Addiction

He never had emotional safety at home.
But his father never had it either.

He learned early
that silence was strength,
that providing mattered more than presence,
that tenderness was a liability.

He never had space to feel.
So he built walls instead—
not to hurt anyone,
but to survive.

He never had permission
to rest inside his own fear.
So he taught himself how not to need.

He never had a father
who could see his pain,
because his father
was carrying generations of it
with no language
and no relief.

And I grew up loving a man
who loved me the only way he knew how.

I mistook distance for disinterest.
I mistook restraint for absence.
I mistook silence for a lack of care.

But now I see it.

He wasn’t withholding love.
He was rationing what he was never given.

I’m not breaking from him.
I’m breaking the pattern—
so tenderness doesn’t feel dangerous,
so presence doesn’t feel earned,
so love doesn’t require armor.

Three generations.
One son brave enough to feel.

That’s how cycles soften.
That’s how healing begins.

#MightyPoets #MightyTogether #MentalHealth #Addiction #ItsOKMan #PTSD

It’s strange how some people feel discomfort
when you stop shrinking,
when you stand upright and speak your growth out loud—
not to boast,
but to remind others they don’t have to die in silence.

Confidence can act like a mirror.
And mirrors make the insecure aware
of what they have not yet faced.

I will not throw stones in glass houses.
I will be curious, not judgmental.

I will not let anyone dim my light
or crush my love
when I have only just found it again.

I have lived in darkness long enough
to recognize it in others.
I know what it is to live half-hearted.
I know what it is to tear others down
so I don’t have to feel small.

That is not who I am now.

I will build people up.
I will lead with love.
I will be warm.
I will be inviting.
I will hold the space
no one held for me.

And still—
I would be lying if I said a careless remark
doesn’t sometimes pierce the armor.
Even strong foundations can feel the shock
of a stone thrown from a fragile place.

That doesn’t mean the house is weak.

What is not okay
is believing the wound.
Forgetting how far I’ve come.
Letting someone else’s limited vision
shake the ground I’ve poured so carefully.

I am light.
I am love.
And I choose to love.

I choose to not shrink to soothe discomfort.
I will not throw stones from my own healing.
I will lead with warmth,
even when I’ve learned darkness well.

Yes, words can still bruise—
that doesn’t mean the foundation is cracked.

I know who I am.
I know how far I’ve come.
I am light.
I am love.
And I choose to lead with love.

#MightyPoets #MentalHealth #ADHD #Addiction #PTSD #MightyTogether #CheckInWithMe

I learned early how to survive—
how to strap on armor,
how to build masks from walls and defenses.
They kept me alive.
They also kept me alone.

Now, the armor comes off piece by piece.
Not all at once—
slowly, carefully,
with trembling hands.

What’s left is not certainty.
It’s guarded.
It’s nervous.
It’s antsy.

But it is peace.

Because peace isn’t the absence of fear—
it’s the willingness to stay anyway.

I am peace.
I am love.

And I will love differently
than I have been loved.

#MightyPoets #MightyTogether #MentalHealth #Addiction #PTSD #ADHD

It’s funny to live thirty years
with a brain screaming—
sprinting for help, for resources,
for exits.

And then to struggle
when the noise goes quiet for a few days.

The tension.
The static.
The lack of focus.
Overstimulation.
Irritability.
The quickness to anger.

The noise I learned to drown out
as hard as I could
for as long as I could—
until it could no longer be drowned
and demanded to be heard.

Smoke alarms.
Piles of unfinished tasks.
Alarm bells ringing at every stimulus
in the universe.

Shifting wakes.
Loud yawns and sighs—
the sighs.
Sirens.
Slamming doors.

Hypervigilance,
masquerading as ADHD,
in a nervous system
desperate for regulation.

Today, I can’t get my medication.
So I breathe.
I walk outside.
I hold snow in my hands.

I regulate myself
the way I always have.

I did it for thirty years.
I can do it for seven days.

I am okay
because I say I am okay.

And today,
that is enough.

#MightyPoets #MentalHealth #Addiction #PTSD #ADHD

I learned early that asking for help wasn’t safe.
A lifetime of forced institutions
built these walls brick by brick.

Fear.
Insecurity.
Abuse.
Violence.
Rage.
Fear again.
Abandonment.
Always fear.

Always hypervigilant.
Always overwhelmed.
Always racing—from one thought to the next,
one task to the next,
never arriving.

I mistook motion for survival.
Tension for readiness.
Chaos for home.

But I’m learning this now:
Rest equals safety.
Safety is love.

And life—
life is still a rollercoaster.
It always was.

The difference is
I’m not bracing for impact anymore.

I’m ready to ride it
with my arms up.

#MightyPoets #MightyTogether #MentalHealth #Addiction #ADHD #Grief #Trauma

There’s a feeling I can’t name
because I haven’t felt it in so long.

A flutter in the stomach.
A hollow in the chest.

Not empty—
more like the outline of something newly found,
a space I didn’t know was mine again.

Something is missing,
and I think it’s called love.

Not the kind that breaks you.
Not the kind that feels dangerous.
Not the kind that keeps you braced for impact.

This love doesn’t feel unsafe.

It feels steady.
It feels present.
It feels alive.

And it’s louder than it’s ever been—
not because it’s screaming,
but because nothing inside me is trying to run from it.

#MightyPoets #MentalHealth #ADHD #Addiction #Grief #PTSD