Author: poeaxtry_

Yeah, I’m holding a grudge. A big fucking one.

I’m holding a grudge against whatever deity, universe, or cosmic force decided it was okay for my mother to die when I was only 30. Actually, twenty-nine. It has been almost four damn years. I can’t believe it was eight days before my birthday and before my twin sister’s her youngest children were even 21. 

And you know what? I will forever hold this grudge against whatever divine being made that choice. Because fuck them for taking the only thing I had to rely on, the only parent I ever really had.

When Grief Becomes a Grudge:

There’s something raw about admitting you’re angry at God, at fate, at the universe itself. Society tells us to “let go,” to “find peace,” to “accept what we cannot change.” But sometimes a grudge isn’t just anger…it’s love with nowhere to go.

My grudge isn’t really about hatred. It’s about the unfairness of losing your anchor when you barely feel enough to understand what an anchor even is. It’s about growing old with a mother-shaped hole that no amount of hiking, poetry, self-help books, or well-meaning advice can fill.

The Poetry of Anger

In the witchy, spiritual communities I often steer clear of there’s a lot of pressure to be “love and light” all the time. But what about love and rage? What about the sacred anger that comes from being robbed of something precious?

My grudge is a form of devotion. It says: “She mattered. Her absence matters. The injustice of her early death matters.” How the fuck is it fair she gets to die right after she experiences happiness? Right when she got clean? Like you have to be kidding me!

Some grudges are worth holding and not because they serve us, but because they honor what we’ve lost.

Questions for Your Own Journey:

• What grudges are you carrying that might actually be love in disguise?
• How do you honor your losses while still moving forward?
• When has anger been a teacher rather than a burden?

Sometimes the most honest spiritual practice isn’t forgiveness—it’s admitting that some wounds change us forever, and that’s okay too.

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Finding My Voice in the Digital Wilderness:

At thirty-three, I never imagined I’d become someone who shares the intimate parts of my life online. Yet here I am, consistently showing up to write about grief, gender identity, and the healing power of hiking. If you’re wondering why someone would choose to be so vulnerable in public spaces, the answer is both simple and complex: because sharing our stories creates the connection and healing we all desperately need.

When Grief Needs Witnesses:

Losing my mother changed how I process emotions entirely. Suddenly I had all these feelings with nowhere to put them. Writing journal entries addressed to her felt worse than loosing her fake almost. So I started doing it differently. I discovered something powerful: I wasn’t the only person talking to someone who couldn’t talk back.

Sometimes the most healing thing we can do is witness each other’s pain and say “me too.”

Mountains as Medicine:

My hiking posts might look like simple nature photography, but they’re actually documentation of my primary therapy. When emotions become overwhelming, I head to the trails. The physical exertion helps regulate my nervous system while natural beauty provides perspective impossible to find in urban chaos. And it’s something my mom and I loved to do together.

Each trail represents a different emotional journey. Sharing these experiences shows others that outdoor activities can be powerful mental health tools, not just weekend recreation. Nature doesn’t judge your tears or your questions about who you’re becoming.

Creating the Safe Spaces We Needed:

The internet can be hostile, especially for transgender people navigating identity questions. By consistently sharing authentic content about my experiences, I’m creating the kind of safe space I desperately needed when I was younger and struggling alone.

This extends beyond trans content. Writing honestly about grief, family estrangement, mental health struggles, and finding joy in simple moments creates multiple entry points for people who need to feel less alone. Safe spaces aren’t just physical locations; they’re emotional environments where vulnerability meets understanding instead of judgment.

The Healing Power of Owning Your Story:

Blogging forces me to articulate experiences that might otherwise stay tangled in my head. The writing process helps me understand my own emotions more clearly. When I write about complicated family relationships or gender identity struggles, I often discover insights that weren’t apparent until I found words for the experience.

There’s something revolutionary about controlling your own narrative. For too long, other people told stories about what grief should look like, how men should process emotions, or what it means to be transgender. Blogging gives me ownership over how my experiences are presented and discussed.

Building Community Through Shared Truth:

The most unexpected benefit has been the community that formed around shared experiences. People reach out to tell their own stories of loss, identity questions, or finding peace in nature. These connections prove that individual healing contributes to collective healing when we’re brave enough to be honest about our struggles.

