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march 22, 2024 – the day that changed my life
— employee incident report — “staff, [redacted], had mopped floors in house per request. approximately 5–10 minutes later, i received a phone call from [redacted]. i answered, asked them to hold, and excused myself. on the way to door, by entryway table, i fell w/ my left leg under me and my right leg fully
#ChronicPainWarrior, #EmpathyMatters, #HealingJourney, #HealthcareStories, #inbloom, #InvisiblePain, #MentalHealthAwareness, #NeurodivergentStrength, #PainAndPerseverance, #RawAndReal, #Resilience, #StillFighting, #SurvivorStory, #thtgrl, #TraumaToTruth, #TruthTeller, #Unbreakable, #WhisperedWords, #WorkersComp, #WorkplaceInjury -
the anatomy of tenderness
love has always been a language i understood before i could speak it. it hums beneath everything—every silence, every glance, every trembling moment between what’s said and what’s meant. i’ve spent my whole life trying to translate it into words, but words always fall short. they can’t quite hold the way love feels when it
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the art of loving deeply
there’s a certain beauty in loving deeply—an ache that lives somewhere between fragility and strength. it isn’t the kind of love that demands to be seen, it’s the kind that hums quietly beneath the skin, steady and persistent. to love deeply is to exist with your chest cracked open, to let the world move through
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bixby, build a man
bixby, build a boy who listens before he speaks, who pauses long enough to hear the trembling between someone’s words. build him not from pride, but from patience. make his heart steady, not hard—gentle in the way it beats for others, but still strong enough to protect the soft things he loves. give him curiosity
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when healing tastes like anger
I find myself awake again, early in the morning. It’s 4:31 a.m. here in D.C., and for the last two hours I’ve been working on my book. My pen moves, my fingers type, but somewhere in the middle of writing about healing, I had to stop. Anger rose up in me like a tide I
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rewriting what love means
i was not born broken. i was not born carrying shame. those things were forced into me by the very person who was supposed to protect me. my father—the man who should have been my safe place, my shield—was the one who tore me apart. i was mentally, emotionally, physically, and sexually abused by him.






