When the Love Is for the Real You
It’s a strange feeling
to feel more loved and seen
in days and weeks
than you have in decades.
Is it because the love is finally
for the real you—
not the personalities crafted carefully,
piece by piece,
for each room,
each relationship,
each survival strategy?
Or is it because broken people
know what it means
to be broken
and unloved
in ways the wholehearted never have to learn?
Is it because we’ve been through hell
and learned to look for His grace
before we ever found His love?
Is it because I stopped wearing
the mask of self-hatred,
hardness,
shame,
fear—
or is it because
I found some incredible humans?
The People Who Met Me Where I Was
John.
The brother from another mother.
He showed me more love
in a single conflict we worked through together
than I have ever felt from another man.
Respect.
Restraint.
Compassion.
Kindness.
Insights I wasn’t ready to hear
until I was.
He carried the weight of the world
in his eyes
when he walked through the door.
It was hard to say goodbye—
but I know we’ll meet again,
somewhere,
someday,
somehow.
Rachel.
The queer icon
with blue hair
and vibrant energy
radiating love, leadership, and kindness.
She was one of the first
to make me feel safe.
To offer encouragement
without condition.
A steady source
of love and light,
always.
Rhonda.
The fierce auntie
who lost her child
and still found the strength
to keep going.
To fight for her health.
To fight the systems
that harm us.
“Corporate shenanigans suck,” she said,
“but the care is amazing.
I am the healthiest I’ve ever been—
and I’m suing the fuck out of them
when I get out.”
She taught me
how to surrender control
without surrendering accountability.
How to hold systems responsible
without losing myself.
Mama Michelle.
Ever-present smile,
masking decades of pain
that only surfaced
when it was righteous
and for someone else.
She helped me learn
what kind of man I want to be.
What kind of husband.
What kind of father.
We recover out loud
so others don’t die in silence.
The Ones I Carry With Me
Anna.
My sweet baby sister.
She has lived more
and survived more
than many do in several lifetimes.
She carries the weight of the world,
tries to find the help she needs,
and keeps struggling.
I just want to take care of her.
Hallie.
The witchy girl
who fought and fought and fought
when she didn’t feel safe or in control.
Sometimes she fought
what could have helped—
because too many things
never had.
She fought
until she couldn’t fight anymore
and left.
Nicky.
My sweet baby trans sister.
We lived together.
Cooked together.
Fed people together.
Cleaned.
Grew.
Quietly more confident
and grounded
than many twice her age.
A better cook than most.
She taught me
to be less judgmental,
less reactive,
more comfortable
in my own skin.
Nicholas.
The quiet, traumatized man
whose eyes reflect my own—
my eyes,
a decade ago.
Tired of being tired.
Ready for rest.
But unable to rest
until he finds
inner peace
and safety.
Frankie.
Strong.
Fierce.
Vulnerable.
Recovering as loudly as possible
so others don’t suffer
and die
in silence.
Zachary.
The sweet boy
who couldn’t forgive himself
for his mistakes—
the same mistakes
I made over a decade ago.
In forgiving him,
I forgave myself.
He wrote me a letter
that brought me to tears.
I don’t know if I’ve ever felt
as seen
or as loved
as I did
in his words.
And Then There Is Angela
My most consistent presence here.
Quietly kind.
Centered.
Silly.
Funny.
Strong.
Brave.
And yes—
a little cute.
It’s easy to blur the lines
between platonic and romantic love
when someone has seen
the ugliest parts of your soul
and still believes
you might make a good dad,
a good husband.
She carries the weight of the world
in her mind and on her shoulders.
When the walls come down,
the world forces her
to sit with the trauma
we are both running from—
overdose,
grief,
loss,
regret,
unexpressed love,
and love expressed so poorly
it looked more like abuse
than care.
I know she’s an amazing mom
because she has been one to me
when I was acting like a child
and needed a mother,
a friend,
someone who loved me
warts and all.
Who knows if it’s just friendship?
Who knows if it’s something more?
Who knows if she feels the same?
What I do know
is that I find comfort in her
more than anywhere else.
What Heals Us
And I think
the beautiful people
we find in these walls,
in these halls—
when we finally let
our walls down—
are what help us recover.
#MightyPoets #CheckInWithMe #MentalHealth #ADHD #PTSD #MightyTogether
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