The Handmade Tale

I moved to Chesaning, Michigan in 2015 for a relationship that didn’t work out. It happens. After the breakup, I decided to stay in the area. I had just met some new friends, and so did my daughters. I decided to go back to massage school fifteen years after dropping out. I rented an old double wide trailer in the middle of nowhere. I got over the guy and I started this blog.

I moved to Chesaning as a divorced mother of two. I was a massage school dropout. I wasted my days away in a cubicle as a medical biller. I was a closeted astrology nerd with a passion for the stars, but too concerned with other people’s opinions to be myself. I thought my life was pretty much figured out, and I had nothing to be proud of. Except my girls. I’ve always been proud of them.

By the time I left Chesaning, I had quit my boring job of 14 years at the hospital. I became a licensed massage therapist, built up my own business, and have been paid to read astrology charts for people all over the world. I organized a music festival with some friends… or so I thought. I became the love that I needed and have completely rearranged my life because of it. My life became a very fulfilling experience and I am proud of it.

It’s been a hell of a journey. At one point, I had lost everything. But I’m still here, standing on top of mountains of wisdom and gratitude. I’ve learned a lot in the past few years. I learned the importance of having a voice and sharing my story. I learned that music festivals are not that easy to organize. I learned that there is some incredible music in Michigan. I learned that people with dreadlocks aren’t always kindhearted. I learned that my intuition is always spot on. And most importantly, I learned to stand up for myself… even if I have to take a year of solitude before I can share my story. The following is my truth and I am truly grateful for every moment of it and every character in it… I’m thankful for my hero of a dad who swooped in at the last minute and saved me. I’m thankful for the villainous women who thoughtlessly pushed me aside and tore me apart after all the kind things I’ve done for them. And I am thankful for my friend, Julie. She is the truest person I’ve ever met, and an absolute angel. These people all played very important roles in the evolution of me.

On November 5th, 2017, I participated in a fundraising event that was held for Shelly Rupple-English. She was my friend, my mentor, and my boss. My friend Cheri, a breast cancer survivor, came up with the benefit idea and organized the whole thing. She did a fantastic job.

We were told that Shelly had been diagnosed with stage 4 appendix cancer and that it was considered terminal. I was in charge of decorations. I special ordered the little wooden hearts with “love” printed on them. I picked up the amber colored ribbon to represent Appendix Cancer Awareness. I collected pine cones and gourds to spread out on the tables. I made candlelit centerpieces and a handmade banner to welcome Shelly with love. I also created a reiki healing booth with my friend Julie and donated 100% of our profits to Shelly. The benefit was a huge success. Shelly received thousands of dollars and the whole town showed up to support her. The fundraiser was so big, that we actually made the news.

Shelly had been kind of rude about the benefit. She acted annoyed that we were helping and refused to participate in the planning process. I assumed she was dealing with the heaviness of a cancer diagnosis. I chose to give her space and send her love.

I learned later on that she had been starting rumors about me. She had relentlessly encouraged a mutual friend (Julie) not to trust me by constantly hinting that I had ulterior motives. My friend Julie admitted that she began to pay close attention to me but noticed that I always came through with integrity. She never went into detail about what Shelly had told her about me, because she doesn’t like to participate in spreading negativity. She did let me know that she ended her friendship with Shelly at that time and that it “got ugly.” I’m not the first person that Shelly had been jealous of, and Julie decided to cut contact with her because of this repetitive behavior. This only made Shelly’s attitude worse.

When I learned about this back-stabbing behavior, I encouraged Julie to be forgiving of Shelly. I explained that she was going through a lot, and probably just felt insecure.

We had just opened a new massage room at the retreat, where Shelly had worked for sixteen years. She had hired Julie and I as bodyworkers. Shelly was unable to work in the beautiful new space that she had helped to create, because she had gotten sick. I had just begun my career- in her space. I had also become very close with Shelly’s best friend, Julie, since we began working together. I could see how Shelly would feel vulnerable. I chose compassion over defense. I still saw Shelly as a friend who had encouraged me to go back to school. I had lovingly called her my fairy godmother. I was always extremely grateful to her. Looking back, I can see that I gave her way too much credit. All she really did was offer me a job and then hate me for taking it.

