She Told Them They Were Loved: The Courage and Calling of S. E. Tschritter
- 7 days ago
- 4 min read
By She Rises Studios Editorial Team
S. E. Tschritter does not approach grief as an abstract theme or distant subject. She writes from inside it. Her literary landscape was not chosen so much as it was lived, forged in the raw aftermath of back to back miscarriages that altered the course of her life and work.
In those early days of loss, she searched for comfort in books, scrolling through back cover copy online and hoping to find someone speaking from the middle of sorrow rather than years beyond it. Instead, she found reflections that began with distance. Fifteen years ago I had a miscarriage. What she longed for was companionship in real time. She wanted someone to sit with her in the ache.
So she became that voice.
Her private journal entries became the foundation for Love Letters to Miscarriage Moms, written, as she describes it, in the midst of her grief so other women would not be alone in theirs. More than forty parents contributed stories of infertility, stillbirth, and early infant loss. The book became a collective sacred space, honoring the truth that while grief carries shared contours, every loss is deeply personal.
Through countless conversations with those navigating sorrow, Tschritter has learned that the quickest way to diminish pain is to turn it into comparison. Grief is not a competition. Listening, she believes, is an act of reverence.
To truly hear someone’s story is to honor what they have lost. In her writing and in her leadership, she creates room for grief to be as large as it needs to be.
Across poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction, her voice remains transparent and disarmingly human. Yet one of the most striking aspects of her work is the presence of humor woven through heartbreak. For Tschritter, humor is not denial. It is oxygen.
Grief dives into the depths and faces the dark. Humor, she explains, is the breath of fresh air and the sun warming the face before returning to the necessary work of healing. In her recent release, The Prodigal’s Son: Crackhead to Jesus Freak, written in a creative nonfiction style, readers encounter both the brutal realities of addiction and moments of levity that provide relief. One line captures her signature blend of wit and weight: when asked by an oncologist whether he had ever worked with toxic chemicals, the pastor replies, “Only toxic people.”
These one liners do not undercut the gravity of addiction or loss. Instead, they create rhythm. Humor and grief move like waves, overlapping and reshaping one another. Fiction offers another avenue for approaching painful truths. In her upcoming novel, The Lakeshore’s Secret, the main characters are forced to stare death in the eye and come to terms with it. Through the story, she invites readers to confront what might otherwise feel unbearable.
With more than two decades of leadership experience and contributions to over forty books, Tschritter’s influence extends beyond her own byline. Leadership has sharpened her sense of intimacy on the page. When she writes about grief, she imagines herself sitting across the table from one reader. Her goal is simple and profound: to say through her prose, You are not alone.
The title of her poetry collection, She Told Them They Were Loved, reflects what she hopes will define her legacy. When readers open one of her books, she wants them to feel her presence in the room, assuring them they are loved and seen. Writing from wounds, she insists, is a serious call. The Prodigal’s Son required seven years and, as she puts it, a large portion of her soul.
For emerging writers who feel drawn to vulnerable storytelling, her counsel is both practical and direct. Make sure you want it for yourself. A story can change lives whether or not it becomes a published book. Many people say they should write a book, but few follow through. She encourages writers to begin by sharing pieces of their story verbally or through blogging. Attend a writers conference. The first conference, she warns, will expose everything you did not know you did not know. There may be moments of wanting to weep or burn the manuscript. Instead, see it as a defining turning point. Believe in yourself. Do not quit.
Geography has also shaped her understanding of communal sorrow. Having lived in Chicagoland, Minnesota, Oregon, and now South Carolina, she has witnessed how grief ripples through communities in distinct ways. When Hurricane Helene struck inland and devastated parts of the Carolinas, collective mourning followed. In Pequot Lakes, a teen suicide shook the town and impacted her own family, a story she shares in The Prodigal’s Son. She recognizes that entire nations wrestle with injustice in ways that leave deep scars.
One of her greatest lessons is that grief is not limited to death. It surfaces in job changes, financial losses, moves, divorce, and unrealized dreams. It is a thread connecting humanity, if people are willing to acknowledge it.
In South Carolina, Tschritter finds restoration in gardening, a practice that mirrors her writing philosophy. It is not enough to simply uproot a weed. Something must be planted in its place. Effort invested in one season saves hours in the next. Not every seed will bloom, but many will. Where flowers grow, weeds struggle to take hold.
Writing, she believes, follows the same pattern. Success is the long game. A blog noticed by the right person can lead to a co author invitation. Royalties are seeds from work already sown. Marketing supports sales, but the strongest strategy is writing the next book, and then another. Cross pollination builds momentum.
For S. E. Tschritter, grief and hope are not opposing forces. They are intertwined rhythms, cultivated patiently over time. Whether through poetry, fiction, nonfiction, or the quiet tending of soil, her message remains steady. You are not alone. You are loved.
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