Wishing I could send you a ((hug)) right thru the wifi. Please have Luis do it in person (if that’s okay).
March is the month you cracked open the shell you once were raised within. You pecked your way out, and it was horrible, harsh and cold out there, and you deserved better than what you got. Yet now, you not only survived that, you’ve thrived. You’ve already become the marvelous human you were meant to be, and you’re sweet and kind, and valuable.
I wonder if there might be a new way to name the park… and the Month…. You spent 17 years in incubation, and this is where you were born. March truly is your birthday. It’s the horrible pain and the success you have made of yourself now. ♥️
“You pecked your way out.” That image is going to stay with me. There’s something about how raw and effortful that feels, not graceful, not clean, just real. I think that’s exactly what it was. I got my hug. Haha! Thank you for the wifi hug 🧡
Once more your story resonates deep within my heart and soul. I feel it profoundly. Getting past the many traumas that have affected every aspect of my life has been an uphill battle. Like yourself, I have used just about every tool available. Meeting you through Substack has literally lifted me from one of my darkest periods. You have no idea how your words inspired me to be better to myself, to do better towards others as well. When I need a boost I re-read what you publish. I re-listen to your meditation prompts. Each time I am uplifted to a functional place once more. I am grateful you are alive and accessible. I need you selfishly and unapologetically. Thank again Alex. There are just not words created to express how very grateful I am to you and in turn to Substack for leading me to meet you. Thank you is the best I can do. Please keep going in your quest toward aliveness, it is a worthy endeavor in every sense. You are truly one of a kind. ❤️🌼 BTW we both need to appreciate March more, since our birth month is a common thread that binds us, even though it holds serious pitfalls in our lives, it also holds great rebirth moments that strengthen our resolves. 😘
I’m smiling at “selfishly and unapologetically,” I think more of us could stand to claim what we need like that. No notes from me. Just a quiet yes. And also, I’m really glad my words get to sit with you in those moments, that feels like the best kind of exchange. I always appreciate you, Kathy, and you always showing up here. I love to see your comments each and every time. 🧡
I comment only when I’m struck with amazement and it resonates. I always believe that expressing emotion especially positive emotion is very important in all lives. You are an inspiration.
Thank you for your raw honesty, for being vulnerable for all of us! Traumas sometimes stay in our bodies and they reminder us of it. Healing never ends, it’s a continuous journey but being aware and accepting it’s important! Than you for this ❤️
I really appreciate you sharing this. The way you named awareness and acceptance stood out to me. I’m curious, what has helped you stay in that place of acceptance when things feel more intense or close to the surface?
I could have stopped at the title - healing doesn't mean finished. Even just those words spoke strongly to me, a justification that I'd figured that out - finally. After four years of therapy, I knew it was time to stop, even though I had work still to do. But life went on, and I noticed that growth continued. Life itself became therapy. I guess I'll never stop healing, which is quite the adventure.
“Life itself became therapy.” That line stayed with me. There’s something about that shift, where the work stops being contained to a room or a structure and starts living with you. It feels less like fixing and more like being in relationship with yourself. Thank you for your share. 🧡
“And I have witness. Luis knows now. The park has been named out loud. I don’t carry it alone anymore.”
This speaks to me so very much. I have my own version of a park—I think we all do. But there is such a relief and softening when we finally invite in a witness to help us not carry it alone. We can look at former events without squinting, even on the brightest, sunny day. I love your words SO much, Alexander. And the way you keep arriving with March is beautiful. 🤍
This really touched me, thank you. The way you named that softening when we don’t have to carry it alone, I felt that in my body reading it. I’m so glad the piece met you there. And something about you having your own “park” makes me feel less alone in mine too. Thank you for sharing, my friend. You have your own way with words that is always so beautiful and magical. 🧡
Absolutely love this! Your body is remembering you, preparing and protecting you. My second husband died unexpectedly in July 28 years ago, beginning the hardest 2 years of my life. July is now always a heavy month for me, even tho it is my birthmonth and that of my current hubby's.