On December 9th, 2017, I pitched the idea to create & host a music festival at Showboat Park. I was at a Christmas party with Shelly, Cheri, Julie, Shelly’s daughter Savannah, my friend, Danielle, and the girlfriends of Shelly’s two sons, the Rupple brothers (Mads & Kelly). I discussed my ideas to fundraise the event, and what I wanted to accomplish with it. I had it all dreamed up in my head, a festival of compassion. I wanted to raise money and donate it to build a roof over the amphitheater. Chesaning was home to one of Michigan’s longest-standing music festivals. Five years earlier, the festival went belly up because of a rain storm. Performers refused to play without protection for their equipment. I wanted to bring back the tradition of a music festival. I loved Chesaning and wanted to help heal her. I also wanted to give back to local charities and stir up a sense of compassion and community.

A few weeks later, I had talked Cheri and Julie into joining the team. Shelly wanted nothing to do with it. We understood. She had cancer and was being very standoffish at that time. We gave her more space.

Cheri actually wanted to back out too. I kept talking her into sticking with it. I knew she needed something to be proud of. She had been through breast cancer, a double mastectomy, and then her husband left her for a much younger woman. I did not know Cheri before the divorce, but I knew from listening to her that she had been very deeply wounded and creating something new would help to heal her. I begged her at one point. She finally caved and agreed to be on the team. And it did heal her. She became extremely confident and proud. It was really great to see until she turned on me.

In January, 2018, Cheri, Julie, and I invited Shelly’s two sons (Cole and Evan Rupple) to be on our team. We also invited the drummer in their band, but he declined our offer. The Rupple brothers reluctantly agreed. I didn’t know the brothers very well, and didn’t really trust them. But they were very good musicians, and I knew they could recruit some good talent. Besides, Julie and Cheri were my friends and they trusted them… so I did too. That was a big mistake.

We started to meet in Cheri’s garage for weekly meetings and carved this thing into existence. I traded a massage to an attorney friend of mine and she created an equal partner LLC. There were five of us. We all pitched in the filing fee, except for Evan. He never did pay his share, but I let it slide. It wasn’t much and I just covered it. I also never charged anyone for my massage fee, which saved the team hundreds of dollars.

We called ourselves the “Dream Team.” The brothers enlisted a friend to help us with production. His name was Ben and he had hosted a pop-up style music festival in Saginaw and had offered to help us. I noticed something was up when Ben didn’t really talk with our group very often. Most of his conversations were relayed through the brothers. Ben never showed up for a single meeting, but he called all the shots, or at least the brothers told us he did. We waited and postponed progress for this guy named Ben, and then he bailed on us anyway. We cut our losses, and they were huge. We lost so much time, waiting for Ben. We all decided to move forward and create a much smaller festival on our own, based on my original business plan.

The weekend that we were supposed to launch our little festival, the brothers cancelled the launch last minute. They had run into Ryan Williams at another music festival and he agreed to be our production guy. It was a handshake deal. He’d bring stages, production, volunteers, and help us run the festival for 25%. Ryan was the president of The Michigan Music Festival Roundtable. The only catch was that we had to change the date because he had another festival scheduled on our original date. So we moved the festival out to mid-October. This was not favorable for the weather, Julie or me. Julie was pregnant and due in October. I had to drive my daughter back and forth to school in another county and was working three other jobs to make ends meet because I had to schedule my days around driving her. I did not have a lot of extra time once school started. It should also be noted that I had to drive my daughter to school in another county because she was getting relentlessly bullied by an ex-friend at school, who was also very close with the Rupple family. My daughter was one of two students who left the district because of this girl. [update: since posting this blog, I have learned that Ryan never asked for the date to be changed. He also had a 5 year contract that I was named in but unaware of. My name wasn’t even spelled correctly.]

