Readers questioning traditional ideas of healing, people exploring alternative ways to process emotions, and nature lovers interested in honest reflections on mental health.
What works for others & why capitalism ruins it for me
My solution & the real lesson
Don’t name it just tell us why it wasn’t good for you:
Not for Me:
Some prompts don’t ask for opinions. They ask for honesty.
This one challenged me to describe something I didn’t enjoy without ever naming it. That made me think less about the thing itself and more about why it never worked for me.
This isn’t an argument against your typical healing spaces. Millions of people have rebuilt their lives through them, and I genuinely believe that’s true. This is simply an explanation of why my own brain never lets me experience them the same way.
Sometimes healing isn’t about rejecting a tool. Sometimes it’s about recognizing that the tool and your mind don’t speak the same language.
The Vibe:
Let me pull out my Bic lighter and spark my pre-rolled joint. I’ll open up my Spotify app next and scroll until I land on “Savage” by The Handsome Devils. Don’t fret I’ll press play, and let the first notes settle into the silence.
That’s how I would set the vibe of this conversation.
Not in a waiting room and not on a couch. There will be no fluorescent lights or clipboard balanced on crossed knees.
Just me, the trail, and the kind of honesty that only seems to find one when no one is expecting it.
What Works for Others:
There is something that countless people swear by. It has Ben known to help rebuild lives, repair relationships, and carry people through some of their darkest seasons.
I don’t doubt that for a second. The thing just doesn’t work for me. Obviously not because I don’t believe in healing. I also do not think people who benefit from it are wrong.
It doesn’t work because of one thing I can’t seem to silence.
The Money.
Ruined by Capitalism:
The second a price tag enters what is supposed to be one of the most vulnerable conversations of my life, something shifts in my brain.
The conversation stops feeling genuine and it starts to feel transactional. I know that’s an oversimplification. I know professionals deserve to be paid for years of education, training, emotional labor, and time. I don’t expect anyone to work for free.
But knowing that intellectually doesn’t change how it feels emotionally. Every sentence becomes tangled with the fact that I’m paying for the hour.
So then every question starts to feel like it is a part of a service. Every response reminds me that the clock is running.
Whether that’s true or not doesn’t matter to my emotional lizard brain. That’s simply how my feelings experience it.
We all know healing doesn’t have a universal recipe.
The Problems:
So, I never stop wondering if I’m having a genuine conversation or participating in something I purchased.
Once that thought showed up, vulnerability packed its bags and moved out. Ironically, the place where I process my life best costs almost nothing.
On trail:
There is something in the sound of boots against dirt and the rhythm of my breathing as another hill steals my attention.
It is somewhere between creek crossings and gorge overlooks, that my thoughts stop performing. Here they stop trying to sound reasonable and organized. Here I become honest.
Nature doesn’t have a habit of interrupting. I never caught it trying to redirect the conversation.
It doesn’t give a damn about the time or the clock. Nature exists while I untangle whatever I’ve been carrying.
I spend hours arguing with myself. I may realize I was wrong. Or even forgive someone. I forgive myself often in nature.
I love it when I don’t solve anything at all. I always leave knowing the things happening were lead by me.
Peoples Needs:
Some people need a conversation, some need community, others need movement.
And some people need all of the above.
I need miles beneath my trekking shoes and enough quiet to hear what I’ve been avoiding. I’m not writing this to convince anyone to abandon what works for them.
If you’ve found peace somewhere, I hope you hold onto it. I’m only saying that I finally stopped trying to force myself into someone else’s definition of healing.
The moment I accepted that, I stopped feeling guilty for healing differently.
And maybe that’s the real lesson.
Sometimes the healthiest thing we can do isn’t finding the method everyone recommends. But finding the one that finally lets us hear ourselves.
Whatever You Choose:
I honestly don’t think there’s one correct way to heal.
Some people find freedom in conversation. Others find it in medication, art, community, faith, movement, or quiet. None of those paths invalidate the others.
For me, healing begins the moment the transaction disappears. It begins when the clock stops mattering, when no one is waiting for an answer, and when the only expectation is to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I’ve stopped apologizing for that.
Maybe the goal was never to heal the way everyone else does. Maybe the goal was simply to find the place where honesty has room to breathe.
TLDR:
Many mainstream things are helpful to countless people, but the financial transaction of some keeps my brain from ever feeling fully vulnerable.
I process life best on hiking trails, where there is no clock, no invoice, and no pressure. This isn’t about yucking someone’s yum. It’s about accepting that healing looks different for different people.
Individuals looking to set personal boundaries, prompt response & journal entry readers, people seeking deeper introspection, and poetry enthusiasts reclaiming peace.
ghoulish – Emie Wonders @ photo credits
The Vault:
My Lack of boundaries: a short history
My Routine: my daily journaling app that called me out
My Gain: Two new creations, A Goal, & A Plan
The Guideto Reclaiming Peace: Poeaxtry’s Healthy Boundary Guide
The Prompt:
Write your guide to setting healthy boundaries in relationships.
Open Your Eyes or Get Face-Palmed by Life:
Life has a way of repeating the same lessons until we have no choice but to let it finally click.
For a long time, most my life if I am being honest. I treated boundaries as optional, polite suggestions even. As if I could negotiate away when things got hectic or when someone else’s crisis felt larger than my own.
But the universe doesn’t deal in suggestions; it deals in consequences. When I refused to build walls, I was left to weather every storm that wasn’t mine to begin with.
This prompt came perfectly aligned with my own self-intervention response to my lack of boundaries. This is one result of what happens when you stop ignoring the signs and start listening to the quiet, persistent voice demanding you protect your own space.
I am pulling back the curtain on my own journey, from the data my daily journal captured to the raw vulnerability of the two poems I wrote this week, to show you what boundary setting looks like when it is no longer a choice but a requirement for survival. Work through boundaries with me while we achieve the goal of reclaiming peace.
Screenshot of insights from my journal app.
The Context of My History:
My inability to set boundaries wasn’t born in a vacuum. It was forged from my fear of abandonment through a learned trauma response in environments that demanded my silence. A lot of these spaces also took my labor at the expense of my own spirit.
I stayed in abusive relationships for years, clinging to many things like an attachment to children that weren’t mine, fearing what would happen to them if I left or even the fear of letting go or starting new.
I endured physical and mental abuse and the seemingly consistent heartbreak of cheating sometimes by myself in the villain shit as well. I didn’t know how to place myself above the toxicity.
A lot of my friendships were no different. I am sure that isn’t a surprise. I poured a decade of my life into a bond where I was consistently robbed and lied to, only fully cutting those ties last year.
I even found myself trying to maintain space for a person whose two most recent partners were actively spewing transphobic rhetoric or hurling threats at me publicly.
Then there is still the professional exhaustion, by means of my refusing to set boundaries with work. I am constantly picking up shifts until I have nothing left to give myself. I was working very hard at keeping the doors open for people who had no business being in my house.
I was bleeding out on the floor of my own living room just to make sure everyone else felt comfortable enough to keep walking around my chalk outline.
Screenshot of insights from my journal.
Journals Reveal Things Even to Their Authors:
I didn’t realize how loud my need for boundaries was until I looked at the cold, hard insights from my Storia: future self coach journal app. For a few weeks, my entries had been documenting a recurring conflict: the struggle to maintain personal boundaries amidst chaos. Showing the fatigue from a packed schedule, and the emotional toll of managing exchanges with others in distress.
The insights provided by my daily digital journal emphasized that I have a recurring challenge in managing stress. It pinpointed my lack of boundaries and even my nonexistent attempts to maintain personal boundaries.
The recap highlighted the contrasts between my appreciation for solitude in nature and the chaos of interpersonal conflicts suggested a need to find balance between social obligations and personal peace. The data made it clear that I was caught in a cycle of overextension.
Screenshot of my insights from my journal.
My weekly recap even issued me a few direct challenges for the coming week: 1.) Consider setting clearer boundaries to protect my peace, especially when dealing with demanding situations. 2.) Embrace the therapeutic effects of my outdoor activities more regularly to manage stress. 3.) Reflect on my interactions and consider if there are ways to communicate my needs more effectively to my friends and family. 4.) While I continue to lean on my supportive circle.
Seeing this laid out in an action plan felt less like a suggestion and more like a mirror. It was confirmation that I was navigating the world with resilience and curiosity, making life’s journey richer with every step, but I was also paying a price for it.
That realization didn’t just stay in the app. It bled into my writing. This week, the pressure to stop ignoring these truths became so acute that it found its way into two poems, two different perspectives on the exact same necessity: the desperate, beautiful, and non-negotiable act of finally saying no, I cannot, or even not exactly.
My action plan.
Your Place:
An original poem by: Axton N. O. Mitchell.
I can be the Villain in your tale Just know in mine you are not existing
A milestone along the way A challenge to overcome A bump in my road along the route I must travel
Do not overstate your place Be sure to not attempt to gain an inheritance You didn’t earn
I’ll always be the reality check Exhausted but existing To Knock You Down A
P E G Or Two
Screenshot from Google keep to show stylized spaces.
Eviction- Reclaiming Peace:
The first poem was about drawing a line in the sand with the people who thought they could walk all over me. I am happy to announce that the second side of this coin isn’t about them at all. It’s about the quiet, heavy work of forgiving myself for ever letting them get that close in the first place.
The first poem wasn’t just anger.
It is a declaration of eviction. For too long, I let people believe that they had a permanent lease on my life, that they could walk in, take what they wanted, and leave their trash behind, all while I sat there and watched it happen.
I was too polite to call them out.
This poem was the moment I stopped caring if they labeled me the “bad guy” for finally locking the door. If being the villain in their version of the story is the price I have to pay to get them out of my house, then I’ll take that role any day of the week.
This isn’t about being reactive. It’s about being done. It’s about acknowledging that for years, I allowed people to treat me like a resource they could exploit without ever putting in the work to actually earn my trust or my presence.
They felt entitled to my time, my support, and my silence, and I gave it to them until I had nothing left for myself. Writing this poem was me finally drawing the line: you don’t get to demand space you didn’t earn, and you don’t get to act like you’re entitled to an inheritance of my life that you never contributed to.
This is the boundary in practice. It’s the refusal to negotiate with people who think my kindness is a weakness they can leverage for their own gain.
When I say they aren’t existing in my story, I mean that the access they once had has been fully revoked or some of them really just weren’t as important in my story as they made me in theirs. They aren’t entitled to an explanation, they aren’t entitled to a debate, and they certainly aren’t entitled to a seat at my table anymore.
I am done being the “support system” for people who only show up to take or fake.
Reclaiming the Garden
If the first poem was the eviction notice, this second piece is the act of cleaning up the rubble they left behind.
In a world when the first poem was an eviction notice for the parasites, this second piece is about the people I actually choose to keep.
It is about the heavy, necessary work of forgiving myself for ever opening the door to the wrong people in the first place. It is for the years I was a martyr for causes that didn’t deserve my blood, holding onto ghosts because I was too terrified of the silence that comes with being alone.
