"This has completely pierced my soul today, Kim! 🕊️✨ The sheer exhaustion of keeping up appearances and holding everything together behind a mask is so incredibly real.
Your words are a beautiful, powerful reminder that dropping the facade isn't something to fear—it's a sacred act of self-love and the only way to truly breathe. Simply stunning writing! 🩷✍️🌿"
You have written a masterpiece here, Kim! 🌹🎯 Your insights into the emotional toll of hiding our true selves just to keep the peace hit so incredibly deep. You have a phenomenal gift for putting these raw, vulnerable truths into words.
This resonated with me deeply. Especially the distinction between the drama of the edge and the quieter, steadier fire discovered through healing and endurance.
“What I gained was the chance to live long enough to discover a deeper fire” landed powerfully. I think there is something profoundly honest in acknowledging that the voltage of the blaze can still ache sometimes while also recognizing that ruin is not the only path to depth, truth, or aliveness.
I think we all crave the fire - we all fight addiction of one kind or another.
Many of us are on a journey of recovery. My partner and I relate to the peace you enjoy now - the warmth that remains outside that destructive fire. We are so thankful.
And we are heartbroken for one of our children completely lost in and committed to addiction. As things stand now the trajectory of his life is total destruction and dying before we do.
It is easy for others to look on and judge and ridicule. But they don’t know what they don’t know. We do know his story and the hard things in his life that began when he was only three.
What once gave him courage to face another day and keep living is now killing him.
We can’t, don’t and won’t condemn him. There is only understanding, mercy, compassion, love and empathy.
We have walked a few miles in his shoes. And now the challenge is to watch him unraveling and try to bear it.
There are choices we can only make for ourselves. There is only this day and this moment that we are grateful he is still with us and hope for the day he will find relief. Be it recovery or death. 🙏 Such is this often mysterious, wonderful, awful life.
This felt like a love letter to the quieter side of who you have become as you continue on becoming . But also a dear John letter to the fire and edge in which was passion and chaos. Some days I’m sure were indescribable, but I’m sure most were inconceivable. I wonder if the edge is now the teetering between the two? The side that craves more and the side that settles into depth 🧡
The edge always sells itself like passion, depth, destiny, and probably a leather jacket it bought during a divorce. But a lot of the time it’s just chaos with better branding. Recovery doesn’t kill the fire. It just stops letting the fire use your living room as a TED Talk. The quiet Tuesday with coffee and a dog sighing in your lap may not look dramatic, but that’s because peace doesn’t need a fog machine.
"This has completely pierced my soul today, Kim! 🕊️✨ The sheer exhaustion of keeping up appearances and holding everything together behind a mask is so incredibly real.
Your words are a beautiful, powerful reminder that dropping the facade isn't something to fear—it's a sacred act of self-love and the only way to truly breathe. Simply stunning writing! 🩷✍️🌿"
You have written a masterpiece here, Kim! 🌹🎯 Your insights into the emotional toll of hiding our true selves just to keep the peace hit so incredibly deep. You have a phenomenal gift for putting these raw, vulnerable truths into words.
Love ❤️ ♥️ 😍 you xxx
Beautifully put. This is life, after all.
This resonated with me deeply. Especially the distinction between the drama of the edge and the quieter, steadier fire discovered through healing and endurance.
“What I gained was the chance to live long enough to discover a deeper fire” landed powerfully. I think there is something profoundly honest in acknowledging that the voltage of the blaze can still ache sometimes while also recognizing that ruin is not the only path to depth, truth, or aliveness.
Beautifully written. Thank you for this.
🙏beautiful.
I think we all crave the fire - we all fight addiction of one kind or another.
Many of us are on a journey of recovery. My partner and I relate to the peace you enjoy now - the warmth that remains outside that destructive fire. We are so thankful.
And we are heartbroken for one of our children completely lost in and committed to addiction. As things stand now the trajectory of his life is total destruction and dying before we do.
It is easy for others to look on and judge and ridicule. But they don’t know what they don’t know. We do know his story and the hard things in his life that began when he was only three.
What once gave him courage to face another day and keep living is now killing him.
We can’t, don’t and won’t condemn him. There is only understanding, mercy, compassion, love and empathy.
We have walked a few miles in his shoes. And now the challenge is to watch him unraveling and try to bear it.
There are choices we can only make for ourselves. There is only this day and this moment that we are grateful he is still with us and hope for the day he will find relief. Be it recovery or death. 🙏 Such is this often mysterious, wonderful, awful life.
Thank you for sharing this. I feel like you are telling my story.
Your honesty about missing the intensity of your past life is relatable. It’s such an empowering example to the complexity of healing and growth.
This felt like a love letter to the quieter side of who you have become as you continue on becoming . But also a dear John letter to the fire and edge in which was passion and chaos. Some days I’m sure were indescribable, but I’m sure most were inconceivable. I wonder if the edge is now the teetering between the two? The side that craves more and the side that settles into depth 🧡
I enjoyed this piece very much.
The edge always sells itself like passion, depth, destiny, and probably a leather jacket it bought during a divorce. But a lot of the time it’s just chaos with better branding. Recovery doesn’t kill the fire. It just stops letting the fire use your living room as a TED Talk. The quiet Tuesday with coffee and a dog sighing in your lap may not look dramatic, but that’s because peace doesn’t need a fog machine.
We always crave that edge, don’t we?
Wise!
Hi there, Tim.