Thank you for sharing this with me. I can feel the weight of what July holds for you, and the tenderness of it living alongside something that is also meant to be celebratory. That kind of layering is so real. I’m really glad you said this out loud here. 🧡
Wonderful, difficult, heartfelt words hit my heart as my head nodded in agreement. Yes. There are those times/months and I’ve found the best thing to do, as you did, is see it and let it be.
“See it and let it be.” That’s such a simple phrase, and somehow it holds so much. It feels like the kind of knowing that only comes after trying to do everything else first.
Alex, when you write, sometimes I feel the ache in your writing. This was one of those times, but there was also release, an ease that followed. Thank you for sharing your words and your hurts with us, the healing power of words also comes through.
“the ache… and then release.” I love how you named that. It feels like that’s the rhythm of it for me too, not one or the other, but something that moves through both.
Oh, Alex, thank you for sharing your heart and for telling us why March is so hard for you. I remember reading the guest essay you wrote for my publication about a year ago and feeling immersed in your story. It was (and still is) so brave that you chose to share what you did, and I think about it from time to time. Your story gives me context to this one today, and it's those fleeting comments, like, "I turned 18 here" that somehow find a space to give voice to an ache or longing or wound. Those four words held such power, Alex, and I'm so glad Luis was there as your witness, to just hold them without trying to fill the space, like you said. What a gift. What a gift.
I almost didn’t include that line. It felt too simple, like it might just pass by unnoticed. But something in me knew it mattered, even if I couldn’t explain why. Reading your words makes me glad I trusted that instinct. Thank you, my friend. You matter so much to me! I appreciate you!
Alex, this is beautiful, because it is vulnerable, because it is wise, and because it is true. Thank you for redeeming your story even a little more by sharing it with us.
My spiritual director reminds me once a month, "Kelly, you're not here to be finished, you're here to be formed."
But I can always use an extra reminder! Thank you. 🙏
“You’re not here to be finished, you’re here to be formed.” That line landed in a very real way. It feels like the kind of truth that keeps unfolding each time you hear it. Thank you for coming here and sharing a bit more with us. 🧡
This really touched me, thank you. There’s something quietly powerful in knowing these months don’t belong to just one of us. I’m really glad the piece met you in a way that felt soothing.
I love you Alex. Your "throwing spaghetti on the wall" to see what sticks until there is nothing left to eat is a brilliant metaphor. Wow. That one hit. So many times I have invested in so many things that didn't stick and ended up with nothing left for myself. what I needed all along was someone to simply witness me, over and over again, until I stopped trying to fix things. Hobbit is that for me. I'm so happy you have Luis. I need to meet him someday.
Part of me wishes I could say that metaphor came from a place of poetic brilliance. It was really just me looking at my own life like, wow, that’s a lot of spaghetti and not much dinner.
Alex, what a beautiful share. So much in this touched me, resonated. But this line: “Until you realize your wall is covered in spaghetti and you have nothing left to eat.” Daaaaaang. Thank you for being you.
This means a lot, thank you. I could feel your reaction in that “daaaaang,” and it made me smile. I’m really glad that line landed and that the piece resonated with you like that. 🧡
“Healing is just another word for life.” I love how you said that. It feels simple, but it carries so much. Like something relaxes when we stop treating it as something separate.
I’m smiling at the lighthouse image. Part of me feels like I’m just out here trying to keep my own light on most days, but I love the idea that it’s helping someone else find their way too. 🧡
I relate to this so much Alex. For years, I always got sick in February. I told myself, it's Winter, everyone is sick, this is normal. Then I moved to the Southern Hemisphere. It was Summer, and I still found myself sick in February. I finally joined the dots after more than a decade, and realised February was the anniversary of a really painful loss I wasn't acknowledging. Since I made it conscious, I'm still affected by it, but I no longer get sick in February. Our body remembers, even when our mind turns away.
Wishing I could send you a ((hug)) right thru the wifi. Please have Luis do it in person (if that’s okay).
March is the month you cracked open the shell you once were raised within. You pecked your way out, and it was horrible, harsh and cold out there, and you deserved better than what you got. Yet now, you not only survived that, you’ve thrived. You’ve already become the marvelous human you were meant to be, and you’re sweet and kind, and valuable.