Screenshot from Google keep to show stylized spaces. 1/3
I learned that my silence wasn’t kindness. It was self-abandonment.
This poem is the reclamation of my own narrative.
This is the realization that I do not have to be the villain in anyone else’s story to be the hero in my own. I don’t need to explain my boundaries, and I don’t need permission to exist in a space where I am safe.
I am done shrinking to fit into spaces that were never built for me to thrive in.
Crucially, this isn’t about running away from the people I love. It is about proving that I can be here for them and for me, at the same time.
I love the homies just as much, maybe even more now, because I am no longer disappearing into the void just to keep the peace
. I need the room to roam,
to breathe,
to exist as myself instead of just existing in the spaces I fix for other people.
Screenshot from Google keep to show stylized spaces. 2/3
“This Is”
An original poem by: Axton N. O. Mitchell
This is not pulling away…
Abandoning you, never.
I fear the same.
Never could I do it to another.
Nor, is it
growing apart.
Space tends to feel negative; though it doesn’t have to.
If it isn’t meant to.
It is me learning to breathe
loving my skin feeling the sunshine on my soul;
growth.
Still I love the homies the same, more
even.
No longer disappearing….
I need me to prove I can be here For me the same. Need The R O O M
To
roam not just existt
only in the spaces I fix for others.
This I need for me.
Screenshot from Google keep to show stylized spaces. 3/3
The Lens of Interpretation:
I know that what I put on the page looks different depending on who is reading it. Some people will look at these poems and see a hard wall. Others will see a door I finally decided to unlock. Both are accurate. As well as any others outside of those are accurate.
Art and literature are not meant to be locked away in one singular meaning, they are meant to be mirrors. You bring your own history to these words, so if you read them and see something different than what I intended, you are not wrong.
You are just reading them from your own life.
I welcome that.
I want you to find your own truth in this, even if it has nothing to do with mine.
For those of you curious about where the author or artist was standing when they created their piece, there you go. These poems are not just lines on a screen, they are the sound of me putting down a weight. If you find yourself reading these and feeling the same itch to reclaim your own space, take it. Interpret them, tear them apart, or hold them close. Just make sure that whatever you take away from them helps you breathe a little easier in your own skin.
Screenshot of my growth feed from my journal.
Guide to Building the Necessary Walls:
People love to talk about boundaries like they are soft or polite things, like they are something you negotiate over tea. Real boundaries are not.
Real boundaries are architecture. They are the load-bearing walls that keep your life from collapsing under the weight of other people’s demands. After everything I have been through, the abuse, the betrayals, the theft of my time, and the exhaustion of being a revolving door for people who did not respect me, this is what my guide looks like in practice.
Presence is a privilege, not a right.
I no longer offer my energy for free.
If someone cannot respect my existence, if they spew transphobic rhetoric or threaten me or around me, they lose the right to occupy my time.
I cannot keep the peace by sacrificing my safety. The door is locked.
Labor is not my identity. I spent years picking up work shifts until I was bleeding out on my own floor.
Now, I understand that my value is not measured by how much I can carry for a company or a friend.
If a request drains me past the point of replenishment, the answer is a full, complete sentence. No.
History does not grant immunity. Just because we have a decade of history does not mean you get a pass to lie to me or rob me today.
My loyalty is earned in the present tense.
I am done being the support system for people who only show up to take.
Protect the sanctuary. My journal made it clear that I am at my best when I am alone in nature. My boundaries are now designed to protect that time.
If I am not guarded about my solitude, I am not capable of being anything for anyone else.
Some of the people who mean the most to me.
Your Own Guide:
Building these walls was not a punishment for others. It was a rescue mission for myself. I am done being the backdrop in someone else’s movie. I am writing my own script now, and in this version, the boundaries are made of flint, chert, and knowledge.
If you take one thing away from all of this, let it be the permission to be difficult.
Let it be the knowledge that saying no is not an act of aggression, but an act of preservation. You do not owe anyone access to your peace, and you certainly do not owe them the version of yourself that kills you to sustain.
Walk out of the rooms that don’t fit, build the walls you need to survive, and start living in the space you’ve finally cleared for yourself. You are the only person who can decide what your house looks like, and it is time you started acting like you own the place.
Ghoulish 2.0 photo credits @ Emie Wonders.
TLDR:
Boundaries are not punishments. They are tools that protect your peace, energy, and wellbeing. Ignoring boundaries often leads to burnout, resentment, and emotional exhaustion.
My journaling data revealed a recurring pattern of overextending myself for work, friendships, and other people’s crises. The solution was not working harder. It was learning where my responsibility ends.
My poem “Your Place” explores removing access from people who feel entitled to your time, energy, or support. Then my poem “This Is” explores creating space for yourself without abandoning the people you love.
Saying no does not make you selfish. It allows you to remain present for the people and responsibilities that matter most. Long history, shared memories, or guilt are not reasons to tolerate disrespect, dishonesty, or harm.
Protecting your solitude is as important as protecting your schedule. Healthy boundaries help you support others without sacrificing yourself in the process.
Your peace is not owed to anyone. Access to your life is earned through respect, trust, and reciprocity. Build the walls you need. The people who belong in your life will learn how to use the door.
Creative architects, animal lover’s building a legacy, eccentric rockhounds, and modern-day explorers.
The Vault:
Name and track a whale, sea turtle, or adopted animal in real time.
Leave your mark through benches, trees, trails, or public spaces.
Discover how geology, rockhounding, and “type localities” create lasting records.
Turn your identity into a digital legacy through domains, games, and creative projects.
Explore strange legacy paths, from novelty zoo naming to scientific discoveries.
Ask what matters more: symbolic immortality or simply feeling less replaceable?
If you could have something named after you, what would it be?
Beyond the Ordinary:
Most people settle for their name on a keychain, novelty license plate, or even a generic office plaque, but the real thrill lies in the unconventional.
After all do you really want another mug with your name on the front?
At first I thought this was just one of those ego things. Get your name on a star, slap it on a plaque, call it a day. Then I started finding people tracking sea turtles, naming cocktails, sponsoring trees, funding discoveries, and carving out weird little corners of existence and slapping their names on them.
The more I looked at it, the less it felt like vanity and the more it felt like people trying to leave fingerprints behind..
Don’t we all want to leave our mark in at least one way?
Whether you are sponsoring a piece of land or carving out your own corner of the internet, these gestures turn a standard identity into something far more interesting and textured.
Why do people do these types of things? For some people it’s equal to a “fountain of youth” play on the desire to be remembered.
Other times I think people are just tired of feeling replaceable.
A name attached to a trail bench, plant-species, or any other place in the world just seem to hit differently.
Fingerprints Left Behind –
People Aim to Leave a Mark:
The most profound things named after us, some people would say are the thing in nature or even living things. Many environmental organizations offer the chance to name a specific animal. Local zoos sometimes allow visitors and donors to help name baby animals.
You may even be able to set it up so you can follow the animal you named on their migratory path via tracking apps. This can be seen as a living, breathing extension of self.
Why People Do This:
Direct Connection: It creates a stronger link between everyday life and the natural world.
Cost Dynamics: Typically ranges from $25 to $500 depending on the level of “sponsorship” and the rarity of the species.
The “Cool” Factor: You aren’t just donating; you are watching “your” animal migrate in real-time on a map.
Space & Nature:
If your gaze is aimed just a bit higher, space is the ultimate frontier for a namesake. When you sponsor a star or a create a custom star map for a specific date you get a symbolic yet permanent anchor in the universe.
If you are like me and you think on more grounded terms, sponsoring a park bench or a tree in an urban green area could be exactly the namesake you’re looking for. They also work to provide a physical spot for reflection and relaxation in nature.
Once typically used for memorials these are now becoming popular with living people as a way to “own” a piece of their favorite trail or park.
The Quirky, the Rare, & the Edible:
We all love things that taste yummy, so maybe the best things named after you are the ones you can eat. I don’t know many people either who would complain about being made to laugh.
What do you think would you rather have your namesake be something funny or yummy?
Local restaurants often have “secret menus” or signature dishes for instance: burgers, cocktails, or desserts, named after their most loyal or colorful patrons.
Usually this comes from becoming a regular and being part of the community around a place rather than paying a flat fee. It represents a “Hyper-Local Legacy.”
Animal Adoptions: $25–$150 (Includes tracking and digital certificates).
Novelty Naming: $10–$20 (e.g., naming a cockroach at a zoo for a comedic/spiteful tribute).
Public Infrastructure: $500–$5,000 (Benches, bricks, or trees in municipal parks).
Collaborative Layers – Connecting the Named to the Known
To see how these concepts grow, we have to look at how they connect to the specific ways we interact with the world around us.
The Geological Connection – Rockhounding & Discovery:
In the world of geology, finding a unique specimen can lead to a “Type Locality” or even a new mineral variety being associated with a person or place.
Like thetracking of a whale, a rockhound might “name” a specific find or a favorite trail location in their journal. This connects people to something much older than themselves, making the “naming” a historical record.
Instead of just making a purchase which evolves it from a simple name on a paper to a permanent entry in a geological log.
The Artistic Imprint – Bespoke Digital Domains
In the digital age, a personalized website domain, a character in an indie comic book, or even doing a voice-over for a new game serves as a modern signet ring. It’s a digital plot of land.
Like when you self-publishing a book, having a digital space named after you is a way to format and edit your own legacy in real-time. It grows as you add content, shifting from a few posts to an entire archive.
This is the most accessible form of modern naming, costing as little as $12 a year for a domain, yet it offers the most control over how that name is perceived
Unusual Additions – The Genetic & Scientific Frontier:
If you really want to lean into the rare and quirky, consider the “Genetic Legacy.” Companies now allow you to name a specific, unique strain of a plant (like a new rose hybrid) or even a custom-engineered scent profile. These aren’t just items; they are biological markers.
It is rare, highly unusual, and carries a high price tag (often thousands for plant patenting), but it ensures that your “name” grows, blooms, and exists as a physical part of someone else’s garden or home.
Another rare path is the “Discovery Path.” Scientists often name newly discovered species of insects or bacteria after donors or colleagues. While you can’t usually “buy” a new species of mammal, you can often fund the research that leads to the naming of a new beetle or fern.
It’s the ultimate flex for someone who wants their name to survive in scientific journals until the end of time.
A Namesake:
Seeking out things named after you is an exercise in creative branding and personal history. From the high-budget “immortality” of a park bench to the quirky, low-cost novelty of a namesake cocktail or a tracked sea creature, these items bridge the gap between who we are and what we leave behind.
It’s about finding that one rare, unusual, or oddly specific thing and putting your stamp on it. You aren’t just buying a name; you’re building a prism through which your identity is reflected back at the world.
TLDR:
People leave their mark in far more ways than most people realize. Names can be attached to a number of things even unusual personal creations.
What starts as novelty often becomes something more meaningful. These connections create lasting ties to nature, communities, creativity, and the world around us.
The deeper drive is often not ego at all. Many people simply want to feel remembered, less replaceable, and leave fingerprints behind in their own way.
Parent loss & grief journal readers, estranged adult children, readers with absent parents, readers who cope with loss through dark humor, and creative writing journal enthusiasts.