Comments become support groups. Email exchanges turn into lasting friendships. Social media shares connect my words with people who needed to read exactly what I wrote on exactly the day they found it. This ripple effect makes the vulnerability of public writing feel worthwhile.

Why This Matters:

Some days blogging feels like shouting into the void. Other days it feels like the most important work I do. The consistency matters more than perfect posts. By showing up regularly to write about real experiences, I’m proving that our messy, complicated stories matter enough to be told with care.

The combination of grief processing, outdoor therapy, and transgender experience sharing might seem random, but it reflects reality: human beings are complex. We don’t fit neat categories, and our healing doesn’t follow predictable patterns. My blog honors that complexity while creating content that might help others navigate their own beautiful, difficult lives.

An Invitation to Connection:

If you’re processing loss, questioning identity, struggling with family relationships, or finding healing in nature, you’re not alone. If you’re looking for authentic stories that don’t tie everything up with neat bows, this space is for you. If you need permission to feel complicated emotions about complicated situations, consider this your invitation.

We heal in community, even when that community exists primarily in digital spaces. By sharing our real experiences, we create opportunities for others to feel seen, understood, and less alone in whatever they’re carrying.

This is why I blog: to process, to connect, to heal, and to remind anyone who needs to hear it that their story matters too. Your struggles are valid. Your questions are welcome. Your healing journey deserves witnesses who understand that growth is messy, nonlinear, and absolutely worth sharing.

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When was the last time a piece of media moved you to tears? For me, it was discovering Warbel’s powerful song “The Village.” As a transgender man navigating a world where authentic representation feels like a distant dream, finding this song was like discovering water in a desert.

The Moment Everything Changed:

“The Village” isn’t just another song with trans themes tacked on as an afterthought. It centers trans male experiences with dignity and complexity that could only come from genuine understanding. The music itself seems to comprehend the trans experience on a cellular level. It’s in the progression, build-up, tension, and release mirroring the emotional journey many trans men experience.

Even years later, hearing this song brings tears to my eyes. The authentic language avoids clinical terminology in favor of expressions that resonate with lived experience. The emotional honesty acknowledges both struggle and triumph without falling into tragedy or unrealistic perfection.

Visual Storytelling That Honors Our Truth:

The music video elevates the representation further by avoiding tired tropes or exploitative imagery. Instead of cisgender actors attempting to portray experiences they’ve never lived, the authentic casting features actual trans individuals. This choice immediately enhances the emotional resonance while maintaining respect for trans experiences.

The Healing Power of Being Truly Seen:

There’s something profoundly therapeutic maybe even cathartic about seeing your experience reflected authentically in art, especially after years of invisibility and misrepresentation. This recognition reduces isolation and fosters self-acceptance when you see trans experiences portrayed positively and with nuance.

The community that forms around these discoveries becomes part of the healing process. Connecting with others who were similarly moved creates networks of support and shared understanding that extend beyond the media itself.

Setting New Standards for Representation:

Warbel’s approach to “The Village” establishes new standards for how mainstream media can and should authentically portray trans experiences without sacrificing artistic quality. Its success encourages other creators to approach trans stories with similar care and authenticity, gradually changing the landscape of representation across various platforms.

Beyond entertainment, this authentic representation serves an important educational function. It helps cisgender audiences understand trans experiences through emotional connection rather than clinical explanation, potentially reducing prejudice and increasing acceptance.

The Ally Behind the Art:

While Warbel himself isn’t transgender, his decision to create authentic trans male representation demonstrates a deeper understanding of allyship. In an industry where trans stories are often told without trans voices, his approach suggests genuine collaboration rather than performative inclusion.

The care evident in both song and video indicates extensive consultation with trans communities and a dedication to getting the representation right. His willingness to center trans experiences rather than his own perspective shows a mature understanding of how privilege can be used responsibly.

The Power of Being Seen:

Each time I listen to “The Village,” I’m reminded of the transformative power of authentic representation. In a media landscape that has too often ignored or stereotyped trans experiences, works like this stand as beacons of validation.

The tears of joy that come from being truly seen represent something larger than a single emotional moment. And they represent hope for a future where authentic portrayals become the norm rather than the exception. That’s why trans representation matters so profoundly for our community and culture.

What songs have brought you to tears of joy through their representation? Share your story in the comments below?

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