About

Coming up with the title for this site, I couldn't help thinking of the old Beatles song, "With a Little Help From My Friends":

Does it worry you to be alone?
How do I feel by the end of the day
Are you sad because you're on your own?

No, I get by with a little help from my friends
Hmm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Hmm, gonna try with a little help from my friends

The thing is, a big part of why I started this site is that in the months and years following layoffs, divorce, and the pandemic, very few of the friends I started with are left.

That's not a "please pity me" statement because based on various articles I've read, a lot of us end up in the same boat. We grow and find out some of our friends were actually toxic and were holding us back. Or that they're growing at their own pace and can't come with us. Or that we simply aren't compatible anymore. Your mileage may vary.

Yet we need each other now more than ever. Life is becoming objectively more difficult for all of us by the year. As the world warms and the systems we’ve built continue to fail — through either neglect or destruction — we will become more and more vulnerable, more and more reliant on one another. To quote one of my favorite recent television series, The Haunting of Bly Manor:

"You know, in the old days, I mean the really old days, they used to build bonfires like this and talk about the people they'd lost. Toss in offerings to drive away evil spirits, bones mostly. That's why they call it a bonfire, from the old English "bone fire." Build a pile of old bones and burn away the shadows. Because from here on in, the shadows get deeper, the nights get longer. We're heading into the dark, and we have to hang onto each other."

Still, I'm not sure if people these days are more likely to help each other than not. Healing from personal disaster over the past couple of years, I've experienced both stunning generosity and craven indifference, along with everything in between:

generosity with strings attached (either money or sex)
suspicion and hostility (because everyone knows single mothers take advantage, or some shit),
pure avoidance (because talking about emotions is just that uncomfortable).

These are all trauma responses, even the unconditional generosity, coming from people who don’t want to see others suffer. I don’t use the word “trauma” lightly. We live in traumatic times, under systems that trigger old traumas and introduce new ones.

I’d go as far as to say that trauma, “perhaps the most avoided, ignored, belittled, denied, misunderstood, and untreated cause of human suffering,” is virtually ingrained in us.

It’s often hard to tell which response you’re going to get. A lot of times I would cope outdoors, in my yard and on the trail. As I pruned and trimmed and pulled, other words from Bly Manor came to resonate deeply:

“And it’s so clear… how people aren’t worth it. But plants… you pour your love, and your effort, and your nourishment into them and you see where it goes. You watch them grow and it all makes sense.”

I found solace in the dirt and sun when one too many people snapped or solicited or ghosted or otherwise hurt me, again. I made order out of chaos. I learned to make space for myself as well as the green things I was trying to encourage.

And, as the green things grew towards sunlight, I grew towards other humans. We are social creatures, after all; we need each other, as Bly Manor’s Jamie also understands:

“So yeah, everyone is exhaustive. Even the best ones. But sometimes… once in a blue goddamned moon, I guess… someone… like this moonflower, just might be worth the effort.”

I’m still working on my own considerable hangups when it comes to making the effort, so this site is my attempt to connect when connection still feels risky; when reaching out feels dangerous and the attention I receive might be laden with fruit I’m still learning I don’t have to eat.

Thus, this site has a threefold purpose:

A place for me to examine the various ways in which my trauma responses affect my ability to connect with other humans.
A place for you to ponder whether my experiences ring true for you, as well.
A community where all of us can learn how to heal ourselves and our planet.

As such, it’s an antidote to technology solutionism and other forms of noise. It's for readers who want to connect with others, but aren’t sure if they're ready to do so; and for those who support them in trying.

It’s for those of us to feel a little safer in our encounters — our risks — with hurt people who take our bids for connection as a challenge to win or an invitation to exploit us.

My hope is that by learning how to make space for ourselves as well as other living beings, we will challenge ourselves to observe and care, to see our similarities.

About Me

In no particular order, I’m a neurodivergent (ADHD? autistic? CPTSD? some of all?) journalist, book author, researcher, recovering marketer, sometime swimmer / hiker / kayaker, mom of teens, raccoon stan, and probably other epithets I’m not thinking of.

In the interests of recognizing my own privilege(s), I am a white woman. I own my own home / property. I am in overall good health. My kids are teens and are virtually self-sufficient. Thus I have the time and energy and resources to do the work as well as to write about it.

Find out more about my work and me at my website.