The Vault:
A letter to an estranged father; the questions & abandonment he leaves behind.
How children learn self-blame, survival patterns, & hyper-independence.
Losing my mother & realizing she was the foundation holding everything together.
The difference between losing a parent & losing your person.
Dark humor, grief, & the strange ways people survive loss.
The ordinary moments & memories grief steals long after someone is gone.
What remains after parent loss, estrangement, & learning to carry both.
Self-Care Pitstop:
Take a quick pause before we get into it; this post may feel heavy for some readers. We are talking about grief, parent loss, estrangement, and some painful family experiences. Please read this at your own pace, take breaks if you need them, and give yourself room to breathe. The post will still be here if and when you come back.
Who would you like to talk to soon?
Grief, Estrangement, & What Remains After Loss:
I can’t promise you this will be a clean story about grief, estrangement, or family. It does not stay in one place long enough just like me.
It moves between different kinds of absence: the father I do not speak to and the mother I relied on until she was not there anymore. Between the kind of parent that builds a foundation without you realizing it, and the one that teaches you your first life lesson about trust, distance, and heartbreak.
Grief does not stay in one shape. She shifts depending on the day, the place, or the smallest trigger. Some days I can feel her coming before she arrives. Other days she hits without warning and takes everything with her for a moment.
Estrangement & the Weight of Waiting:
Jake,
It’s your oldest son, you know, the one you love so much. The one you know nothing about but we will get to that in a minute.
I finally figured out why your nick-name is “Jake the Snake” I always assumed it was but a silly rhyme, since you’re afraid of them.
Oh, to be young and innocent again….
Fuck that. I’m glad I grew to see that it was you who was never good enough for me. I never asked to live with the questions you left me holding onto at such a young age. Left to blame myself for decades and never you until more recently.
The last message Jake will receive from me, started like this.
The Only Man I’ve Waited On:
I just wanted to let you know, again that the parent is the one responsible for maintaining the relationship with their child underage, or not. Though especially when they are underage.
This was never my responsibility. I didn’t leave you on the porch, I never should have had to beg you to come get me, Jake. You made your six year-old old call you back-to-back, weekend after weekend. You do know that you could have just not called right, or just not offered to come get me.
You ditched your kid before I could spell my name, but you couldn’t answer your phone?
Did it make you feel good to know your kid was waiting on you ?
Did it make you feel good to wait until I lost my mom to try and shift your blame onto her? Spinning excuses like a spider in his web, yet you do know I remember most of it.
I remember the phone calls, broken promises, and you never showing up.
You cannot gaslight me, Jake. I mean “Dad.” That is why it has been a few years since I have spoken to you at all and even longer since I have seen you in person.
I can still taste the bile in my throat every time one of the excuses I made for you comes back to mind. You were not innocent in any of this, and honestly, you were never much of an actor either.
I cannot believe you had the nerve to try to tell me “you have a father that loves you though.” On a post about me missing my dead mother. You and I know she was the only parent I had. Well actually. Did you get your father of the year award?
Pop Quiz:
So “Dad” let’s play a game! You love me? Do you? I have some questions I’d like you to answer for me:
what are either of my middle names?
When is my birthday including the day, month, & year?
On what street & city do I live in?
What are my favorites: Color? Food?
I’ll even make it easy for you Jake. If you know the answer to just one question I’ll speak to you again.
I’d put a million dollars on it too and never break a sweat. I know you don’t know me at all , Mr. Father of the year.
Farewell.
This is how it ended, the in between isn’t needed when his reaction paints the story’s end best.
Forced Weight & Blame Games:
You want to hear the fucked up part? Your kids will carry the weight of blaming themselves for damn near anything and everything. On top of the blame you gift wrapped up for them they will make excuse after excuse just to protect you.
Isn’t that a shame? Kids would rather blame themselves and carry every ounce of that weight before they ever think to place any of it on you.
Not that I’m saying I’m grateful I never had to depend on you for survival, but honestly? I would not have made it.
Kids are not sitting there thinking, “Wow, this adult is failing me.”
They think:
“What did I do?”
“What did I say?”
“What is wrong with me?”
Somehow blaming ourselves feels safer than accepting the reality that our own parent simply did not show up the way they should have.
Kids start believing they can fix it too.
Maybe I can ask for less.
Cry less.
Need less.
Maybe I need to be quieter, easier, better, smarter somehow.
At least then there is a reason. At least then there is something to hold onto.
Looking back now? You and your actions piss me off. I spent years carrying guilt with your damn name written across it while you spent years pretending none of it belonged to you.
Estrangement teaches children lessons they never signed up for. Children never see this coming, they don’t even know what to look for. If we are being honest, I doubt any of us do even now. Trust me, there is no orientation packet waiting at the door either. One minute you need to hear your father’s heartbeat to fall asleep, the next your mom wants a divorce and he takes it out on you, at least in my experience.
I look thrilled don’t I? *Rolls eyes*
Learned patterns of Abuse:
You learn how to wait, patiently even. And on the days he actually picks up when you call, or, gasp, calls first, you wait on the porch, bags packed, ready to go, but the man doesn’t show.
The next day, for me typically Saturday, he calls early, says he was stuck at work, promising to see you tonight. You grabbed your bag, the one that is packed and ready to go at any time just in case he wants to stop and pick you up. Again the man doesn’t show; I wonder if he knows how many dinners you had while refusing to move from the porch in case today he finally came.
You never knew when the day would come; you just know he does actually come some. Your hope starts to dissipate, dwindling away to damn near empty, and it’s almost like he can sense it. A sixth sense for knowing you’re about to give up, so that’s when he decides to typically show up.
Time after time, excuse after excuse, you make it okay for him because kids become experts at protecting the people they love.
Maybe work ran late.
Maybe traffic was bad.
Maybe something important happened.
Because if there is a reason, then maybe it hurts less.
You do not want to sit with the possibility that your dad simply is not coming through. So excuses become defense, and defense slowly becomes survival.
What Estrangement Teaches Children:
A lot of these kids learn hyper-independence as second nature. Acting as if you do not need anyone, depending on people starts feeling like a set-up with a hidden agenda. Asking for any simple thing feels dangerous, choosing silence over disappointment every time. These Survival skills have a rude habit of unpacking their bags and refusing to leave even years later.
People really act like abandonment stays in childhood, as if one day you turn eighteen and it packs its tiny suitcase and says, “well, my work here is done.”
Yeah, no. I fucking wish. You know what, tell that to my borderline personality disorder please. Maybe the little bitch will pack up all the baggage he brought and finally leave.
These types of things can mess with people mentally, your brain starts learning patterns whether you asked it to or not. You don’t even have to try and keep track of them; it’s all optimized. It will be noticeable in the way you start second-guessing yourself, expecting disappointment, preparing for people to leave before they even grab their coat.
Emotionally?
Oh that gets messy; now anger and grief are roommates and apparently neither one pays rent. Well you won’t like this I just heard they don’t clean up either. You can be pissed and still hurt. Just like you can know somebody failed you and still wish they had shown up anyway. Human beings are inconvenient like that.
Relationships?
Thanks dad all this shit you handed me tends to show up in these areas too. Have you noticed the way you always over explain yourself? What about that extra reassurance you need? Do you live in a state of expecting people to leave?
I bet you are a black belt at keeping walls up! Asking anyone for help leaves you with shame and guilt. Look what having needs in the first place got you. Left on the porch, week after week. Obviously every child with a deadbeat for a parent does not turn out the exact same way. Though our brains so learn patterns and kids who spend years waiting on their parent to love them can grow into adults still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
One of them left traces everywhere; the other exists in scattered pieces.
Axton N.O. Mitchell
Love, Memory, & What I Didn’t Understand:
Dear Mom,
I did not quite understand while you were here just how much of my world was held up by you. I knew I was always safe with you. I knew I never had to worry about you leaving me. I have a hard time understanding the situations of people who have no bond at all with their mothers, and I think that’s because I could never see you choosing to walk away from me.
I also don’t think I fully understood the size of what you were to me until you were forced to leave me as well. When a person has always been there, you start believing somewhere deep down that they always will be. Almost as if we forget death exists until we are given no choice but to look deep inside its existence.
I wonder if you know the one constant I have ever experienced was you. You know the thing I remember the most about softball, basketball, and martial arts? You, in the crowd, cheering the loudest of all. Every single memory, you are there. You always made sure you showed up because I mattered to you, and it mattered to me.
Looking back now, in retrospect, I see things differently than I did when I was younger. I see somebody trying their hardest with the little they were given. I see a woman who, despite everything thrown at her, showed up for the people she held close, and she raised a little sad girl into the man you see today. You carried responsibilities, stress, fears, and still made more than enough room for me and all my pieces inside of it all.
Strength:
When I was younger, if you asked me what strength looked like, my answer would have been a reflection on something physical. Nobody teaches you that it doesn’t always come dressed up as something big, forceful, or loud. A lot of the time, strength wears different outfits and looks like stretching what you have, yet always, without fail, making it enough.
Strength looks like making sure your kid has what they need while quietly going without things yourself, or being exhausted and still showing up. You were the best example of strength I have seen throughout my life. You took all my problems, sorrows, worries, and painful places on as your own.
You loved me through it all.
I wish I had understood sooner how much love was hiding inside the things I thought were ordinary. I always knew you were extraordinary, but I wish I learned just how rare the bond we shared was before you took your leave. I just want to actually tell you that your presence just made everything better.
Your Ordinary:
At this moment, and every moment since you left this life, I have known I would give anything for your ordinary again.
I would do pretty much anything for one more ride in the car with you. I’d have the Yung Joc album ready. Remember you used to overplay it so much, and now I play it when I miss you. I would gladly sing along with you too. I might as well. I already try to pretend that while I’m listening and singing along, you are too, wherever you may be.
To be blessed by one more random conversation, or if I could steal one chance to hear your laugh from the other room one more time, I think I would be able to tread lighter for at least a few days. I would even take another instance of you yelling for me from across the house, “turn the volume up please, hoopie.” One more chance to see your smile and not in a picture, dream, or immediately realize that it is a memory.
I miss things I never thought I would have to miss.
Being able to call you.
Your last phone number still saved under your name.
Getting voicemails from you. I still have the last one you left and I do not think I will ever delete it.
You making fun of me.
The feeling of knowing that no matter how ugly life got, somewhere out there was still my mom.
I even miss existing at the same time as you.
That sounds ridiculous until you lose somebody it is here that you will truly understand .
Mom, I am so sorry.
I wish I could tell you I didn’t mean to take all the bullshit out on you that I have. I spent years not fully seeing who was standing right in front of me. I am sorry I didn’t understand that the love I kept searching for from another parent was already there inside you too. The truth is, you loved me in a way that made it okay to be me, and you loved me enough for way more than that.
You never made me feel like I had to become somebody else. You fought me to try and love me during years where I struggled to love myself. Through anger, confusion, pain, and everything else life brought my way, you loved me. You loved me when I felt not worthy of anything.