At some point between the fundraiser benefit and forming the LLC, Shelly had called to tell me that the doctor said she “got all the cancer out,” that it “might come back in 10 years or 5, or not at all.” She admitted that she was embarrassed for taking people’s money and time for nothing. I was just excited to hear that my friend didn’t have cancer. It never occurred to me that she might never have had cancer to begin with. I cannot remember exactly what day that was, but it was the same day that I had a job interview in St. Charles. I had used her as a reference for that job. I was told at the interview that I was hired, they just needed to check my references. I never heard back after that. This was during the time that Shelly had been trashing my name behind my back, but I didn’t know it yet. I also remember Shelly specifically saying that they did not take her appendix out. She had been in the hospital for a hysterectomy and experienced a perforated bowel. According to Shelly, that’s how she was diagnosed with appendix cancer.

After that conversation, I noticed that Shelly didn’t express her miraculous cure to anyone else. In fact, she kept living as though she had cancer, even after she told me that she didn’t. I thought maybe it was some sort of manifestation thing… as we had often discussed the concept of thoughts becoming reality. I thought maybe Shelly had told me that she was cured, hoping that she would be. I know now that I was just very naive and gullible. She even showed up to get massages at a non-profit spa, where I volunteered massages for women with cancer. I listened to her sit at the lunch table and discuss her difficult battle with women who had survived cancer. Shelly went on about her lack of support. She told everyone, after Julie quit talking to her, that she quit talking to Julie because of Julie’s lack of support. Julie gave Shelly and her family free reiki treatments every Sunday throughout her ‘battle’ with cancer… until they quit speaking. I gave Shelly many free massages as a comfort offering, myself.

Even after she told me that they got all the cancer out, she messaged me to ask my opinion about some cancer treatment centers in Mexico. I think she was hoping to use the money for a vacation. I still had it in my head that she was still trying to manifest a cure. She never went to any treatment centers that I know of.

Today, Shelly seems to be healthy and functioning as any healthy person would. She travels all over Michigan with her sons, frequenting music festivals and dancing. She also still runs her personal yoga-massage studio. She was fired from the retreat job after 16 years of service for reasons never disclosed, but did receive donations from clients for her cancer struggles, long after she was let go. That happened just months before the festival, and her attitude towards me got even worse than before. She got angry with me for not quitting my job at the retreat after she was let go. And she asked me to tell clients that she was fired for nepotism. I did not succumb to her manipulation.

I remember her coughing at the music festival and telling Cheri that the doctors expect that her cancer hat metastasized to her lungs. A few weeks later, she told me it was just a smoker’s cough and cold. Dealing with Shelly was dizzying. People would ask me how she was doing with the cancer and I honestly didn’t know how to answer the question. I would tell people, “At this point, I’m not really sure if she has cancer or not.” Since our falling out, Shelly has found enough strength to replace Julie and I on the festival team. A tremendous recovery indeed. [Update: after posting this blog, a friend of the Rupple family scolded me for posting it. She said that the doctors “made her a patient.” But I’ve worked at the hospital that she was admitted to for fifteen years and I can assure you that the doctors would not use words like “stage four” and “terminal” unless you were in stage four and terminal. That’s not something that medical professionals take lightly and I certainly would not have sacrificed my time and money for a non-diagnosis.]

Unfortunately, through out the entire year of 2018, I also worked obsessively and tirelessly on the Handmade Music festival. I designed an entire theme of graphics, which were described as being a “game changer” by my team. I designed the T-shirts, the original logo, and even created an animated commercial to advertise our jive-k event which was my idea. I designed the entire business plan, designed and ordered flyers, dispensed them in 3 counties. I showed up to almost every meeting and was very active in every detail of planning the festival and our fundraisers. I brought in more sponsorships than anyone else and even sat outside Franks Supermarket a couple times to sell raffle tickets. The only time that I missed during festival weekend was on Friday when I slept in for an hour, and when I went to help Julie with shirts. Other than that, I was there. Evan missed the entire Sunday clean up, but apparently that was completely acceptable. My work performance was completely discredited by Cheri and the brothers.

