Tomorrow I complete 32 trips around the sun. My mom had me when she was 26, which means I was turning 6 years old and starting first grade when she was 32, the same age I am now. How was she raising two kids then when I can barely take care of my tomatoes now? I hope she’s proud of me and my tomatoes.

—
Last summer on my birthday, I was at Brown Note rehearsing for a Red Rocks show. Four days earlier, the curtain fell on me for the first time in my career, and underneath that grief and anger and sadness, there was a relief I was not yet ready to admit or feel, a newness that was coming all along. I flew out to Denver with a pit of fear in my stomach along with the unwavering cockiness that can only be found in a Leo who was just told “We’re going to go another direction” during Leo season. If anything, I am a walking juxtaposition.
On my birthday last year, my sweet gang got me my favorite cookies, and somewhere in my camera roll is a video of them surprising me with the cookies and flowers Dan sent me they’d hijacked to include in the surprise along with the most beautiful rendition of the happy birthday song. Of course I cried; I’d spent that entire summer crying out of fear, anger, and sadness. So what was one happy cry while being surrounded by some of the best people on the earth? They were cupping their hands around a tiny little flame in my heart to keep it from burning out.
—
I wish I could look back on August 12, 2024, and say that’s where everything changed. I wish I could say that’s where the anger, fear, sadness, grief, anxiety, and hopelessness just up and left my body. Because those things can’t possibly stand up against all the love I felt around me while in Denver, right? Life’s just a series of phases, though. Sometimes it’s just a circle through the same emotions. Of course, I landed in London on August 20th and felt the anger and anxiety flood over me like water breaching a dam. “Finish the tour. You’ll be fine.” I lie to myself all the time.
I wish I could go back and change so much of last summer. I wish I could go back and tell myself to snap out of it. “Momma didn’t raise a quitter, and you’ve mentally checked out. Get your head back in the game.” To shut my mouth. To trust my gut and act on it. To admit, long before I did, that I didn’t want to tour manage anymore. To raise the red flags, and the white ones too. To get the work done. All of it, not just the parts I like or the work on the Red Rocks show because it’s the shiny one. To put my phone away on the tube so it doesn’t get stolen and, consequently, my light doesn’t go away for a while. Because I lost myself that night, too.
No regrets, though, right?
Truthfully, Katelyn was lost long before her phone and light were stolen in London. All those lovely people I met last summer never even met me.
—
As if being a quittin’ hater all summer wasn’t enough, last November, I quit a tour abruptly for the first time. Concisely put, it didn’t align with my values, and I refused to bend on what is just and fair. Almost immediately upon getting home from London in September, I’d thrown myself, my lost self, into working on this new tour. I tried to be happy with my new workbox that would go with me on my first arena tour, with being home for just a little bit. I bought myself a little treat to remind myself to do good and be better. I tried to be happy; fake it til ya make it. “I don’t want to tour manage anymore, and I’m going to get to do an arena tour as my last run as a TM! It’ll be okay!” I thought that was enough to keep me going. I got to see some friends for the first time in 10+ weeks, and most of them knew something was wrong. No matter how hard I tried to light it, the flame that had been slowly burning out all summer and was fully extinguished in London - was just gone. I withdrew from my greater circle. My close friends poked me if they hadn’t heard from me in a few days, made me get pastries or lunch. I kept saying I was fine, and then I went on the tour I ended up quitting.
—
I have been emotional for as long as I can remember. Everything makes me cry. Happy, sad, angry, afraid - I’m crying. All last summer I cried. Over everything. Everything was overwhelming, and I was angry all the time. I made every effort to not cry on and over my fall tour, and it worked. By late October, I thought I’d turned a corner.
Dan was the first call I made to tell him I was coming home in November. Later he told me that he knew how serious I was because I wasn’t crying when I called him and said “Book me a plane ticket home from Bridgeport, Connecticut. I’m coming home.” If my friends get worried about me when I get quiet and start ignoring their texts, Dan gets worried when I get quiet and make a decision without shedding a single tear. I think that November day is the one day Dan was actually terrified both of me and for me.
—
I wish I could say that if I lost the last shred of myself in London then I found a piece the day I left Bridgeport and kept repeating “I won’t compromise my values to be on a tour. I meant it when I said ‘do good.’” Maybe I did find a piece, and I’ve been collecting them ever since. Maybe I bent down to grab a shitty lighter in Bridgeport, and I spent the flight home twirling it in my hands. I fidgeted with my “do good” and “ be better” bracelets the entire way home while feeling both relief and embarrassment. Maybe those tears were lighter fluid just waiting on a little tiny spark from the lighter I’d just picked up.
When I got home, unlike returning from London, I had nothing to throw myself into. This time, I withdrew from everyone, including my closest friends. This time, there was no fake it til ya make it. I responded to an alarmingly low number texts and next to zero phone calls. It took me almost a full month to reach back out to people. I felt so embarrassed that I quit a tour. Maybe Momma did raise a quitter. I was so embarrassed that Katelyn Smith, the girl who espouses these values, got got. Me! Of all people got bamboozled.
The curtain fell hard.
By the grace of God, some incredible people pulled me out of a pit of despair.