I don’t think I say this enough, even now: you were my best friend. Not in the casual way people say, “my mom is my best friend.”
I mean really. You were my person.
the only one I trusted always.
the one I relied on.
the place I went when things hurt.
You were home.
That is why this feels so unfair, even still.
Pickup the Phone:
People pretend like grief is just missing someone, like the grieving are experiencing sadness akin to crying on anniversaries and hard days.
Grief is realizing my first instinct is still to call or text you and you cannot answer. When something happens and I think, “I need Mom,” before reality catches up, grief lives there. Learning that there are some losses you do not move on from, but continue living by just learning how to carry them. I still have not figured out how to carry the entire weight of losing you. I doubt I ever will.
I didn’t just lose my mom.
my safest place.
my best friend.
the person who loved me before I even knew who I was.
I lost home.
And I will forever be changed because of it.
Love always,
Axton.
What Does Not Leave With Them:
I think one of the hardest parts about losing a parent is realizing you can know something logically and still feel something completely different emotionally. My mom used to tell me she would never leave me. Not in some huge dramatic speech either. It was one of those things said in regular moments that quietly become part of our relationship. The kind of thing you believe without question because certain people feel permanent.
Before anybody starts with technicalities, yes, I know she did not choose this. I know death chose it. I know she did not wake up one day and decide she was done being my mom. I know all of that already.
It still hurts because knowing somebody did not choose to leave you and feeling left anyway are apparently two completely different things.
I know my mom loved me and fought to stay. I understand she would have stayed if she could have.
That being said I still feel abandoned.
I still catch myself wanting to argue with reality over it too. Somewhere inside me there is still a version of me saying, Nope. Absolutely not. Give her back. Like if I get angry enough maybe somebody will realize a mistake was made and fix it.
Eight days before my thirtieth birthday I lost my mom, and I do not think I understood until then just how much of my life had her fingerprints on it.
My family dissolved. Not because my sisters disappeared and not because people suddenly stopped existing. My mom was one of those people holding pieces together in ways you do not notice until they are gone. Then suddenly things shift. Things change shape. Things stop feeling familiar. Everything felt different afterward.
We all know life and death are part of things. We all know people die eventually. I have lost people before.
Nothing felt like this because losing people and losing your person are not the same thing.
My First Phone Call:
My mom was my first phone call. Not only when life fell apart either.
I’d call her for:
Good things
Bad things
Random things
Stupid things
Things that didn’t even matter
advice
If I was excited.
When I’d get annoyed.
A lot of the time though I just wanted to hear her voice.
Sometimes I still want to call. Not metaphorically either, literally. Something happens and for a split second my brain still goes, call Mom, and then reality catches up.
Voicemails, Text Messages, & Memory:
I still have her last voicemail saved, our texts, and Facebook messages as well. I read them when missing her gets a little too loud. I wish I had more of our random conversations though.
Somehow out of everything I miss, one of the things I would give anything for is another one of those damn animal videos she used to send all day long.
My sisters and I used to joke about them and roll our eyes because if she was awake there was a good chance another one was coming.
Now I would give anything for my phone to light up with even just one more.
That is the stuff grief sneaks up and steals. It is not always giant moments either, it takes ordinary things especially.
I still miss hearing her yell, “cabs are here,” like Pauly D, or Gordon Ramsay playing in the background. I would love to go back to sitting around watching Snapped, Wives with Knives, and Killer Kids, just to name a few. I would give anything to taste cabbage rolls, mashed potatoes, and corn, made like you would fix. I miss being called Hoopie, and I used to think I hated it.
Grief Isn’t What I Thought it Was:
I think grief changes with time, but not in the way people imagine. In the beginning it felt like drowning constantly. Always existing inside the hurt. I would wake up feeling the weight inside my chest. I could only forget for about half of a second and then I would remember again.
Now it comes in waves; now I can laugh, work, have good days. I sometimes go stretches where I genuinely feel okay.
Then out of nowhere I am crying in my car on the way to work and I feel stupid as hell; I have to walk inside with eyes that are puffy. I have to walk inside wondering if everybody can tell.
Half the time I cannot even tell you what caused it. Sometimes it is a song, a memory, or absolutely nothing.
All I know is grief can go from sitting quietly in the corner to putting me on my ass out of nowhere.
Sometimes I get residents at work who resemble my mom in certain ways and everything inside me gets weird.
A smile.
The way they talk.
A facial expression. Then suddenly I am standing there questioning why I am even doing what I do.
I moved because grief started attaching itself to places too.
Roads hurt.
Streets hurt.
The Urn Moment:
I could not keep looking at these places while my brain kept expecting to find somebody who was not there anymore.
I think grief also did something to my sense of humor. I make a lot of dead mom jokes now; I know that I make people uncomfortable with them sometimes too.
Somebody says, “your mom,” and I hit them with, “Dude, she’s dead.” Or another person says, “fuck your mom,” and suddenly I am explaining, “Ew, she’s dust,” because she got cremated.
I hand people my mom’s urn and tell them, “say hi to Mom,” before they fully realize what I just handed them. Then I wait for the delayed look on their face when it finally clicks.
Before somebody acts like dark humor means it hurts less, trust me, I can joke about my dead mom and still end up crying in my car three days later because a resident smiled in a way that reminded me of her.
I can laugh and still miss her.
Apparently grief can make you devastatingly sad and a smartass at the same time. This kind of humor is part of how I survive it.
After my mom died, part of me attached itself to the living things still connected to her too.
She had two dogs and a chinchilla. Then in 2025 two of them passed away. In 2026 the last one left us too.
In between, we lost her husband too.
Then one day it hit me that outside of my sisters, every living connection I had left to my mom was gone too.
That hurt in a way I was not expecting.
They were not just animals.
They were family.
Little reminders that pieces of my mom still existed outside of photos, objects, and memories.
Then one by one those disappeared too.
Apparently grief likes collecting things in pieces.
I still talk to her out loud on hikes, I still miss her, and honestly I still have not figured out what the hell I am supposed to do with any of this.
Axton & Mom last photo together November 2020. I love you, mom. Rest in Paradise.
Carrying The Pieces
I do not think grief resolves. It does not really end or settle into something clean. It just shifts over time, depending on the day and what gets triggered.
Some days it is quiet in the background. Other days it is not. It can show up in ordinary moments without warning. Usually before I have time to prepare for it.
There are still habits that remain, the things I reach for without thinking, or say out loud even though there is no one there to answer me. There are reminders of her that still exist in small, everyday details that never fully stop meaning something.
I do not think the missing part goes away. You just learn how to function while carrying it.
That is what this becomes: not something finished, but something you continue living with.
“Where one planted permanence and poured in light; the other planted pain, watered by precarity.”
– Axton N.O. Mitchell”
TLDR:
Parent estrangement does not always end in adulthood. Sometimes the waiting, self-blame, and survival habits follow you long after childhood ends.
Kids with absent parents often blame themselves before they ever blame the adult who hurt them. You start believing you can somehow earn the love you should have received freely.
I spent years waiting on a father who rarely showed up and years not fully understanding that the parent who always did was my mom.
Eight days before my thirtieth birthday, I lost her. Losing my mother was not just losing a parent; it felt like losing my safest place, my best friend, and home itself.
Grief did not leave me with only sadness. It left me with dark humor, old voicemails, random memories, and a thousand ordinary things I never thought I would miss.
Some losses do not end or resolve neatly. You just learn how to keep carrying the pieces.
Continue Reading:
Healthline – Navigating the Grief of Losing a Parent
Parents – Why Adult Children are Divorcing their Parents
A Poetic Reflection on Parents who Left Us Waiting – Milk
Individuals struggling with self-worth, readers interested in emotional journal entries, writing advocates in search of useful daily journal applications, and people who are passionate about mental health through self-help.
The Vault:
Reflections from a daily journaling practice using Storia: Future-Self Coach
How gratitude & guided journaling can support emotional wellness
A personal response to the prompt: “What is the fear that no longer deserves space in your life?”
Hiking & nature as reminders of resilience and belonging
Friendship, vulnerability, & learning to stop trying to earn acceptance
Lessons from working as an STNA in long term care
Creative work, self doubt, & building a small business anyway
Advocacy, publishing, & creating opportunities for marginalized communities
Letting go of the fear of not being enough
My Daily Journaling Ritual:
Recently I have been holding myself accountable for actually completing my daily journal. I have been doing this by building a daily journaling routine with an app called Storia: Future-Self Coach. I aim to focus a little more time daily on the things I have to be grateful for and the ways I am building my emotional intelligence.
This iOS-only app combines guided journaling prompts, mood tracking, gratitude features, voice journaling, progress tracking, multiple journals, and personalized reflection tools designed around helping users better understand themselves and connect with future goals.
Storia also includes community prompt areas, privacy-focused features, and encrypted journaling spaces, which is important when you want some of these thoughts to stay your own.
My weekly affirmation based on my responses to last week’s journaling prompts.
As a person who enjoys reflective writing already, guided prompts often become an interesting way to uncover thoughts I probably would not have sat down and explored on my own. There is something powerful about being asked a question and realizing the answer reaches much deeper than expected. This app is able to do this time and time again.
It is also important that I mention that daily gratitude journaling and reflective practices have become connected to mental health conversations. When we take the time to intentionally process emotions, recognize patterns, identify fears, and acknowledge moments of growth, we also create space for greater emotional awareness.
Do note that though many find it to be a helpful tool, journaling does not magically solve your problems of difficult periods of life. This tool can help you to organize your thoughts that may have otherwise felt tangled together. Sometimes writing creates a pause that exists just long enough for us to hear ourselves.
The Storia Prompt: “What is the fear that no longer deserves space in your life?”
Today, one of my prompts asked, “What is the fear that no longer deserves space in your life?”
Initially, my answer felt simple.
The fear of not being enough.
Once I started writing, I realized that fear had roots extending into some of my hiking trips, friendships, full-time job, creative endeavors, and advocacy efforts.
This journal became something less focused on the fear itself, transforming the answer into what looked more like the evidence I needed to finally dismantle the fear altogether.
Upon reviewing my response to today’s journal prompt, I knew the realization was one worthy of being shared.
The Journal Entry:
The fear of not being enough.
For a long time, I carried this feeling that I had to constantly prove my worth. That I had to somehow earn my place or earn someone’s love. I felt I needed to work harder to earn success. As well as the feeling that I could never earn belonging.
For some reason I believed being enough was something I had to achieve and that I couldn’t have just been born enough. I thought it was waiting somewhere ahead of me, at the end of some impossible checklist.
Life, however, has slowly but thankfully shown me something different. I learned that my achievement of becoming enough was never waiting at a finish line. It was already within me.
I simply had to learn how to see it.
Hiking Trails:
Hiking became one of the places where this realization started to take form. The trails have an unmatched ability to strip everything down and remind me what really matters.
Out there, ridges, gorges, trees, and flora do not care about titles, accomplishments, appearances, the price of your gear or expectations. They only ask us to keep moving.
I have hiked through rain, knee-deep snow, after the overnight shift exhaustion, uncertainty, steep inclines, droughts, fog, and moments where I genuinely doubted myself.