I wonder if there might be a new way to name the park… and the Month…. You spent 17 years in incubation, and this is where you were born. March truly is your birthday. It’s the horrible pain and the success you have made of yourself now. ♥️
“You pecked your way out.” That image is going to stay with me. There’s something about how raw and effortful that feels, not graceful, not clean, just real. I think that’s exactly what it was. I got my hug. Haha! Thank you for the wifi hug 🧡
Exactly how I meant it! It was far from easy, but unlike those who gave up, you have flourished!
Once more your story resonates deep within my heart and soul. I feel it profoundly. Getting past the many traumas that have affected every aspect of my life has been an uphill battle. Like yourself, I have used just about every tool available. Meeting you through Substack has literally lifted me from one of my darkest periods. You have no idea how your words inspired me to be better to myself, to do better towards others as well. When I need a boost I re-read what you publish. I re-listen to your meditation prompts. Each time I am uplifted to a functional place once more. I am grateful you are alive and accessible. I need you selfishly and unapologetically. Thank again Alex. There are just not words created to express how very grateful I am to you and in turn to Substack for leading me to meet you. Thank you is the best I can do. Please keep going in your quest toward aliveness, it is a worthy endeavor in every sense. You are truly one of a kind. ❤️🌼 BTW we both need to appreciate March more, since our birth month is a common thread that binds us, even though it holds serious pitfalls in our lives, it also holds great rebirth moments that strengthen our resolves. 😘
I’m smiling at “selfishly and unapologetically,” I think more of us could stand to claim what we need like that. No notes from me. Just a quiet yes. And also, I’m really glad my words get to sit with you in those moments, that feels like the best kind of exchange. I always appreciate you, Kathy, and you always showing up here. I love to see your comments each and every time. 🧡
I comment only when I’m struck with amazement and it resonates. I always believe that expressing emotion especially positive emotion is very important in all lives. You are an inspiration.
Thank you for your raw honesty, for being vulnerable for all of us! Traumas sometimes stay in our bodies and they reminder us of it. Healing never ends, it’s a continuous journey but being aware and accepting it’s important! Than you for this ❤️
I really appreciate you sharing this. The way you named awareness and acceptance stood out to me. I’m curious, what has helped you stay in that place of acceptance when things feel more intense or close to the surface?
I could have stopped at the title - healing doesn't mean finished. Even just those words spoke strongly to me, a justification that I'd figured that out - finally. After four years of therapy, I knew it was time to stop, even though I had work still to do. But life went on, and I noticed that growth continued. Life itself became therapy. I guess I'll never stop healing, which is quite the adventure.
“Life itself became therapy.” That line stayed with me. There’s something about that shift, where the work stops being contained to a room or a structure and starts living with you. It feels less like fixing and more like being in relationship with yourself. Thank you for your share. 🧡
“And I have witness. Luis knows now. The park has been named out loud. I don’t carry it alone anymore.”
This speaks to me so very much. I have my own version of a park—I think we all do. But there is such a relief and softening when we finally invite in a witness to help us not carry it alone. We can look at former events without squinting, even on the brightest, sunny day. I love your words SO much, Alexander. And the way you keep arriving with March is beautiful. 🤍
This really touched me, thank you. The way you named that softening when we don’t have to carry it alone, I felt that in my body reading it. I’m so glad the piece met you there. And something about you having your own “park” makes me feel less alone in mine too. Thank you for sharing, my friend. You have your own way with words that is always so beautiful and magical. 🧡
Absolutely love this! Your body is remembering you, preparing and protecting you. My second husband died unexpectedly in July 28 years ago, beginning the hardest 2 years of my life. July is now always a heavy month for me, even tho it is my birthmonth and that of my current hubby's.
Thank you for sharing this with me. I can feel the weight of what July holds for you, and the tenderness of it living alongside something that is also meant to be celebratory. That kind of layering is so real. I’m really glad you said this out loud here. 🧡
Wonderful, difficult, heartfelt words hit my heart as my head nodded in agreement. Yes. There are those times/months and I’ve found the best thing to do, as you did, is see it and let it be.
