If you’re carrying grief no one warned you about-you’re in the right place

Maybe you left a faith, a family, a life you were told was holy.

maybe you’re still waking up from the rules quietly etched into your bones.

maybe you thought leaving would feel like freedom, but mostly it feels like being lost in a language you were never taught to speak.

if any of this sounds familiar?

you are not broken.

you are not crazy.

you are not, in fact, alone.

what you’ll find here…

Gut-level writing about what happens after the collapse — grief, rage, hope — and the sacred mess of starting over.

1. Essays, letters, and infrequent poetry.

2. Spoken Word and performances.

Poetic performances and spoken confessions for the moments words on a page just aren’t enough.

my story in one breath

I was raised in a high-control group that called itself The Truth.

When I left, I thought freedom would feel like running. Thought it would feel like joy.

It felt like an absence. Like being unmade. It tasted like air I didn’t know how to breathe.

I write for the ones who know leaving isn’t the end of the story.

It’s the beginning of the real one.

You don’t have to be fully healed to start telling it.

You just have to be here.

A MEDITATION FROM INSIDE — AND BEYOND — ONE OF THE WORLD’S MOST SECRETIVE CHRISTIAN RELGIOUS MOVEMENTS.