There were times I questioned whether I could keep going, but every summit reached, every muddy pair of hiking shoes, and every mile completed became proof that I was capable.
Hiking taught me that I do not need to move at anyone else’s pace.
I do not need to be the fastest person on the trail or even reach the end in some extraordinary way. I only have to keep showing up and continue forward.
Nature has repeatedly reminded me that I belong exactly where I stand.
Friendships:
New friendships challenged that fear in a different way. Opening yourself up to people can feel terrifying when you carry the belief that who you are might never be enough or may equally be too much.
There is always the possibility of being misunderstood, rejected, or left behind. Yet I am grateful to have met people who stayed.
A snowy and spooky group night hike to Moonville Tunnel.
People who accept me, care for me, and connect with me for me. These people replaced the fear that I held that I would only be enough when transformed into someone else.
For once I allowed people to know the real me. It is these relationships that pushed back against old narratives and helped me continue to outgrow fears.
I found in these people the knowledge that meaningful connection is not built through perfection. It grows through honesty, vulnerability, and authenticity. The acceptance I found here became a reminder that I never needed to earn my right to belong in anyone’s life.
Caregiving:
My work as an STNA specifically in long term care facilities also shifted the way I view worth. Caring for others demands a lot physically, emotionally, and mentally. As well as the fact that a lot of what caregivers do happens quietly and often without recognition.
Here I learned that value is not always measured through praise or attention. Value can exist in the smaller moments like sitting beside someone when they need comfort.
This is a photo of me from the fall of 2019. I had just made the transition from being a caregiver in a group home setting to being a STNA.
When you act in a way that helps someone preserve their dignity, make another person feel seen during difficult moments in their life, or even provide end-of-life care, your value doesn’t need to accompany a loud act of praise.
This work showed me that I do not need to achieve something extraordinary every day to matter. My presence, compassion, and effort matter more to my residents than most people will ever know until it is their time to know.
Small Business:
Building my small business and pursuing creative endeavors brought an entirely different set of challenges as well as a new set of ways to see my worth. Creating something born of your own ideas while confronting self-doubt over and over again is not an easy feat.
There were, and still are, moments where I question whether my ideas matter, if anyone is listening, or wonder if what I create is good enough. Comparison has a way of creeping in and sinking in its teeth. Working to convince creative people they are falling behind.
The table above is just one of the Poeaxtry stands you can find in a few stores across Ohio. This photo shows the table before it was set up entirely.
Working in spite of this, I keep creating. Every article written, project completed, risk taken, and idea pursued became evidence that fear does not get the final word here. Though growth does not happen through perfection, we know and have seen that growing happens through persistence and continuing to show up.
Creativity & Advocacy:
By advocating and creating opportunities for marginalized communities within publishing and creative spaces I have gained a deeper understanding of my worth. Advocacy work can feel overwhelming. We understand that there is always more work to do and more people who deserve support. So it becomes easy to feel like whatever you contribute will never be enough.
Original Poem by Axton N.O. Mitchell. Click the image to read the full poem.
I have wrestled with that feeling over and over again. I have also questioned whether small indie-driven actions will ever create meaningful change. Over time, though I have come to realize that change is never built through massive movements or grand gestures alone. Change happens through creating space, opening doors, and helping someone feel seen when they have spent too long being overlooked.
I do not have to carry the entire burden of changing the world. I only have to continue contributing where I can.
My Worth:
Feeling that I am enough was never about proving myself or reaching some level in life. The evidence of my true worth had been there all along.
My worth exists in every trail I have finished, person I care for, friendship I built, creative risk I took, and opportunity I tried to create for others. The fear of not being enough no longer deserves space in my life; when life itself is a constant reminder to me that I already am enough.
Final Thoughts:
Sometimes fear survives because we do not stop long enough to see it let alone to challenge it. I know at least when it comes to myself, I allow old narratives to stay in my mind as facts, even when my life consistently provides evidence against them.
As I looked back through this prompt, I quickly began to realize the fear of not being enough did not disappear because of one life-changing event, but over time it slowly lost the ability to take up space through my real lived experiences.
Living my best life.
When reflecting on my hiking trips I found proof that persistence mattered more than perfection. Doing the same with my newer friendships allowed me to discover that authenticity creates stronger connections than pretending ever could. I have begun looking at more aspects of my life under different lights to see the truth hidden throughout my layers of trauma and personality.
I have noticed that growth rarely arrives all at once. More often it decides to show up in my life as muddy hiking boots, difficult conversations, emotional exhaustion, unfinished projects, or moments where we choose to continue anyway.
When I look back often I am able to see that I have been carrying evidence of my worth much longer than I realized.
TLDR:
Today’s Storia journaling prompt asked me what fear no longer deserved space in my life. My answer became the fear of not being enough, as well as the reality behind why I have clearly outgrown this fear.
Reflecting on hiking, relationships, my work as an STNA, my small business, creative endeavors, and advocacy efforts reminded me that my worth was never waiting at a finish line.
The evidence of this had been there all along.
Sometimes growth is not about becoming enough; sometimes growth is realizing you always have been.
Struggling poets, independent authors, and creative activists seeking to bypass the traditional gatekeeping of the literary industry.
The Vault:
Indie publishing support for free – who this offer exists for & why.
Community over profit Model & Philosophy behind my brand and indie small press.
Our “review economy” & our aim to provide radical accessibility.
How capitalism contributes to artistic burnout.
Balancing third-shift work with creative goals.
My long-term vision for a grassroots creative ecosystem.
One of the first brand images I made for Poeaxtry.
What job would you do for free?
When Creativity & Survival Collide:
For years I have found myself wondering what happens when creativity collides with survival. We sadly exist in a world where nearly everything is monetized, or based on premium monthly subscriptions, so helping others create without expecting profit can feel strangely rebellious.
Somewhere between my never-ending string of overnight shifts, editing manuscripts, and building my personal brand and independent publishing house, I realized the answer to the question “What job would you do for free?” was never hypothetical.
Love spell bags used for calling-in, building, or finding genuine connections.
The Heart of the Hustle – Why I Offer Indie Publishing for Free:
In our society we treat every waking moment as a potential billable hour; we have even found that constant productivity feels demanded of us. The act of helping someone else create something or even creating something yourself just for the sake of its existence feels like a radical rebellion in today’s society.
The Answer:
For me, the answer to the age-old interview question, “What job would you do for free?” isn’t a hypothetical daydream, and is much closer to my lived reality.
Your voice deserves more than capitalistic conformity. Publish Authentically.
Through Poeaxtry and the Prism, I have committed to providing a launchpad for voices that the mainstream industry often silences or ignores.
Publishing, Editing, & Formatting:
I do so by offering indie publishing, professional formatting, editing, and design at no cost on a first-come, first-served basis, for creatives from any minority community. I am attempting to strip away the financial barriers that keep powerful, real stories locked in digital desk drawers.
This mission is born from the belief that art is a human right, not a luxury reserved for those with the capital to pay for high-end vanity presses. When I talk about “indie publishing for free,” I am not just talking about a lack of a price tag; I am referring to the democratization of information and the preservation of culture from the bottom up.
Digital Collections & the Review Economy:
For me, this mission goes beyond simply putting words on a page. My brand operates on a philosophy of radical accessibility. We do this by offering free digital collections to those who are personally affected by some of the themes reflected on in the work, that may be through shared trauma, marginalized identity, or specific lived experiences.
If a collection speaks to your survival, you shouldn’t have to pay to see yourself reflected through art and, you don’t have to ask for it either. I provide the forms upfront, no need or use for shame here.
When you see the state of our economy, it is plain for anyone to see why I also offer anyone else who is not quite in the place to pay, my collections in exchange for an honest review.
Check out my horn coral fossil left behind from the prehistoric tropical sea that once made up most of Ohio.
This “review economy” helps build a community of feedback and visibility that doesn’t require a credit card for access. While it also ensures that the art here remains as accessible as an open-ended conversation rather than just another fully pay-walled transaction.
If you compare this model to modern capitalism, the “currency” is your engagement, boosts, and human connection, each holding far more long-term value for a grassroots author than a few dollars ever could.
The Capitalistic Hellscape – Why Art is Suffering:
If we didn’t live in what I can only describe as a capitalistic hellscape, the scope of this project would be infinite. However, the truth for the moment is we do live in a system that views humans as “resources” to be extracted rather than beings to be nurtured.
This systemic pressure forces creators to commodify their deepest emotions just to keep the lights on.
Many artistic creatives seem to agree that the greatest thief of art isn’t a lack of talent, but a lack of time.
Cover art for Waterfall Confessions, a guided prompt journal I created and published.
Burnout & the Effect it has on Your Creativity:
The horrors of our current economic structure mean that most of us are too tired to be brilliant or too burnt out to function in a creative manner when we actually have the time to be.
We are seemingly trapped in a cycle where survival will always precede self-expression.
When we have to choose between buying groceries, car insurance, rent, or paying for a professional for our book’s cover art, editing, or formatting, I already know our art will lose every time. This is why I work at providing these services for free.
I see this as my greatest act of defiance; it is a way for me to tell the system that our stories cannot be bought, sold, or suppressed by our bank balance.
The Reality of Third-Shift:
The reason I am not currently offering even more for free such as: workshops, physical prints, or direct mentorships, boils down to the crushing weight of working the “9-to-5.”
Though let’s be real, for many of us, the typical 9-5 now spans a greater time frame.
The current reality I recently faced at my “day job” involved a rather demanding schedule which consisted of two 12-hour shifts and two 16-hour shifts. I have recently switched this up some and currently work an average of four twelve-hour shifts, per week.
However, no matter your sleeping pattern when you work that many hours a week you will at least be tempted to spend your “free time” in a state of recovery rather than discovery. Again I am grateful I recover most while I am also in discovery mode.
Sticker I left in a trailhead bathroom while on a five mile hike directly after clocking out. Proving that actionable advocating does not have to be hard.
The exhaustion for some may not just be physical; known to visit others by way of a spiritual tax. In a healthcare setting being in “go-mode” for sixteen-hours straight leaves little room for error. Though night-shift rounds are not always as demanding as their daytime counterparts. This is where I find the time to work towards creative goals and a small extra paycheck nightly.
Thanks again capitalism, seriously…
This burnout-inducing cycle is sometimes a hurdle between my creative output and my ultimate vision for a fully accessible creative-hubthat respects both the economic truth of America as well as my time. This is the perfect example of how capitalism kills things that make life worth living.
My Creative Vision:
In a world where our basic needs were met; labor wasn’t extracted from people for crumbs falling from above, the publishing press I run would be vastly different.
I would:
A view inside of my messy workshop showing part of my altar, some of my rock collection mid-sorting, a shelf holding other rocks, and one of my working tables.
Host Daily Community “Sprints”: these would act towards providing real-time, hands-on editing and book design sessions. Open to anyone considered part of a minority community that also has a story to tell, regardless of their technical skill level or ability to pay.