I worked the entire kayak fundraiser until we all left together. About halfway through the event, Evan joined his co-workers to enjoy a float down the river and did not come back until the very end of our event. He then criticized me because I complained a little about having to wait for hours while the cops searched for one drunk guy who got lost on the river. I literally just said something about wanting to get home to my kids. This is something Evan would know nothing about, as he considered being a silent partner on the LLC so that he wouldn’t have to pay child support on his son who lives out of state. That was a huge red flag for me, but I ignored it.

I did notice that Evan jumped at every press opportunity, and then pitched our team-organized festival as his own. We had talked to Evan about his early interview with the Argus Press. He insisted on doing the interview himself, and then claimed the festival as his own. The article from the front page, on June 21st begins:

” CHESANING– Evan Rupple thinks village residents yearn for a music revival. And the musician- Co-founder of the band The Rupple Brothers & Company- intends to give it to them.”

Cheri, Julie, and I were never mentioned in the entire article.

When asked about our missing names, we were told, “Who cares about names in the paper, it’s the festival and what it stands for not personal glory. If you want your name in there keep working hard and plugging away at press contacts. No time for egos. Personal satisfaction can be found all over in what we’ve done, you’ll get your chance if that’s what you’re after. [insert the ever popular passive aggressive green heart]” —Evan Rupple, the man who took credit for an entire team’s work, plugged his own band, shamed us for wanting to be named in the paper, and then illegally stole the festival, it’s assets, and some of our shares. Gaslighting was a regular occurrence with him.

The Rupple brothers had a constant attitude of superiority. They no-showed meetings that they didn’t want to attend and made big decisions without consulting the group. They talked over me and Julie all the time. I reached out to Shorts brewery for a sponsorship meeting, and was bullied about being the group representative. Evan made it very clear that he wanted to handle the meeting without me or Julie. I wouldn’t back down though. I set the meeting up and I attended it. I had discussed the amount of money that we would ask for with the group, and everyone was in agreement. Evan then told his friends that worked at Short’s Brewery that I didn’t know anything about running a music festival and he was embarrassed that I had asked for so much money. It should be noted that Evan was vomiting in the bathroom during this meeting with the Short’s representative… but I supposedly embarrassed him by admitting that we were all very new at organizing a festival and asking for sponsorships. For the record, the Short’s representative was kind and patient with us as we all navigated that meeting with zero experience.

The couple of weeks leading up to the festival were very intense. I was starting to catch on about Shelly’s manipulation tactics and she had volunteered herself to be the volunteer coordinator on our team. She had an attitude about everything, and Julie and I found ourselves to be the targets of her negative attention. Shelly had moved in on the team, as she is Cheri’s best friend and a mother to the brothers. Julie and I were sort of pushed out after Shelly came in. Nepotism at it’s finest.

I also figured out by this time that I was just being used by the brothers anyway. A couple weeks before the festival, Cole was interviewed for another press release. None of us knew about the interview until it came out. Again, all credit was given to the Rupple brothers. Cheri, Julie, and I were not mentioned until I emailed Kevin Lamb, our publicist who was hired by the brothers. His response was, “We will ensure you all get credit, but right now we just need to get the word out.” This guy technically worked for me, but completely blew me off when I requested that we be named in his own blog post. Cole lashed out at us for questioning Kevin’s article. Probably because he wanted Kevin, and everyone else, to believe that we were just their volunteers.

It’s interesting, because Kevin was actually paid more than I was at the end of all this. He wrote one blogpost and took some pictures.

What really got me was a few paragraphs in, our own publicist gave credit to a guy named Seth Bernard for being “integral in the birth of handmade music.” I’ve never even heard of this person. What? Who? Now complete strangers were getting credit while Cheri, Julie, and I were never mentioned. That was my ‘last straw moment.’

