The hardest part of grief isn’t always the catastrophe itself. Sometimes it’s realizing the world quietly resumes while you’re still standing in the wreckage trying to understand what survived.
The hardest part of grief isn’t always the catastrophe itself. Sometimes it’s realizing the world quietly resumes while you’re still standing in the wreckage trying to understand what survived.
Self-medication is rarely about getting high — it is about getting relief. This sardonic reflection explores trauma, addiction, avoidance, and society’s obsession with feeling better immediately instead of actually healing.
Three years after my husband’s suicide, I reflect on grief, unhealthy relationships, self-medication, and the uncomfortable truth that healing is not the same as romanticizing the past. Sometimes survival means accepting that there will never be perfect answers — only the choice to keep moving forward.
A raw letter to my mother three years after her death, reflecting on grief, sobriety, domestic violence, regret, family, military service, faith, and the complicated process of learning to forgive yourself.