Establish a Physical & Digital Archive: This is the permanent, digitally stored as well as tactile space for handmade zines and indie works. Existing for these to be shared, interacted with, read, and archived for future generations.
Launch a Global Gift Initiative: We would ship physical poetry, art, and minority literature collections to rural libraries and community centers worldwide. Without the looming shadow of shipping costs or production overhead to affect our ability to share.
Full-Scale lessons & Mentorship: I would enjoy being able to spend my days teaching the technical side of rockhounding, polishing stones, and/or digital publishing. Using this time to help others build their own platforms of resistance and products from found materials.
The Collective Struggle of the Creative Class:
I for one know that I am far from alone in this struggle. Across the globe, musicians, artists, and word-lovers alike are all echoing the same sentiment: we are being worked to death, leaving our mediums of choice blank.
The “starving artist” trope is not a romantic rite of passage; it is a systemic failure. When we look at the history of art, much of the work we celebrate today was only possible due to patronage or, the cost of living allowing for a simpler, slower pace.
One of the more recent fossils I’ve found and one of my favorite specimens thus far.
Today, our pace is pre-set to hyper-speed and, we are all expected to be productive at work or producing “content” for viewing at a breakneck speed.
That goes without even mentioning that most of us do this all for close to free in the name of giant corporations. Yet, we are the ones basically paying a subscription premium to exist.
Paving the Way Forward:
Despite the exhaustion felt after some of the overnight shifts mixed with the emotional-weight of my work week, every hour I spend on anything creative is a brick in the path I am paving.
I aim to work toward a future where my brand isn’t just a side project squeezed between shifts, but a sustainable ecosystem for myself and other members of marginalized communities.
I’m building the infrastructure now, through digital collections, community-building, spiritual items, and natural items too. All of my individual creations and projects are about creating an entryway.
Find your tribe: connect with an international community that supports radical artistic vision.
This is me playing the long game with every manuscript I format for myself or another indie author. Using each win collected as another reminder that we are still here.
We are done shouting into the void.
One day, I intend to walk through that door into a full-time commitment to the arts, leaving the endless night shifts behind to finally focus entirely on elevating the voices of the grassroots artistic and writing community.
I am aligned with the movement focused on helping each other build the world we want to live in. Even if I have to do it one-by-one through each free access code, publishing opportunity, or open-mic night I provide.
TLDR:
I offer free indie publishing support to other individuals in any community considered marginalized due to my deep-rooted belief that storytelling and artistic expression should not be locked behind financial barriers.
Through Poeaxtry and the Prism, I am trying to create more accessible pathways for marginalized creatives.
Here we stand ten toes down for our whole community.
This experimental piece explores burnout, overnight work culture, capitalism, and the tension between survival and creativity. It also outlines my long-term vision for a community-centered publishing space.
Dog lovers, individuals who volunteer at animal shelters, those looking for advice choosing companion animals, and people who have an interest in learning about dogs through lived experiences.
The Vault:
What is a pit bull by definition? The only dog technically considered to be a pit bull is the American Pit bull Terrier.
The Science of the Bully Breeds bite and the misconceptions behind the locking jaw myth.
The small vs large breed myths.
The legal trap set against bully breeds in Ohio and their removal from the vicious dog list.
Bully Breeds high arousal brain, going from 0-100, and the reactive dog.
What animals make the best/worst pets?
The Bully Breed Misconceptions and Facts:
When it comes to choosing an animal companion we are faced with a high-stakes decision, one that is too often dictated by aesthetic trends or surface-level “best of” lists. Young adults, in particular, rarely take the time needed to research and prepare for their new fur-ever house guests.
My perspective on this doesn’t come from a pamphlet only; it is formed from experiences gained through the art of animal husbandry. I have taken care of or spent time with more than one dog breed, volunteered at animal shelters, and owned everything from bearded dragons, geckos, and snakes to chameleons, axolotls, birds, rodents, and felines.
I’ve even managed humans as a scheduler, while I was an assistant manager at a popular coffee chain, and we all know someone who acts more like an animal than the creatures themselves.
Through Experience:
During the height of the pandemic, I found myself most focused on the rehabilitation and re-homing of reptiles. Most of these animals were victims of basic husbandry failures. Their owners were people who typically didn’t realize they were bringing a living being with specific needs into their homes.
Through learning the specific care needs and trauma responses I have been bitten by snakes, latched onto by geckos, and lunged at by so-called “nice” dogs. It has been during these experiences that I’ve reached a polarizing conclusion: the animal at the top of both lists for the best and worst pets to own is none other than the beloved bully breeds.
This isn’t a slight against these dogs in the slightest. I am an advocate for and the owner of an American Pit Bull Terrier (APBT), Luna. This beautiful girl is my soul dog. That does not change the fact that when we look at the bully breeds misconceptions and facts, we have to be brutally honest.
These dogs are the “worst” pets not because of their inherent nature, but because society has rigged the game against them. Do know that when I say bully breeds, I am talking about the lovable “block-head” umbrella term: Staffordshire Terriers, APBTs, XXL Bullies, American Bulldogs, and others.
I also am including breeds mixed to create that muscular build gets dragged into this conversation. This lack of nuance in labeling is the first step in a system designed to fail both the dog and the owner.
The Science of the Bite & the Lockjaw Lie:
The most persistent lie in the talk surrounding bully breeds commonly used to backup the legislation used against them is “alligator lockjaw.” I have seen an embarrassing amount of people swear that bully breeds have a specialized mechanism that freezes, or locks their jaw after they bite down. Factually, this is not even close to the truth.
When you look at the research from experts like Dr. I. Lehr Brisbin at the University of Georgia, you will learn that the jaw structure of bully breeds, including the APBT are functionally identical to any other breed.
There is no biological ratchet joint, no specialized enzyme, and no physical mechanism that “locks.” They are dogs, not crocodiles; they hold on because of selective breeding for tenacity and the game-play of it not because they are physically stuck.
Beyond the lockjaw myth is the weaponization of their force. Uninformed individuals seem to love painting these dogs as having a superhuman grip, but the referenced data tells a different story. I have included below a list of bite force by breed:
American Pit Bull Terrier Bite Force: Measures at roughly 235 PSI.
German Shepherd Bite Force: Often used in police work, these dogs clock in higher at 238 PSI.
Rottweiler Bite Force: Can exceed 320 PSI
Mastiff Bite Force: can top 550 PSI.
The narrative of the “super-predator” is a fabrication built on fear, not physics or facts.
The Double Standard – Small Breeds vs. Bully Breeds:
One of the most frustrating aspects of the bully breeds misconceptions is the pass given to small, more often aggressive breeds. People joke about their mean-ass tiny ankle-biting dogs, but their aggression rarely tracked with the same vitriol as bully breeds and other large dogs.
In August 2010, a more famously known case in Michigan involved a Jack Russell terrier named Kiko that chewed off its diabetic owner’s infected toe while he was asleep.
While the owner credited the dog with “saving his life” by alerting him to the infection, leading to his diagnosis. This incident highlights a massive double standard: if any dog labeled as one of the bully breeds had “amputated” a digit, it would have been a national headline about a vicious beast. Kiko being a small dog, became a quirky human-interest story.
The reality is that “small dog syndrome” often involves significantly more unprovoked bites, but they are seen as “cute,” so the danger is dismissed.
The “Pit bull” Identity Crisis – Defining Bully Breeds:
In the world of bully breeds and the misconceptions that accompany them, another large hurdle are the words in themselves. “Pit bull” and “Bully Breeds” are not singular breeds; they are both slang terms that have been weaponized into generic labels.
When people say “Pit bull,” or “Bully Breeds” they should be referring to one specific dog, though more commonly they end up mislabeling four or five other breeds in the process. To be a helpful and real advocate to dogs, you have to know the difference between the actual breed and the “bully breeds” aesthetic.
The American Pit Bull Terrier (APBT): The only dog that can technically be called a “Pit bull.” They are medium-sized, athletic, and lean. This dog breed was bred for performance and tenacity, not just for their mass. This is the breed Luna belongs to, my soul dog that is often the most misunderstood, just like me.
The American Staffordshire Terrier (AmStaff): One of the dog breeds labeled as bully breeds that are often confused with the APBT. The AmStaff is generally shorter, heavier-set, and broader. While they share common ancestors, they have been bred for different standards (show vs. performance) for nearly a century.
The Staffordshire Bull Terrier: These are the smaller, “English” versions also under the bully breeds range of misconceptions. They are significantly shorter and more compact, often weighing nearly twenty pounds less than the APBT. Yet, they are still dragged into “vicious breed” legislation because of their blocky heads.
The American Bully (& XXL Bullies): This is a more modern breed, often a mix of various bulldog and terrier types designed specifically for a massive, hyper-muscular look. While people claim they look the most intimidating, out of the dogs considered to be bully breeds, they are often the most docile. Even though they carry the heaviest weight of the “Pit bull” label.
The American Bulldog: Frequently mistaken for a Pit bull by law enforcement and shelters, these are much larger, taller dogs than the others labeled as bully breeds. They are true “working” bulldogs, not terriers, but because they often have white coats and block-heads, they are almost always mislabeled in bite statistics.
When a shelter or a typical “Karen” at the dog park points at a muscular dog and calls it a Pit bull or presents a myth about bully breeds as fact, they are ignoring decades of breed history, research, and genetics. By lumping these distinct breeds into one harmful category, society ensures that any mistake made by one animal is blamed on all of them. Knowing the actual Pit bull and other bully breeds misconceptions is the perfect place to start ending the stigma with fact-based knowledge.
We know each other beyond words; We are in tune.
The Frontier Guardian – America’s Original Catch Dog:
While modern society tries to erase their history or condense it into blood sports, the American Pit Bull Terrier was the backbone of the American frontier. When these dogs arrived in the 19th century, they were the primary “catch dogs” for semi-feral livestock.
Of the dogs labeled under bully breeds the APBT was the first line of defense for families against wild predators. This is why the breed is so intensely intuitive; they were bred to be “Velcro dogs” that never left their owner’s side. While they also possessed the explosive power needed to protect a homestead.
Understanding this heritage is the only way to understand why they are so devoted to their families; this is the why behind their high-energy personalities today.
The Legislative Trap – Ohio & the Vicious Dog:
In Ohio, the law is often a paradox. On February 21st, 2012, House Bill 14 (HB 14) was signed. This bill worked at finally removing the “Pit Bull” from the automatic “vicious dog” definition. On paper, they are now just dogs.
In practice, the vicious dog breed label on the ground is a trap. Most public dog parks have rules stating you cannot bring a “vicious dog breed” into the enclosure. Even though the state says that the Pit bull isn’t automatically vicious, local officials, shelters, and park wardens still have the authority to designate a dog as “vicious” or “dangerous” based on subjective appearance typically aimed at bully breeds.
If a park official assumes your Pit bull is a threat and a “vicious breed,” they can single you out and remove your dog from the park. You risk being banned from community spaces based on a subjective assumption of what a “vicious breed” actually is, regardless of how the dog is behaving. This is the struggle of ownership in states like Ohio: the law changed, but the bias stayed exactly as is.