I expected more respect from fellow artists.

[Update: I’ve since been notified that Seth Bernard is the founder of the Earthwork Harvest Gathering. He had nothing to do with our festival or his name being mentioned. ]

The meeting that we had planned a couple weeks before the festival was cancelled because Cheri had a forgotten hair appointment. She made it sound like she had an important doctors appointment, but later admitted that she wanted to look good in case she would be interviewed by the news. No one said anything. It was no big deal. We were going to map out the park so I could create a map for our brochure… But we could meet another day. I was cool with it.

I had to miss the very last meeting before the festival for work. I was in a financial crisis, and booked a home visit in Flint. Cheri gave me a very hard time about it. We ended up in a pretty heated argument. I was trying to get her to understand the importance of me having to work. As a massage therapist, one home visit is a pretty big chunk of money. I was broke, exhausted, spending more money on gas than I was making.. and these jerks were taking credit for everything that I was doing. I needed the money and I wasn’t going to give up my job for these fools.

She still kept badgering me. I lost my temper and finally said that I didn’t give a fuck about the festival. Because of that, the team decided to exclude me from there on out. Obviously I still gave a fuck about the festival, but I had had enough of exhausting myself for people who never appreciated it. I was driving from Chesaning to Corunna twice a day, and back and forth to work in Owosso and Durand. My time was precious and they kept wasting it. Shelly and her boys used this wedge between Cheri and I to take control. Our dream team of five had turned into four against two. Julie and I were toast. They could have simply given me a list of what they wanted me to do, and I would have done it. But they didn’t.

A lot of my time was wasted because my team lacked the ability to stick with a plan. In fact, not only did they reschedule the festival two days before we were supposed to launch it… They also rescheduled our jive-k fundraiser a few hours AFTER we launched it, causing a huge headache for me. I was in charge of getting graphics out on social media. I had to retract and redo everything. They sent me on a wild goose chase to get a license for alcohol a few weeks before the festival, then decided we weren’t going to have alcohol. This was the norm, and if I complained about the indecisiveness and having to redo graphics constantly, I was criticized for being negative. If I tried to encourage positive thinking, I was criticized for being unrealistic. I couldn’t win and by the weekend of the festival, I knew they were taking it. I had mentioned to Julie several times throughout this process that the brothers were going to cut us out after the first year. I could see it in the way they treated us. I wish I would have created the LLC on my own and then hired the brothers. If I would have known, I certainly wouldn’t have spent so many hours away from my kids or put in the effort that I did.

Shelly had completely alienated Julie and I from the group. I showed up on Thursday, when everyone else did, but no one would talk to me about the final meeting plans. At one point we were all getting ready to ride around in Cheri’s truck to put some signs up around the campground. I made a comment about pregnant people getting to sit up front. Julie was ready to pop and already over doing it. At that point, Shelly jumped in front of Julie, hopped into the front seat, and then glared back at me. This is the type of nonsense that endured during festival weekend. Shelly did stuff like that all the time, and then blamed it all on her alter ego, named “Jane.”

I met Ryan Williams on that Thursday before the festival. He was another friend of the Rupple brothers. I was surprised that he showed up for the festival, as we never even spoke to him in messages and never met him before. The brothers kept him away from us like they did with Ben. He asked me what part of the festival I helped to coordinate. It caught me off guard. “All of it,” I thought in my head. I did not say that though. I just spit out that I organized the workshops, but the team tore my schedule to shreds and told me that they didn’t want workshops anyway. Ryan was the festival. He brought all the technical stuff that we needed, ran production of our main stage, brought all the tents and stages, brought volunteers, and helped manage the weekend. After the festival, his own friends told him that we didn’t make any money so they would not have to pay him the 25% he had agreed to. When I argued about the ethics behind their decision, I was told that Ryan didn’t do enough either.