“See it and let it be.” That’s such a simple phrase, and somehow it holds so much. It feels like the kind of knowing that only comes after trying to do everything else first.
Alex, when you write, sometimes I feel the ache in your writing. This was one of those times, but there was also release, an ease that followed. Thank you for sharing your words and your hurts with us, the healing power of words also comes through.
“the ache… and then release.” I love how you named that. It feels like that’s the rhythm of it for me too, not one or the other, but something that moves through both.
Oh, Alex, thank you for sharing your heart and for telling us why March is so hard for you. I remember reading the guest essay you wrote for my publication about a year ago and feeling immersed in your story. It was (and still is) so brave that you chose to share what you did, and I think about it from time to time. Your story gives me context to this one today, and it's those fleeting comments, like, "I turned 18 here" that somehow find a space to give voice to an ache or longing or wound. Those four words held such power, Alex, and I'm so glad Luis was there as your witness, to just hold them without trying to fill the space, like you said. What a gift. What a gift.
And what a gift you are to us, to me.
I almost didn’t include that line. It felt too simple, like it might just pass by unnoticed. But something in me knew it mattered, even if I couldn’t explain why. Reading your words makes me glad I trusted that instinct. Thank you, my friend. You matter so much to me! I appreciate you!
Yes, Alex! I’m so glad you trusted your intuition. It’s often one powerful line that sticks with me. :)
Alex, this is beautiful, because it is vulnerable, because it is wise, and because it is true. Thank you for redeeming your story even a little more by sharing it with us.
My spiritual director reminds me once a month, "Kelly, you're not here to be finished, you're here to be formed."
But I can always use an extra reminder! Thank you. 🙏
“You’re not here to be finished, you’re here to be formed.” That line landed in a very real way. It feels like the kind of truth that keeps unfolding each time you hear it. Thank you for coming here and sharing a bit more with us. 🧡
Your March is my April. Thank you for presenting it in a profoundly soothing and healing way. ✨
This really touched me, thank you. There’s something quietly powerful in knowing these months don’t belong to just one of us. I’m really glad the piece met you in a way that felt soothing.
I love you Alex. Your "throwing spaghetti on the wall" to see what sticks until there is nothing left to eat is a brilliant metaphor. Wow. That one hit. So many times I have invested in so many things that didn't stick and ended up with nothing left for myself. what I needed all along was someone to simply witness me, over and over again, until I stopped trying to fix things. Hobbit is that for me. I'm so happy you have Luis. I need to meet him someday.
Part of me wishes I could say that metaphor came from a place of poetic brilliance. It was really just me looking at my own life like, wow, that’s a lot of spaghetti and not much dinner.
Oh you will meet him someday!!!
The image of you looking at a wall of spaghetti…well…let’s just say I can hear your full throated Alex “delightful” laugh thinking about it.
Alex, what a beautiful share. So much in this touched me, resonated. But this line: “Until you realize your wall is covered in spaghetti and you have nothing left to eat.” Daaaaaang. Thank you for being you.
This means a lot, thank you. I could feel your reaction in that “daaaaang,” and it made me smile. I’m really glad that line landed and that the piece resonated with you like that. 🧡
Thank you, Alex. Your writings are profoundly teaching me that healing is just another word for life. ❤️
“Healing is just another word for life.” I love how you said that. It feels simple, but it carries so much. Like something relaxes when we stop treating it as something separate.
As always your words touch my heart in a way that leaves me a little softer. Thank you for writing what I needed to hear today. 🙏💖🙏💖
Ps. And thank you for being you and showing up in this place so we have a lighthouse in our own healing.
I’m smiling at the lighthouse image. Part of me feels like I’m just out here trying to keep my own light on most days, but I love the idea that it’s helping someone else find their way too. 🧡
I relate to this so much Alex. For years, I always got sick in February. I told myself, it's Winter, everyone is sick, this is normal. Then I moved to the Southern Hemisphere. It was Summer, and I still found myself sick in February. I finally joined the dots after more than a decade, and realised February was the anniversary of a really painful loss I wasn't acknowledging. Since I made it conscious, I'm still affected by it, but I no longer get sick in February. Our body remembers, even when our mind turns away.