Luna the Dog With The Cat-Raised Soul:
Luna, is the living proof that the “vicious” label is a failure of the human imagination. She is my favorite thing in the world. One beautiful example of a creature that understands me as much as, if not more than, I understand myself.
Luna is unique because of how she was raised. She has four cats that are her brothers. Other cats were a part of her younger years as well. I feel that since Luna has been around cats her entire life, she was able to adopt a feline-like identity that completely contradicts the “block-head” or typical aesthetic that accompanies bully breeds.
Feline Behaviors: Luna spends a lot of her time on the back of the couch like a cat, perched and observing the world on the outside of the window. She sometimes will be caught “making biscuits” (kneading) when she’s happy and she has a refined palate for stolen cat food.
The Bond: She and my rescue cat clean, cuddle, and sleep with each other daily. They have a bond that proves temperament is often a product of environment and social raising rather than just the shape of the skull.
Reactivity Truths: While she is 100% cat-safe indoors, she is extremely dog-reactive, until correct introductions. She also views outdoor cats as “wild” seemingly due to their smell being like the outdoors. This wild smell triggers a different instinct entirely. This isn’t “random aggression”; it’s a specific, documented reaction to environmental scents that owners must be smart enough to manage.
The High-Arousal Brain – Why They Go from 0 to 100:
The “reactivity” many owners struggle with isn’t necessarily aggression; it’s a biological state called high arousal. APBTs also sometimes labeled loosely as bully breeds have a unique neurological makeup where their dopamine and adrenaline levels spike faster and stay elevated longer than other breeds.
This explains why a dog like Luna might “make biscuits” or knead to self-soothe. Luna is literally trying to bring her arousal levels down. It also explains why they can become hyper-fixated on a scent or another dog.
Bully breeds struggle without owners who understand how to manage these biological intensities. These dog breeds are set up for a “vicious” label when it’s really just over-stimulation, like a lot of us experience.
Why They Are the “Worst” Pets for the Majority:
The central paradox of Pit bull and Bully breeds misconceptions is that they are the best dogs frequently owned by the wrong people.
They are the “worst” pet because ownership requires a level of advocacy that 90% of the population isn’t ready for. It seems most owners get a bully breed for their “look” without realizing these are highly sensitive, intuitive animals that require meticulous husbandry.
Shelter Mislabeling: Rescues frequently label every muscular mutt as a “Pit bull” or simply as bully breeds to fulfill a narrative or simply because they don’t know the difference between an American Bulldog and an APBT. This ruins the reputation of the actual breed.
The Advocate’s Burden: When you own any bully breeds, you are fighting the neighbors who think every bark is a threat and the park officials who think your dog’s head shape is a crime. You are signing up for a life of being looked at as a criminal just for having a “soul dog.”
Dermatological Data – The High Cost of the “Itchy” Pit bull:
The chronic nature of skin issues in American Pit Bull Terriers is supported by massive veterinary and insurance datasets. In 2024 and 2025, skin allergies became the #1 claim for dogs nationwide, with insurance data showing a 13% increase in individual cases over previous years.
For the APBT owner, this isn’t just a seasonal itch; it is a year-round battle that costs them an average of $841 annually just for symptom management. Clinical surveys from 2024 identify that nearly 26% of all canine dermatological cases are allergic in nature, with Pit bull-type breeds being specifically noted for a higher-than-average genetic predisposition to canine atopic dermatitis.
If you are not factoring in the nearly 9 in 10 chance that your bully breeds will struggle with some form of skin irritation or environmental sensitivity during their life, you are ignoring the statistical reality of the breed.
The $5,000 Knee & the 87% Temperament Pass Rate:
If the skin issues don’t break your bank, the “Cruciate Crisis” likely will. Their hyper-muscular build and straight rear-leg angulation cause bully breeds to have the highest rates of Cranial Cruciate Ligament (CCL) tears.
A single TPLO surgery can cost between $3,500 and $6,000. However, the trade-off for this high-maintenance biology is one of the most stable temperaments in the canine kingdom. According to the American Temperament Test Society (ATTS), the APBT consistently maintains an 87.4% pass rate.
This is officially higher than the passing rates for Beagles, Golden Retrievers, and Border Collies, proving that their baseline nature is stability, not malice.
The Nanny Dog Myth – Rebranding vs. Reality:
In the world of Pit bull and bully breeds misconceptions, perhaps no claim is more romanticized or more dangerous than the “Nanny Dog” title. Pro-pit bull advocates often claim that in the 19th and early 20th centuries, these dogs were specifically bred to watch over children.
This is historically false. Extensive research of newspaper archives and breed books from the 1800s through the mid-1900s shows zero mention of the term “nanny dog” or “child-watching dog” in relation to any bully breeds.
The Origin Point: This term was actually coined in 1971 by Lillian Rant, the President of the Staffordshire Bull Terrier Club of America. In a New York Times interview titled “A Breed That Came Up the Hard Way,” she referred to the Stafford as a “nursemaid dog” to help soften the breed’s image and gain AKC recognition.
The Fabrication: The idea that mothers would leave their babies in cribs guarded by pit bulls or Bully breeds is a post-fact fabrication used to counter the growing negative press of the 1970s and 1980s. While individual dogs like Luna can be incredibly gentle and intuitive, the breed was originally developed for performance and farm work and not childcare.
The Petey Paradox: The visual “proof” most people cite for the nanny myth is Petey (Pal the Wonder Dog), the iconic American Pit Bull Terrier from The Little Rascals (Our Gang). While Petey was an incredible ambassador for the breed’s trainability and gentle nature around children on a film set, he was a professional animal actor, not a babysitter. His presence in pop culture created a false sense of security that the breed is “naturally” programmed to guard children. In reality, Petey’s famous protector behavior was the result of intense professional handling and not a magical “nanny” instinct.
Promoting the “nanny dog” myth is a failure of advocacy because it encourages irresponsible owners to leave children unsupervised with powerful animals. No dog, regardless of breed or temperament, is a babysitter. To be a real advocate for your “soul dog,” you have to respect their power and their history rather than hiding behind a fairy tale.
The Author of the Truth:
We wrap this up by recognizing that being a spiritual naturalist and creative advocate extends even to the animals we choose to protect. We started by looking at the fear-based Pit bull and bully breeds misconceptions like lockjaw, the exaggerated bite force, and the legislative traps of the “vicious dog” label. But we conclude with the reality of the “Soul Dog.”
To own one is to be an active journalist and advocate of their true nature in the face of a society that wants them gone. If you aren’t ready to be the bridge between the prehistoric loyalty of the dogs under the umbrella terms for bully breeds and the modern absurdity of the system, then stay away from the breed, full-stop. They deserve owners who see them as they are, cats making biscuits in a warrior’s body, as well as owners who are more willing to fight for them every single day.
Every myth we have examined we have also been able to debunk. The information here has been checked to ensure that there are no opinions disguised as facts.
TLDR:
The narrative surrounding the bully breeds is a complex tapestry of biological facts often overshadowed by societal fiction. From the debunked lockjaw myths and exaggerated bite force statistics to the legislative hurdles in states like Ohio, these dogs face a system designed to fail them.
This breed needs owners willing to commit to the advocacy required to eradicate the false stereotypes surrounding them. We are moving beyond the “Nanny Dog” fairy tales and recognizing the APBT and its cousins as high-arousal, sensitive, working animals that demand a deep understanding of their unique neurological makeup.
Choosing to own and love any one of the bully breeds is a commitment to becoming a living ledger for your dog’s true nature. They are often the most stable companions consistently boasting higher temperament scores than many breeds considered to be family favorites.
The financial and social burdens of ownership may end up being significant. For those people willing to navigate the medical costs and the stigma of their unearned “vicious” label, the reward is often a “soul dog” bond that bridges the gap between prehistoric loyalty and modern-day resilience.
List the people you admire and look to for advice…
Best for:
Indie creative individuals, healthcare professionals, and those seeking to filter out the noise in order make more informed decisions.
The Vault:
Identify the specific strengths of your inner circle ensures you get the right feedback for the exact problem at hand.
Professional growth in clinical environments relies heavily on the collective, real-time experience of your coworkers.
Enduring maternal advice provides a foundational compass that outlasts immediate, day-to-day challenges.
Search engines are best used for raw data gathering, never replacing the necessary friction of human intuition.
Seeking Advice:
When you are trying to cut through the noise, a simple search query rarely gives you the grit and context you actually need. Modern society attempts to rely heavily on algorithms, but the most honest and reliable insights actually come from the people standing right next to us.
Building an authentic network when you need advice means deliberately choosing who in your life you seek for advice and based on the specific purpose. In my world this looks a lot like balancing my clinical and creative needs with the personal ones.
To understand how this works in practice, we have to look at the different types of voices that I seek to shape my decisions.
The Lifeline – My Partner & Friends:
The people closest to us usually do not just offer one type of advice; often those people in my life hold a multitude of different kinds of advice. Some offer a mirror or window to allow me to view exactly what I needed to know.
My partner, Kelsey, for instance is a stabilizing force, providing the kind of nonjudgmental, grounding feedback that keeps the daily chaos of my daily life in check. They are someone I go to for help with practically everything especially color-theory, design, and emotional issues I may be having.
My friends expand this network even further. I sometimes will pick some of their brains for business advice since a few of them are navigating the realities of owning their own small businesses or also self publishing. Beyond the professional and creative friction needed to polish a rough draft, they are also who I look to for life advice.
On the other hand I also have friends who have experienced the loss of a parent. These friends offer me an invaluable, shared, and irreplaceable point of view on my newfound grief and burden. Research highlights that multidimensional interpersonal advice from close relationships is critical for shaping both our professional trajectories and our emotional resilience.
While personal relationships provide the emotional anchor, professional environments demand a different kind of tactical support.
Clinical Precision: The Value of Nursing Coworker’s
In high-stress, technical environments, peer support is not just a nice concept; it is a functional requirement. Relying on coworkers in a clinical setting provides a real-time, sounding board for complex medical advice and workplace navigation. You cannot Google the nuanced instincts of a seasoned nurse. Studies in clinical settings show that peer mentorship significantly improves problem-solving, resilience, and even patient outcomes. It is a shared language built on the front lines.
Moving from the professional sphere back to the foundational, there is a level of guidance that outlasts any single career or project.
The Roots – Maternal Wisdom:
Some advice echoes long after the person who gave it is gone. The influence of a mother often serves as the bedrock for how we approach major life decisions. When I look back, the guidance she offered was rarely about the logistics of a problem but rather the character required to face it. It is a visceral, enduring standard. Studies on parental influence confirm that maternal warmth and ideologies fundamentally shape our long-term decision-making frameworks.
Yet, for all the human elements of our network, there is still a place for the machine.
The Digital Oracle – Knowing When to Search:
Search engines do however have a role, but they are tools, not mentors. They are excellent for aggregating data, checking facts, or for a starting point. I use them when I need raw information, not when I need wisdom. An authentic guidance network uses the internet to supplement human intuition, never to replace it.
Pulling all these distinct voices together ensures that no single problem is viewed through a single lens.
