Meet Meghan Krein

Today we’d like to introduce you to Meghan Krein.

Meghan, please share your story with us. How did you get to where you are today?
When I was ten, living in Iowa, I watched my mom – from Highway 169 – hitchhike into a rusty, brown truck with two strange men. She was trying to save herself from my dad. I screamed after her, to take me with her, but it was too late. She was gone. And a short while later my brother, sister and I were sitting in the back of a police car, which took us to my mom; while my dad was taken away in a different police car. Five years later — with Dad back in the picture — Mom moved on to saving other people. My parents owned a restaurant and employed several teenage girls, many of whom found themselves pregnant and homeless. Mom took them in, fixed up our spare bedrooms and made them comfortable as they bloomed and glowed.

Naturally, I wanted to fix people, too. Prisons are full of people to fix, so after college, I began working as a counselor at a medium/maximum-security men’s prison. However, I wasn’t the born fixer that my mom was. In other words, I got off to a rocky start. I made a satanist attend Alcoholics Anonymous. He had a bit of an alcohol problem, so I put AA on his treatment plan. Being only 21 and fairly naïve, it didn’t click that AA believes in a higher power, which many groups refer to as God. Whereas, Satanists, well, they have an issue with God and worship Satan. Some might say this is a conflict of interest. After AA, the satanist came into my office to confront me. I validated him, but at the same time, tried to justify my behavior by saying a higher power could be anything — even the chair I was placing in between us. He wasn’t buying it and left with the devil in his eyes.

During this time, my parents’ marriage crumbled, tearing our family apart. I wanted to start over, away from them. So obviously, the only way I could do that was to move to Phoenix. To get me on my feet, my uncle gave me a job at his bank, which really isn’t worth getting into. In part, because I only worked there for a year, but mostly because I have no idea what I did there, besides getting paper cuts. By this time, I had my master’s in clinical psychology, so I was hired as a therapist at the Arizona State Psychiatric Hospital — working with the Guilty Except Insane population — where I felt right at home. If you’re wondering what the place is like, it’s probably just how you’d imagine. I worked with patients who strangled their mothers with phone cords, patients who walked around cuddling and kissing Cabbage Patch Dolls as if they were their babies, and patients who were rapists.

Forty-year-old Steve was a rapist. I adored him. We had sort of a special relationship, whereas, he would come to my office every morning, fill me in on the hospital gossip, tell me some pretty stellar jokes and devour the latest In Style magazine with me. But then, things got weird. One winter morning, Steve came to my office with a grocery sack and handed it to me. I opened it to find a pair of red, silky pajamas. It was a set, you know, a pair of pants and a top. I carefully examined them. They were frayed and had visibly been worn. The sleeves and ankles were lined with black feathers. I detected must. I was offended. After all of the In Style’s we read together, how could Steve give me these? And then, he told me they were special. They were his mother’s.

Now, I feel like I’m probably sounding like the crazy one here: Describing these pajamas to you like they were a real Christmas present from a boyfriend, not a mentally ill person. Why would I do that? A normal person would probably have just shoved them right back in the bag and been super creeped out. I was becoming desensitized to his behavior and so, after five years of working with the criminally insane, I left. I needed to make things better for myself. So clearly, the next career move for me would be to go to an adult boutique store and work as a sex and relationship expert. I was totally qualified — I’ve had sex before.

I was not totally qualified. People were writing to me, asking my opinion on the best sex positions. What, there was more than just missionary? People wanted details on furry fetishes. Huh, did that mean spooning underneath a thick, furry blanket? And, I received questions wanting to know the proper way to ask someone to swing. Like, make love in a hammock? I was clueless, but my intuition told me this was not what these people were referring to. Ultimately, I ended up doing more research for this job than I ever did for my dissertation. I was writing about objects I had never seen or used before, teaching classes about activities I had never done or heard of, and overseeing events that made me more uncomfortable than wearing pantyhose in the middle of August. I began pathologizing every customer I came into contact with at these events.

Gauged ears, cheek and tongue rings sleeved tattoos and she’s a dominatrix? Clearly, this girl is into pain because she was sexually abused at some point, felt a loss of power and this is her way of controlling it. He dresses up as a baby, wears a collar and likes to be spanked by much older women? Surely, his mom abandoned him as an infant resulting in insecure attachment issues. And so on, and so forth.

And then, it hit me. These people were here for fun. I was here for work. Also, what gave me the right to pathologize them? What about me? Maybe I was the sick one. I kept putting myself in all of these chaotic, dysfunctional situations, after all. And, so I entered the corporate world, writing about incredibly boring things. I gave up my sex and relationship column and now work as a copywriter for Arizona State University. The calmness is comforting because after work, I come home to my husband, four-year-old son and one-year-old daughter, which is nothing less than chaotic. But, a chaos I adore — and often write about. Aside from writing about higher education, I write memoir and do live storytelling events, such as The Moth and Arizona Storytellers. I love sharing my stories, so my readers know they’re not alone… especially in today’s world.

Has it been a smooth road?
No. It took me at least eight years to become a writer. I did it on the side when I was working as a therapist. I’ve received many rejection letters and pissed off people I’ve written about.

We’d love to hear more about your work.
I’m a writer. Mostly, I’m a copywriter at ASU but write memoir on my blog. I write about breaking up with my then-boyfriend and then finding out I was pregnant. I write about suing my now-husband for custody. I write about my mom having a psychotic break and dating an inmate at the prison where she worked. I write about marrying my husband and raising our two children in a pandemic. Relationships. I love writing about relationships.

I’ve been told that I am earnest and vulnerable in my writing and have received many comments and emails about how my writing has helped someone with their struggle. We are all just people. I am proud of my writing — it’s honest and real. I’m excited to leave that piece of me behind for my kids.

Is our city a good place to do what you do?
I love Phoenix. We live downtown in the heart of the arts district. I’ve worked at agencies in higher education and freelance. There are many creatives here and there are many live storytelling events and writing workshops that I enjoy participating in.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://medium.com/@meghankrein
• Email: meghankrein@yahoo.com
• Instagram: @megkrein
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/megkrein
• Twitter: @megkrein

Image Credit:
Molly + Co (wedding shots)

Suggest a story: VoyagePhoenix is built on recommendations from the community; it’s how we uncover hidden gems, so if you or someone you know deserves recognition please let us know here.