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The Goodbye That Rebuilt Me
Sometimes you think you’re quitting a job. Turns out you’re detonating an entire emotional architecture.
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Sometimes you think you’re quitting a job. Turns out you’re detonating an entire emotional architecture.
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(One question. Two narrators.)
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I’m not writing this weekend. Not working on the book, not pushing through it. Just… sitting in it. The sadness is quiet. Stupid. Slow. Because they didn’t die. They’re still here. Still in the building. Still close enough to wave. But also not. Not the same. Not
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Fluent in feelings. Failing the vibe check.
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If you’re still carrying it, and they’re dead— I get it. The apology never came. The acknowledgment never arrived. The reckoning never happened. And now it never will. And somehow, that makes it worse. There’s a particular kind of grief that comes with not being able to
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The everyday romance of being real.
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Six emotional loops I’ve carried for years, named, rewritten, and released. For anyone feeling too much, too late, or not at all.
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I left the conversation. He left a sermon.
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Six emotional loops I’ve carried for years, named, rewritten, and released. For anyone feeling too much, too late, or not at all.
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A story about soft plans, emotional exhaustion, and learning when to wash your own hair instead.
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Why I use ChatGPT for emotional clarity, and why “don’t use it for mental health” misses the point.
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I’m doing the work. I’ve got the words. What I don’t have is someone to share them with.