—
I do think I bent down to pick up the first piece of me when I left Bridgeport. I think that’s true because that’s the first time I feel like I have ever truly bit back when someone barked at me. Ten toes down, stood on business, if you will. I don’t know who that girl was who said “Then I’m out.” Truthfully, that’s always the girl I’ve wanted to be.
If all my fire burned slowly out, starved of oxygen, over last summer and was finally extinguished in London… If the brief weeks at home between London and going on another tour were there to replace a wick… If that fall tour was me throwing kindling, twigs, leaves, logs, anything I could get my hands on into an open field for a bonfire… If I picked up a tiny lighter in Bridgeport when I decided to come home… If my tears last November and December were gasoline waiting to be poured… then my friends were the wind that would light this whole damn thing on fire again to start a regrowth.
—
But I don’t know when the fire started again. I don’t know when the new fire wained and gave way to the new growth I’ve been experiencing. If life is just a series of phases, then maybe my life can best be described like a slightly modified natural wildfire cycle. I had a little, tiny flame and lots of old growth snuffed it out. Despite the old growth being fun and beautiful, it was complacent and not allowing for new growth or change. I don’t function well with a dwindling light, and I certainly don’t function well when it’s completely gone. I collected all the leaves and trees and logs. I found a lighter when I was digging through the brush. I found some lighter fluid. And my friends helped me burn that old growth down. Now I’m growing some new things.
I’ve signed my emails “do the most good” for years now. It’s most often attributed to the founder of the Methodist church, John Wesley. Despite spending a good chunk of my childhood in a Methodist church in my hometown, I’d never heard this until Hillary Clinton used it often on the campaign trail in 2016.
Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as you ever can.
It stuck with me. Five years later, I named my LLC after it. The seven lines of that Wesley-attributed quote are my creed, and I have seven values that I try to abide by in order to do the most good.
I exist to do good – in word & deed and at a show
I move in one direction, forward.
I keep going when it gets tough.
I speak clearly and communicate often.
I treat everyone I encounter with dignity and respect.
I chase excellency, not perfection.
I deeply believe that I will do good.
I fail, miserably, at them all the time in all areas of my life. Last summer, I was a quitter who didn’t keep going when it got tough. In fact, I dug my heels in and tried to not go forward at all. I failed at all of them in some magnificent way at least once.
Much like “do good” stuck with me in 2016, “be better” stuck with me last summer. I’d said “I’m sorry” after a minor flub and was met with “Be better.” Some things just stick like good food sticks to your ribs.
—
I wear my “do good” bracelet facing out because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing for other people. I wear the “be better” one facing me because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing for myself.
Other people and their actions, words, and selves are not wholly responsible for my fire burning out. In an effort to find and admit my own shortcomings in losing my fire, I’ve tried to be better. I’ve always wanted to “leave well,” and I didn’t do that last summer. I mucked up friendships left and right all of last year due to my anger and fear. I’ve apologized and tried to make amends. As I’ve picked up some of the old pieces of myself I’d lost along the way, I’ve realized some of them are burned into the ground from this fire I started to burn through the old growth. They’re likely to never be picked up again, and nearly all of them are stuck there due to my own wrongdoings. I’m sorry. I’ll be better.
I’ve also tried to get better. I don’t think it takes a mental health professional to ascertain that your girl was going through some shit all of last year. Earlier this year, I sought out a new psychiatric practitioner and got my anxiety and ADHD under control with medication. When I wrote that piece I just linked, I’d only been on my medication for like a week. The first week was brutal, like not being able to see quite right and suddenly getting a new prescription that takes a few days to get used to.
I’m now five months in, and the difference I feel in my mental (and physical!) health between last summer and this summer is astounding. It’s what’s brought all the clarity to admit and understand my wrongdoings of last year. Things that would have had me breaking down in tears in the back lounge of the bus are placed away, just past my peripheral, and sometimes I never even pick them back up to address them. I have not experienced catastrophic overwhelm and anxiety in months. Tough conversations that would have had me a mess in tears haven’t even had me choking back tears. I’ve cried so few tears and sent so few “I’m so fkn mad” texts, my close friends and I have laughed about it. In fact, one of the few times I’ve actually broken down sobbing this summer was when I realized how different last year could have been if I’d been on medication. How I could have been a better friend, a better tour manager, a better person. Better, better, better. It stuck with me. With clarity came such guilt.
I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I’ll get better.
—
I caught up with a friend briefly via text earlier this summer. I said “That stupid Maggie Rogers song ‘Back in my Body’ is the best way to describe what the last few months have been like… I am very much trying to practice not being angry all the time.”
I’ve been working out daily and willingly. My body is stronger. I had to buy new pants. I got to stage manage some big shows, which is quite honestly more ludicrous than me not crying like a baby every other day. I’ve actively practiced not being angry all the time, partly due to the meds. I have a small circle of friends who loved me enough to get me to love myself. I got to fully try on the production manager role, and I get to see how good that fits at Red Rocks in October. I’ll be right back in the place I was just before I lost the last piece myself. But I feel like I’m back in my body.
When I told Shelby about feeling like I’m back in my body, it hadn’t dawned on me that London is mentioned in “Back In My Body.”
I was stopped in London when I felt it coming down
Crashing all around me with a great triumphant sound
Like the dam was breaking and my mind came rushing in
I’ll be better.
—
I hope my Momma is proud of me and my tomatoes. I’m trying real hard to grow them and me.