[update: Ryan did not know anything about this. He was hurt when this post came out. I’ve had a year to unpack the weight of my friends betraying me. He found out by reading this on the internet, and for that I apologize.]

That Thursday, I still helped put up the tents, all while having muscle spasms in my shoulder and around my spine. It was cold and rainy. The shivering did not help the pinched nerve in my neck. I still helped until we all went home, doing everything that I was asked to do. I even took some bracelets to work on at home for the musician passes.

On Friday, gates didn’t open until 6pm. The last three hours of Thursday night consisted of me riding around in circles with Cheri while she gave me the cold shoulder and stressed out about everything. I couldn’t handle the stress and the pain and the isolation of my team. I slept in a little after taking some muscle relaxers the night before. Cheri told me she would be there at 9am. At around 10 am, I texted Cheri that I was going to take a shower and then I would bring the band’s wristbands that I had made up the night before. While I was in the shower, Shelly walked into my house, and I yelled for her to get out. She came in farther and snooped around my counter to get the bracelets. By this time I was screaming from the shower for her to “Get the fuck out of my house!” Now I was angry. Trespassing is not cool. I showed up to the festival and Cheri wouldn’t talk to me. She would not give me a job to do. So I went to Julie’s to help with T-Shirts. I came back later that afternoon, after I picked my daughter up from school. Again, no one would talk to me. I took some live feeds to promote the festival on Facebook and helped close the gates at the end of the night. I walked around with my daughter and marveled at how different things had turned out from what we had expected.

On Saturday, I showed up bright and early. I was told to work the gate and I did. The team had decided to move the workshops around. Cheri & Shelly had demanded certain times for their workshops and then they no-showed. I was put on gate duty during my own workshop. I worked at the festival until close that night as well. Cheri had put on a fake smile and at least spoke to me that day.

On Sunday, I showed up early again and cleaned all morning. Julie and I emptied all the trash in the campground, took down the t-shirt booth, and cleaned up the hospitality booth. Evan showed up right around the time we were done cleaning. He still hadn’t been to sleep since raving in the campground all night at a “rager ” that he & his brother planned and advertised without consulting the team. He did zero clean-up. I never complained about it. After the festival, no one spoke to me or Julie. It took a month for the final financials to come out in a message.

In November, Cheri reported our bottom line profit of $4,120.90. She stated that total included everything outstanding. She then suggested that we hide the money from the IRS and make fake receipts to make up for it. I tried to reason against lying to the IRS and lying to Ryan.

In December 2018, Cheri and the brothers dissolved the LLC, kept all the assets, and stashed money. Our bottom line went from $4,120.90 to $2011.90. They used Cheri’s fake receipts idea so they would not have to pay Julie and I as much. This would also be tax fraud.

I had shut down the original Handmade Facebook page that I created and maintained. I had to send multiple messages asking for my artwork to be taken down from their new social media page. Evan had cropped my graphics and then claimed them as his own. I responded with a post that he had sent to me, exclaiming that copyrights begin at creation. He had accused me of stealing background music for my graphics videos. Even after I showed him that the music was royalty free, he criticized me for not respecting the artist. Ironic. When I asked to use Rupple Brothers music, I was yelled at by Cole for suggesting they debut their precious music for something as meaningless as a music festival advertisement. I could not win with these guys.

I spent a year of my life and a lot of energy on this project. It was the most proud of myself that I’ve ever been and the most disappointed I’ve ever been as well. These people, who were supposed to be my friends, just took it away and then shamed me for everything that I did. I gave this event my all, and this greedy family just used me to get it going. They used my friend Julie too. She was nine months pregnant and screen printing 300 shirts for us in the last weeks and they had the audacity to tell her that she bit off more than she could chew. In the final messages, Cheri admitted that Julie did everything that was asked of her. She was still “excused ” from the team for apparently no reason at all, and was paid much less than what she deserved. I had been praised for my work all along, but when the festival was over, I was discarded as nothing more than a headache, who held them back. They said the same thing about Ryan Williams, who was paid $1000 less than he was supposed to be paid.

