Have you ever written something so personal that you would hate to have your father read it? Your sisters? Your family?

My "5-Minute Memoir" is in the March/April 2014 issue of Writer's Digest and it's just that kind of essay. It's too personal. But I wrote it and sent it off before I could second-guess it. Imagine my surprise when it was accepted - and became my first essay in a national pub!

(I love this magazine. If you are a real, imagined, wannabe, professional, pubbed or unpubbed writer, you should read this publication. Pick up the pub or you can read my essay here.)

The essay is about losing my mom and how it changed my writing. It was a hard essay for me to write. The afternoon I wrote it, I sat down with only the thought of writing something, anything for the 5-Minute Memoir column. It was 600 words, the topic was "your writing life" and there was an email address to submit to. An easy, definable goal. I forced myself to sit down and adhere to these simple guidelines and hit SEND. An afternoon's work with something to show for it.

The writing came slow at first, all dead ends, all boring and regular riffs about the writing life. Until finally I let myself go where I didn't want to go - to my mother. But the writing came quickly then. When I finished writing, it was too sad to submit. But I did anyway, a goal knocked off my writing list.

I sent it in August. Weeks, then a month, then two passed and I forgot about it, relieved even, that it would not be published. Then I got an email in November from a "Zac" at Writer's Digest. I deleted it on my iPhone. I thought it was spam.

When I (finally) realized that Zac was real and in fact the Senior Managing Editor, I flipped out. I wanted to be in my favorite magazine so, so much. I was excited and flattered and shocked... and worried.

This essay was too sad and too personal. I didn't want my sisters to read it. I didn't want my dad to read it. I didn't want anyone to read it. I couldn't even re-read it when they sent me a galley proof. I asked for a couple extra days to get back to them on any changes so I could prepare myself to face the loss again.

But when I finally brought myself to read it, I felt the sadness (shitloads, as my dad would say) but I saw, too, that it was a tribute to my mother, her laughter and her love, her pancakes and her venison stew. I was glad I'd written it, every word of it true.

I realized it was OK for me to feel these things, to admit these things. The more times I re-read it, the easier it was for me to read it. A healing of sorts came with it. It was a beautiful way to tell just a small piece of my story with my mother, to share the saddest things and yet the happiest things too. I decided my sadness was mine. I didn't have to not say it, to keep it inside. I hated to think my family would be sad when they read my essay, but I finally realized that their sadness was theirs alone too. I could not stop it and I could not keep it and I could not heal it by staying quiet.

I am so happy to have published an essay that means so much to me. I now hope my dad and sisters will read it. And I hope my mom is reading too.