healing
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There’s a particular kind of fear that rises when you start writing a story that lives close to your own wounds. It’s not the fear of being judged or misunderstood — though that’s there too. It’s something deeper. Something quieter. Something that feels like standing at the edge of a truth you’ve spent years learning…
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For a long time, my life was built around survival. Not in a dramatic sense, but in the everyday way that mothers know too well — the kind of survival that requires you to keep moving even when you’re exhausted, to keep showing up even when you’re stretched thin, to keep choosing your children even…
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There are moments in life that don’t look like much from the outside — a breath taken on a balcony, a hand resting on a railing, a pause before speaking — but something in them feels holy. Not in a ceremonial way. Not in a way that needs candles or rituals or perfect words. Just……
Leigh C. Mitchell 