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 they etched into your bones.

maybe you thought leaving would feel like freedom, but it mostly 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 alone.

you’re in the middle of your becoming.

And this is a space for people exactly like you.

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.

3. A community of Story reclaimers.

You’re not crazy for still missing what you left. You aren’t wrong for still wanting something sacred. Join the newsletter for behind-the-scenes essays, raw voice notes, and permission to grieve, laugh, and rebuild.

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.