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Can we take a moment to talk about the ballroom? The $250 million dollar ballroom… The first defense I hear is people saying, “It’s privately funded.” And my thoughts are… how sad. How sad that, when so many people are struggling both within our country and around the world, some would choose to fund a ballroom instead of a food drive, or housing, or healthcare, or emergency aid. I know it’s their money to do with as they please, but that doesn’t make it free from reflection.

When it comes to my mental health, there are a lot of things I won’t talk about out loud. There are a lot of things I won’t even allow myself to think about, because the moment I do, I start to panic. And I just want other people out there to know that it’s normal for things to feel messy and unclear, to not know what is what. To not know the exact cause of every symptom, or the reason why certain things are happening. I used to drive myself up a wall trying to untwist everyt

I’m pretty frustrated with my sleep this week. I’ve been having to take Klonopin to fall asleep most nights, and then I struggle to wake up in the morning. The nights I’ve tried to tough it out (because I don’t like consistently taking this med without breaks), I either can’t fall asleep at all or, like tonight, I sleep for two hours and then I’m wide awake. My sleep is consistently filled with nightmares. I think that’s part of the problem, but I’m not fully sure. Sometimes

Lately I keep finding myself circling around the same thoughts, not searching for answers, just sitting in the wondering. How two people can drift and still feel near. How some connections hum quietly, even when no one’s talking. Maybe it’s care. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s something softer that doesn’t need to be named. And sometimes I wonder what it is that lingers between people, if it reaches both of us or just echoes in me.

I Still Miss You Most of All In moments like these, I cry. I grieve. Your absence from my life— memories of our laughter, surrounded by plants. Love pressed into the corners of my heart. You once gave me what I needed most: space to talk, a place to cry, a shoulder to lean on, a place to try. Try to learn better. Try to grow. Try to hold these memories close. My heart aches, and the tears fall. I still miss you most of all. Author’s Note: I wrote this poem many months ago, bu

My last post got me thinking about my journey from the moment I was first diagnosed with complex trauma and PTSD to where I am now and everything it’s taken to get here. I’ll share the highlights for now and maybe go into more detail another time. I showed up to my first individual therapy session absolutely terrified. Barely able to speak, barely able to make eye contact. I don’t remember how many sessions in it was, but I remember my therapist, after listening to me talk ab

You ever wonder how much of your healing is concrete and how much is just a medicated state? I was asked recently if I still experience flashbacks outside of therapy, and honestly I don’t, not like I used to. Not even close. But I’ve also been in therapy for a decent amount of time now, and I’ve developed an understanding of what’s actually going on versus what I used to think was my fault. That shift changed my entire relationship with flashbacks. (Shoutout to my first thera

What I hate the most isn’t that Trump is our president. It’s that the mindset of America is so toxic that people want him there. That even people within systems of oppression have been so deeply brainwashed that they’ll proudly vote for someone who would take their rights away in a heartbeat. That patriarchy is so normalized (how could it not be, when our country was founded on it?) that people can’t see past their own privilege, past their own lived experience. That we’ve be

I keep circling back to this conflict in my mind. Part of me feels like the lesson right now is about tact . About learning how to soften the way I approach situations so it doesn’t land like an attack, but more like curiosity. And yet another part of me gets angry when I think that, because isn’t that the whole point of therapy? To learn how to do better? To learn how to approach things differently? That’s where the confusion sets in. Where exactly is the line? The line betw

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

I was reflecting today and realized that for people who don’t know me …and even for some who do, my strong emotions might make them feel uneasy, or worry that I can’t handle the waves I experience. I just want to reassure anyone who might feel that way: I’ve been living with this depth of emotion for most of my life. It can be intense, but it’s not new to me. I’ve learned how to navigate it, how to let it move through me, and how to take care of myself in the process. Even wh

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.

Today my brain was nice to me, and I enjoyed it. A day of being present. They don’t come often, but when they do, I soak up every moment. The air feels a little lighter, the noise quiets just enough, and I can actually feel my feet on the ground instead of floating somewhere far away. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if this could be my baseline , if peace didn’t feel like a visitor I’m afraid to scare off. But today, I didn’t overthink it. I just lived. It was a g

I just discovered Vietnamese canned coffee. And canned draft lattes. It’s over for me. They’re too good. Like… how did no one warn me? That sweet, creamy, slightly dangerous kind of good. I keep telling myself, “just one more,” but now I’m basically a walking espresso bean with opinions. All I know is I’m hooked, and I regret nothing. A Liquid I.V. cancels it out, right?

I was watching Gossip Girl with my wife — for what has to be the fifteenth time — and we hit the part where Dan and Blair are dating. And instantly, I was like, nope. They don’t work. Blair needs someone like Chuck. And Dan… Dan just grosses me out. Then I went off about how self-righteous he is. And somewhere mid-rant, I realized — damn. Maybe that’s why he gets under my skin. Because I can be self-righteous too. Mine doesn’t come from superiority, it comes from protection.

Patriotism asks you to love something that was never built for everyone. It asks you to overlook the harm in its foundation, to drape yourself in the illusion that the system just needs a little fixing not a reckoning. Anti-racism asks for the opposite. It asks for truth. It asks for dismantling. It asks for sitting with the discomfort that this country was built on stolen land and stolen lives and that the same systems still feed off that history today. You can’t hold pride

Lately I’ve been struggling not to let the fact that I can’t seem to find someone to help me convince me that I’m the worst person walking this earth. Part of me really believes that must be true — that if I were easier to help, easier to sit with, I wouldn’t be here again, starting over. But I’m trying to remind myself of something that’s also true: most of the time, I’ve been the one walking away. And sometimes, it’s been mutual. That matters. Because walking away isn’t alw

Sometimes, things feel unbearably heavy. I can get swallowed by the thought that I’m worthless— that I’ll never be enough— and that darkness can stretch itself so wide, it casts shadows where they don’t belong. It convinces me to stop trying, to stop living. And then—there are days like today. Days when I watch my dogs run and play, tails wagging, hearts wide open to the world. Days when I see my wife’s beauty, both the quiet kind that sits in her heart and the kind that shin