"So when are your dues finally paid? When is it time to put yourself first and make your needs a priority? If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn’t end up feeling so stupid when I run right back into that revolving door."

Life used to move fast—feral, focused, and fiercely forward. I built a rhythm out of speed, outpacing fear with purpose. But after diagnosis, everything changed. Time now ticks by in appointments, scans, and long echoes of “until next time.” I’m still too new to all this to understand it—but I’ve learned that screaming helps, survival requires company, and there’s power in rewriting the story as you live it. Even when community fails you, sometimes connection shows up where you least expect it.

Well… this is awkward.

We somehow created a platform that does the very thing we’ve spent years avoiding:
Talking about our feelings.
For two former emo-scene kids, you’d think this would come naturally.
But no. We got good at stuffing things down, making dark jokes, and powering through while pretending everything was fine.
(Spoiler: it wasn’t.)

I’ve never been great at small talk.
After spending years immersed in the deepest parts of people’s lives, the surface level has always felt… hollow. I don’t do shallow well, and I’ve finally stopped apologizing for that.

I’ve had the honor, and the heartbreak, of working in spaces that reveal both the ugliest parts of life and the quiet strength it takes to survive them