Healing and Hurt

A man walked by our table while my wife and I were eating dinner tonight. He didn’t do anything wrong. Just walked by. But it hit me like a punch to the gut. All I could think about was that dream. The one that didn’t really happen, but feels like it did. I don’t know why my body reacts like this. My stomach hurts. My chest feels tight. I want to crawl out of my skin. I hate that something as small as a stranger passing can make everything inside me twist like this. I want to

(is this metawarness?) 🤨 I know I’m not the only person who’s probably felt this way. I know there are others out there who’ve had this same ache. But it still feels ridiculous …to grieve the thought of losing grief. It’s like, in my mind, if the grief ends, the connection ends too. And I don’t want that. I don’t want to stop caring. I don’t want to stop feeling connected. So here I am again, hiding in the bathroom until the crying stops. Trying to get through the wave witho

I don’t know how to deal with the emotions flooding me right now. The panic. The fear. The way it feels like I just want to disappear. Like I just want to stop existing for a while because it’s all too much. How am I supposed to get through therapy if this is how I feel after each time? Lost. Alone. Scared. Worried that I’ll let someone in just to be hurt again. Worried that I’ll get attached in time. Because I don’t want to. I don’t want to feel attached. I don’t want to bel

I don’t want to show up tomorrow. And I do. It feels like each part of me is gripping the valves on opposite sides of my heart, pulling until something gives. Another part just wants to take a spear and drive it through the center so the pain stops—metaphorically, of course. There’s so much chaos inside me right now that I can’t tell what I feel anymore. All I know is that therapy doesn’t feel like a place of healing right now, and that terrifies me. So I guess scared is the

I thought about deleting my last few posts. The ones written in the thick of emotion. Most of my writing happens there, in that space where feelings are sharp and words come fast. Anger, for me, feels shameful. It always has. Feeling it makes me question whether I’m a good person. I’ve told myself that good people don’t get angry, don’t let it spill out. But I think I’m going to try something different.I’m letting those posts live here. Maybe if I keep them, I can learn that

I honestly don’t like this part of me. The part that gets angry. That lets myself feel affected by another person. I catch myself asking … did you really think you deserved better? That’s laughable. But the truth is, I do want better, not just for me, but for all queer people. For all marginalized communities. Because I think more harm comes from the ones who claim allyship without fulfilling that label than from the ones who are openly against it. At least with them, you kno

When you sit down across from a therapist and they ask, “How’s your week been?” or even, “How’s your day been?” The load of that question. I thought of this while standing at my washing machine, watching towels spin. I started to have a panic attack… brief, but sharp…and I realized how impossible it is to form a sentence that paints the full picture. Even if I could, the feeling would be gone by the time I found the words. I’m trying to mentally prepare myself for Thursday. T

You ever want someone’s presence so badly that all you can do is cry? The kind of crying that makes your heart hurt so much it feels like your body can’t hold it. The kind where you try to breathe through it, but each breath comes out jagged …..like you’re popping up for air after a 100-foot free dive. That’s what attachment feels like for me. But I read somewhere that attachment isn’t love connection is. And that made me pause. Because the truth is, I think I hold both when

I was able to pass out when I got home from work, so at least I’ll have an hour of sleep in me. I’m struggling with feeling… I’m not sure what, but whatever it is, it’s a deep ache. It sits heavy, even when I can’t quite name it. Despite the weight of the day, I made a point to track the things that brought me small moments of joy. The pieces that helped me feel even a little bit lighter. Things that made me smile or laugh today: A Pisces Instagram account calling me (and eve

Have you ever been so sleep deprived that you’re in a perpetual state of sweat? That’s where I am. You would think being exhausted both physically and mentally would let me sleep through the night. But no. The universe insists that I be up… and I don’t know why. If something catastrophic happens, all I’m going to do is stare into the abyss while it happens. I can’t tell you the number of times something that requires action happens and I’m left frozen in place while my wife i

I hate the arbitration of rules that aren’t solely arbitrary. I struggle with the grief that fills the back of my throat and makes it sting. Tears welling up in my eyes as I try to find the words to put to the feelings swelling inside of me. I can feel the cool tears sliding down my cheek and dropping onto my shirt. Missing you comes with shame, shame for the way I feel, shame for the way I still hurt this far from saying goodbye. There’s something beautiful about loving beyo

Sometimes I shift. Today the most open I can be is to say I can’t be open. Something in me won’t let me. Maybe I’ll be back tomorrow.

The grief sits in my chest, heavy and unrelenting, pressing up into my throat until it’s hard to breathe without crying. My whole body tenses under the weight of it. Every muscle feels alert, like I’m bracing for something I can’t stop from coming. I can feel the tears there, begging to be released, but I can’t let them out unless I’m completely alone. And yet, I don’t move. I don’t create the space to be alone enough to let them fall. I just sit in the ache, held captive bet

I meet with someone new next week. And I already know they’ll probably ask me to sign a release of information. It’s a pretty standard thing, just so therapists can talk, share updates, and help with continuity of care. I get it. But it’s something I’ve always struggled with. When I think about that phone call, it’s not the idea of being misrepresented that scares me. It’s the fear that someone I still love might not carry me in good light anymore. That what I thought they th

I’m trying really hard to think about what I need in therapy right now. I’ve been reflecting on the past couple of therapists I’ve seen. I caught myself realizing that I don’t really want to take their grounding suggestions anymore. Not because I think grounding doesn’t help. But because I just don’t feel safe in the room. And I’m not going to listen to someone I don’t feel some level of safety with. So maybe that’s my first goal: to feel safe enough with them before anything

I may be seeing someone new next week. I was referred to a therapist for couples counseling who so far is absolutely amazing. My wife and I both love sessions with her. She’s actually helping me see what it feels like to have a good fit again. At the same time, it’s a little different showing up individually. My wife has always made me feel safer in the world, so couples therapy has always been a lot easier. I think mostly because I don’t have to do as much talking. But even

The waves of grief don’t feel like I’ve balanced the surfboard just yet. It feels like I’m looking at the shoreline and I’m getting hit by waves before I even see them. I want so badly to be through this, because I’m tired of all the feelings that come with the pain. The shame. The humiliation. The doubt. The self-blame. And every contradicting emotion you can think of. I am exhausted. I’m glad I got to experience a good day. And I’m also frustrated that it’s 1 a.m. and I can

I’m laying here trying to go to sleep and finding myself angry about the termination I experienced this year. And I’m just tired of being angry about it. I know the anger is covering up the hurt . The hurt of never really getting to process it with anyone. What I can’t wrap my head around is how a trained trauma professional can justify something like that in their mind. Because I can’t. I’m feeling the harm that someone else’s ego won’t let them see, and it deeply upsets me.

After sleeping for what had to be thirteen hours straight, I woke up, went outside with my pups, and just… breathed for a while. Somewhere between the sunlight, their wagging tails, and the quiet, it hit me: If I can’t find help for myself, I can at least try to do for myself what others couldn’t. I don’t know shit about somatic work, but I’m not afraid to learn. I can read, I can take courses, I can study what it means to heal through my body — even if I have to do it alone.

I have therapy tomorrow, and I can already feel my throat closing. There’s this weight covering my head—like fog, like static—and a faint sense of floating somewhere just outside myself. Naming that is progress, I guess. There was a time I couldn’t have even noticed a body sensation, much less written about it. I don’t always have access to this kind of awareness, and even when I do, it slips away fast. Still, that’s not really the point. The point is the frustration that com