The Rupple family has disrespected me, taken from me, wasted my time, and hijacked my hard work. They have built this year’s festival on the foundation that Julie and I helped build but were never compensated for… or given credit for. I’ve spoken to a couple of lawyers who stated that I have a very good case, but because the festival didn’t make a lot of money in the first year… I would have to take them to small claims court. I’m not going to put myself through the stress of being bullied by these crooks in a courtroom. I don’t care about the money, although it would be nice to be adequately compensated for all the trouble.

I will speak my truth. I’ve spent the past year trying to heal from this entire situation. It has not been easy. I was never given closure, just swept out of the way. People look at me like I am crazy when I talk about my participation in this festival, because the brothers sold this thing as their very own brainchild from the very beginning.

This is my story. I don’t expect the huge following of the Rupple family or the festival to take my side or judge my old team. I know that I’m the outnumbered outsider. But these things happened, and they weren’t right. I should have been an advocate for myself from the very beginning. That’s what I learned from all of this, and for that lesson I am grateful.

What hurt me the most wasn’t Evan’s cruel messages or the fact that all three of them relentlessly kicked me while I was down, essentially for not killing myself over a project that they had planned on stealing from the start. The most hurtful thing was that I didn’t honor myself to speak up sooner.

A few days before the festival, I had spoken with my dad about my struggles. I had put so many of my eggs into a basket that wasn’t my own. Chesaning had been a cruel place for me and my daughter. I was broke, exhausted, in excruciating pain, and stressed beyond anything that I had experienced before… and I’ve been through some shit. I told my dad that I needed to move back into the district where I was driving my daughter every day. I asked him to look for rentals for us.

Three days later (the same weekend as the festival) my dad bought a house for me and my girls. After the festival, we moved back home to the quiet little village of Vernon. My massage business expanded and my financial situation got a lot better after saving some gas money. My house was placed perfectly in between my two jobs and the kids could ride the bus. My daughter, who had gotten bullied is now a senior and gets straight A’s on her report card. I honestly don’t know how I would have healed from the devastation that I came from in Chesaning, without this beautiful house and my family who carried me home. I’ll never be able to say enough “thank you’s” to my parents for one hell of an upgrade in life and a house that served as a life raft in a horrible sea of heartache.

The Handmade Music Festival was my baby. I created it because I wanted to do something amazing for my North Node return, an astrological event that meant a lot to me. I wanted to create a tradition of compassion and community. I wanted to leave a legacy for my kids. Of course, my kids will never benefit from the work that I did, but I did create a legacy. What it becomes now is completely out of my hands. I have now washed my hands clean of this mess.

It’s been almost a year since the festival. The new team is prepping for year two. I can only imagine how stressed they all are. It feels good that it’s not my problem anymore. I let it go. All of it. I’ve spent the past year investing in myself and my own massage business. I’ve done well. My life is balanced and I am at peace. I know that they would never be where they’re at, if I hadn’t dared them to dream. Their appreciation or validation is no longer needed. Karma will sort out their fate as she has mine.

Brené Brown describes shame as “the feeling you would get if you walked out of a room that was filled with people who know you and they start saying such hurtful things about you that you don’t know that you could ever walk back in and face them again in your life.” Below is the shame storm of projection that I endured from people who did not do more work than me… My name is Rebecca. My friend Julie and I are the original founders of the Handmade Music Festival. No one can take that away from us.

Update 1/22/20: I just received a phone call from a state police detective. They were able to determine that Shelly really did have a cancer diagnosis. I will admit that I am quite surprised. Although this doesn’t excuse the way her and her family treated me… and she did lie about being terminal… I am sorry to hear that she actually had cancer. I’m still glad that I was able to speak my truth. If anyone had done for my family, what I had done for the Rupple’s, I never would have treated them, the way that I was treated. I was raised differently. I am thankful for the lessons that I picked up throughout my journey to Saginaw County and back.