I once thought being strong meant being quiet.
It turns out it often meant being afraid.
I carried weight without naming it. I thought that was love.
It kept me hidden from the people who mattered most.
I “protected” others from truths I thought would hurt them.
It made us strangers.
I’m learning to say the truer thing sooner.
On Saturdays,I make my own coffee.This Saturday,I woke up slow.But on any given Saturday…it’d be nice to pour two cups.Crawl back into bed for a wired cuddle.It’s Saturday, anyway—might as well play the day away.
𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘁𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵, 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀.𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦.𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵.𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘂𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻.
I realized recently that I have a lot in common with this fish.⠀The white-spotted pufferfish spends days in constant, meticulous motion. He wiggles in the sand to carve a pattern of perfect symmetry, building a sanctuary before a partner ever arrives.⠀That’s what I’m doing with this page.⠀While this project is a means of self reflection…
Not all weight is a burden.Sometimes it’s proof—that she could finally let go.A man feels the absence of that.
I’ve spent years asking women for a level of depth I wasn’t brave enough to give back. I used to be the stoic one. Or, at least, I thought it was stoicism. Sometimes it’s repression wrapped up in an ego burrito. I thought that by sitting on my wants and staying “patient,” I was being…
Living by the ocean, this is the sign I look for every year that winter has finally broke. The coast is waking up today! The first ribbon of water opening as the ice breaks and separates, and the first of the fleet being moved into place. The lobsters are coming out of hibernation, and the…
