and now you be aware of me. Good night.”
I have been letting those closest to me read passages from this book. I was most scared to show my father. Just as I was scared to play him music on that Halloween that changed my life. He wrote me yesterday. “I wish I could have held you more in so many of those dark hours,” he said. “Please forgive me for being a better manager than a father.”
I told him he was the best father I could ever have had. “I wouldn’t change any moment.” It’s true. I wouldn’t change a single thing about my story, because I finally love who I am, and I can forgive who I was.
I knew that I would be ending this book tonight, and for a long time I feared this very moment. There’s a permanence to getting your thoughts down that can feel like a last testament. The reason I started journaling at fifteen years old was because we lost my cousin Sarah and she left behind her diaries. I worried that writing a book represented the end of something. Now, I see my life is just beginning. I have a better footing now for retracing the steps that got me here.
I have thought of you so much as I wrote this book, wanting to give you things to carry on your own journey. Every night I go to bed next to that angel figurine given to me in Iraq. It comforts me, but also calls me to be more. I wanted this book to be something like that for you, and now that it’s ending, these parting words seem so important.
So, I got out all my journals tonight and piled them on the table next to me for inspiration. I pulled one out at random to see what message I was supposed to leave you with. I opened the page to this: “Sometimes we are all so afraid to be honest with ourselves because we know that honesty will lead to somewhere.” I wrote this ten years ago. “Can fear walk us to something better?”
I can say now that the answer is yes. I knew that then, too, but I still had to phrase it as a question because I wasn’t ready. I had to walk through my fear to be here writing to you about the painful moments of my life. “Pain is where all the tools are,” I said to my therapist the other day. If you’re someone who has a lot of tools, I’m sorry, but I am also hopeful for you. You have so much to work with. I think it’s important, whatever your situation, to turn inward. So often we turn away from ourselves, and just numb our feelings to get through the day. You can do that with anything, not just with alcohol. It’s so easy to overwhelm yourself with too much to do in a day, where you never have enough time for yourself. We need to own our weakness, our hurt, our pain, and say it out loud so that we can name what is coming up and why. You deserve it. You deserve to feel the heartbreak and the pain so that once and for all you stop holding yourself back from feeling whatever it is you’ve tried to mask.
No, it’s not easy but you are worth the work. And if you do not have a stable presence in your life, take the time you need to become that stable presence for yourself. To find that stillness within you, no matter what storm you are in.
Leaving you now, I feel the way I do seeing my children off to school. I start to sputter all these things to them at the door. Do you have your water bottle? Here, let me straighten your collar. Remember to be kind. Listen to your teachers. Sit with someone lonely. Make good choices.
And, most important, I love you.
Acknowledgments
Like my life, this book—one of pain, loss, forgiveness, perseverance, hope, light, fear, laughter, beauty, and abundant joy—has been inspired and led by my cousin Sarah. At seventeen, her wise soul took flight to change the world as she sat next to her true companion, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I was fifteen when she introduced me to myself, inspiring me to find my purpose, my calling, by picking up a pen to communicate to God and to her. They held me accountable, so that I could be who I am today: Me. All of me. When I was upset or ashamed, I didn’t walk away from God, I walked toward him. Faith was never a choice, it was the essence of my life because of her. Sarah led my way, and now I hope to lead with her, providing hope to those that need to find a friend in themselves.
/> I am grateful to HarperCollins Publishers and Dey Street Books for valuing my sense of purpose in creating this book. Thank you to Liate Stehlik, Ben Steinberg, Kendra Newton, Anwesha Basu, Kelly Rudolph, Andrea Molitor, Renata De Oliveira, Caitlin Garing, Suzanne Mitchell, Mumtaz Mustafa, Andy LeCount, and Tatiana Dubin. To my editor, Carrie Thornton, thank you for understanding how important this book is to me, and allowing me to make sure every word, detail—and bird—was just right.
Lauren Auslander, you are my champion and the gatekeeper to my heart. I could never have done this book without you believing in my intuition. In times when most people would think I was out of my mind, you always know how to listen to my heart. Your passion and loyalty have given me the confidence to take on the world with strength and gratitude. Thank you for pulling me out of the dark and helping me rediscover the power of the light. I love you. You are the creator of LUNA, and I would also like to share my thanks with your amazing staff. Kylee Kilgore, Kevin Smith, and Erin Cullen, the endless ways that y’all as a team make talent shine is a treasure.
To Lacy Lynch, my literary agent. You poured your heart into this book from the moment it was just an idea, and your faith in me as an author has meant the world to me. You believed in a fellow Texas girl, and I am indebted to you for being such a good advocate for me. Thanks also to the entire Dupree Miller team, especially Jan Miller and Dabney Rice.
Kevin Carr O’Leary, you are the Shakespeare to my thoughts. Thank you for teaching me that the hidden places of my heart are the most powerful to find and share. God sent you my way, and together we have become part of a real and true purpose.
To the tribe of ladies that make the Jessica Simpson Collection a true labor of love, thank you. Not just from me, but all the confident women around the world that y’all have helped to feel beautiful. We are a family business, one who lives and breathes the value of a woman’s worth. Tina (Mom), Beth, Norma, Juliann, Lolo, Dre, Peggy, and Koko . . . Going on fifteen years and we’ve only just begun!
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