An authentic guidance network is curated through active, intentional listening. You do not just stumble into good advice; you seek it from the right sources. By valuing the stabilizing truth of a partner, the clinical grit of peers, the enduring wisdom of family, and the utility of digital search, you build a resilient framework for making choices.
It is about knowing who to ask, when to ask them, and when to trust the foundation they helped you build.
TLDR:
Do not rely on a single source or a cold algorithm to navigate life. Build an authentic guidance network by leaning on your partner for truth, your professional peers for tactical grit, your roots for enduring character, and search engines strictly for raw data.
Individuals planning to go rockhounding in Ohio , amateur paleontologists, those interested in naturally occurring anomalies, Ohio hikers, and creative minds seeking the intersection of geological history and ancient folklore.
The Vault:
Huron Boulders & Serpent Eggs: Two more common names for the naturally occurring spherical rock formations, scientifically known as concretions, found throughout Ohio’s shale outcrops.
Geological Time Capsules: These iron-rich stones formed 300 million years ago in a prehistoric tropical sea, starting as organic nuclei like shells or fossils.
Red-Dog : Known for their distinct rusty orange and red hues, these concretions are often harder than the surrounding sandstone and shale.
Legend and Lore: Often incorrectly tied to Native American history, these spheres may have been historically used for pigments, tools, or associated with ancient spiritual “egg-stones.”
Random Naturally Occurring Round Rocks Roll- Ohio:
The first thing that came to my mind was how bad I would love to find some of Ohio’s Concretions. These are the small to gigantic-sized spherical shaped rocks; which oddly enough are naturally occurring.
Thought the scientific name for these rock formations is “concretion,” they are more commonly referred to as Huron boulders, cannonballs, stone spheres, and petrified serpent eggs; some southern Ohio rockhounds, geologists, and miners even refer to them as red-dog due to their iron rich, red hue.
These concretions and are found across the outcrop belt of the Devonian-age Ohio Shale, extending from the Ohio River’s banks in Adams county to the Northernmost banks of Lake Erie. This daily prompt response is a deep-dive into the “why” and “how” of these spherical stones.
Today we aren’t just looking at rocks; we’re looking at time capsules. I want to map out where these spheres hide, the science that formed them, the Native American legends surrounding them, and our modern lore all of which has rolled alongside them for centuries. Whether you’re a technical gear-head or a lyrical wanderer, these stones have a story that demands an exploration
The Mystery Rock Rolling in Ohio:
Imagine walking through the dense, woods of Southern Ohio and stumbling upon a perfectly spherical rock the size of a, golf ball, baseball, bowling ball or even a small car.
These surprises aren’t remnants of a forgotten civilization’s sports league; they are some of the most fascinating geological anomalies in the Midwest. Known locally as “Huron Rocks” and “petrified serpent eggs” among other.
These ironstone concretions represent a approximately 300-million-year-old secret, that the sandstone cliffs and creek beds of our backyards have been keeping hidden.
How Nature Carves a Sphere:
To understand how a concretion forms, you have to think like the ocean. Long before Ohio was a part of the United States and full of State Preserves and Metro Parks, it was a tropical, shallow, and prehistoric sea.
These round rock formations began as a tiny bit of organic matter like a shell, a leaf, or a fragment of a Devonian fish. As this matter decayed, it created a chemical reaction that drew minerals (specificallyiron and carbonate) toward it, layering them like a pearl.
The result was a mass that is significantlyharder than the surrounding shale or sandstone. Over millions of years, as the softerhost rock erodes away, these iron-rich spheres are then formed on the forest floor.
In Adams County, these ironstone concretions, often displaying a deep rusty orange, red, or brown hue due to high iron contents.
Key Parts of Concretion Formation:
Nucleus: The organic matter or bit at the center, often a fossil.
Accretion: The process of mineral layers building outward in a spherical pattern.
Erosion: The natural wearing down of the host rock that eventually reveals concretions to hikers today.
Where to Find Them:
Highbanks Metro Park (north of Columbus): This park is an excellent spot to find concretions. They are exposed along creek beds, banks, and within the shale rock walls. The Dripping Rock Trail near Lewis Center (9466 Columbus Pike) is particularly recommended for finding them. These concretions are oftenround or tubular; as well as having an orange, red, and brown hue from their iron content. While they may even contain ancient fossilized life forms.
Shale Hollow Park (Lewis Center, north of Columbus): Located at 6320 Artesian Run, this park features numerousconcretions. These are described as round rock formations, visible in its 20- to 40-foot-tall shale cliffs and along the stream bed.
Milan-Monroeville Area: Large concretions, sometimes referred to as “Ohio Mystery Rocks,” have been found in the Monroeville-Milan area. Some of these can be quite massive, reaching the size of hot tubs or small cars. Septarian concretions, ranging from one to three feet in diameter, are also common about one mile west of Milan, where the Huron River cuts through the Ohio and Olentangy shales.
Metzger Preserve (Williamsport): This preserve harbors one of Ohio’s greatest concentrations of concretions, which can be found in Deer Creek.
Central Ohio Shale Outcrops: Generally, concretions are abundant in Ohio shale outcrops throughout central Ohio. Lancaster, Columbus, Bucyrus, and Heath: Concretions have also been discovered in these areas, often found underground, in yards, or in creeks.
Scioto Brush Creek, Paint A notable historical example is the “Footprint Rock” from Clinton County, which was believed to be a prehistoric artifact of the Mound Builders but was later identified by archaeologists as a natural concretion. This highlights a recurring theme where unusual natural formations are mistakenly attributed to human activity. belt of the Ohio Shale from Adams County north to Lake Erie, these rivers are good places to spot concretions.
Native American Legends:
What were at one time believed to be Native American grinding holes in Ohio, particularly in riverbeds, have been often times identified by geologists as naturalweathered concretions.
One notablehistoricalexample is the “A notable historical example is “Footprint Rock” from Clinton County. Originally this was believed to be a prehistoric artifact of the Mound Builders but, was later identified by archaeologists as a natural concretion.
Though, some Native American legends, such as those surrounding Serpent Mound, suggest “egg-like stones” used to preserve spirits. These might be in reference to concretions. As well as the fact that concretionshave also been found at ancientmoundsites.
Archaeological findings in places like Cuyahoga Valley, Ohio, include specific concretion artifacts that show signs of use, such as being processed for red pigment. Alluding to possible use for ceremonial purposes.
Some concretions with concavities were also altered by Native Americans and found in fire pits,suggesting their use as tools or for other functions.
Global Relatives:
Ohio isn’t the only place where the earth decided to play with spheres. These concretions have cousins across the globe that prove how universal this natural process is:
Moeraki Boulders (New Zealand): Massive septarian concretions on a beach, tied to Maori legends of a wrecked voyaging canoe.
Koutu Boulders (New Zealand): Some of the largest concretions in the world, reaching up to 3 meters in diameter.
The Cannonball River (North Dakota): Giving the river its name due to the massive spherical stones lining the banks.
Seeing these global connections reminds us that the “weird” rocks in a Adams County, Ohio’s creek are part of a planet-wide geological language.
The Weight of What Remains:
As we wrap up this hikethrough the geology and soul of Adams County, it’s clear that these spherical rocks are more than just obstacles on a trail. They are a testament to what happens when time, weather, and a little bit of “nucleus” come together to resist erosion.
They are the survivors of the landscape , the parts of the mountain that refused to turn back into dust.
We’ve covered the science of the Devonian sea, the specific trails of Southern Ohio, and the global family of spheres. These stones remind us that even the most “ordinary” hike can lead to a discovery that is millions of years in the making.
Next time you’re out near Ohio’s Shale Outcrops, look for the orange-tinted curve of a sphere peeking through the mud. It may just be a piece of geological history waiting for you to notice it.
TLDR:
Rockhounding Spots– I mapped out some of the bestlocations to find them, including Highbanks Metro Park and Shale Hollow.
Size & Scale: From golf ball-sized stones to massive “mystery rocks” the size of a small car.
Ancient Folklore:Investigating the legends of “Footprint Rock” and the “egg-like stones” used by the Mound Builders.
Global Connections: How Ohio’s boulders relate to famous formations like the Moeraki Boulders in New Zealand.
Those reluctant to read poetry, those writing poetry, modern lyricists, indie publishers, & anyone who felt alienated by high-school English lit classes.
THE VAULT:
Directness: Cutting through the pretentious sparkles to reach the honest bones of the issue.
Rhythmic Familiarity: Utilizing cadences that feel natural to modern ears, often blurring the line between prose, song, and verse.
Utility: Validating the reader’s feelings allowing them to feel included, and your writing to live in the hearts of the readers.
Humbled by a Compliment:
I have often found that the most profound validation doesn’t come from a textbook or a critic, but from the person who walks into the room claiming they never “got” the art form in the first place.
When I am told that I write poems for people who don’t like poetry, it isn’t just a kind remark; it is a mission statement I never knew I needed. The compliment is about tearing down the walls that make literature feel like an exclusive club and replacing them with a front porch where the welcome mat is loudly announcing a greeting for everyone’s arrival.
Redefining the Gateway to Verse:
The statement “Axton writes poetry for people who claim to not like poetry” was more than a typical kind remark to me; it is a testament to a writer’s ability to dismantle the ivory tower of traditional literature.
For many, the word poetry conjures images of dusty textbooks and impenetrable metaphors that require a secret decoder ring to understand. When a creative individual is identified as the bridge between that perceived elitism and the honest human experiences, they are no longer just a writer; they are a translator of the soul.
This daily prompt response explores the structural and emotional layers of this compliment, detailing how accessible poetry for non-poets functions as a vital tool for community building.
We will look at the mechanics of relatability, the subversion of academic expectations, and the specific ways this approach mirrors the impact of modern lyrical storytelling when it comes to writing poetry.
The Power of Demystifying the Art Form of Writing Poetry:
To demystify means to eliminate the mystifying features of something; To be the gateway poet means you have successfully stripped away the pretension that often gatekeeps the literary world.
Instead of hiding behind archaic syntax, the individual’s creative work prioritizes the honesty of the emotion. This approach treats a poemlike a conversation or a gut punch the reader actually feels, rather than an intellectual puzzle.
By focusing on accessible poetry for non-poetry readers a writer validates the reader’s feelings without making readers feel uneducated for not spotting an obscure 18th-century reference.
Why This Resonates as a Top Compliment When Writing Poetry:
Validation of Utility: It proves the work is being used by people as a survival tool, not just observed as an ornament.
Breaking the Barrier: It confirms that the writing is powerful enough to overcome deep-seated prejudices against the medium.
Subverting Expectations Through Lyrical Grit:
Most people who claim they hate poetry actually just hate feeling excluded and sometimes even uneducated. When they encounter work from those of us that are writing poetry that is irreverent, conversational, or even blunt, it shocks their system.
This style of accessible poetry for non-poetry readers often shares its DNA with modern spoken word and real musical lyricism. This brings to mind the visceralstorytelling found when we listen to artists like Ren or NF. It’s about the “lullaby and the riot” existing in the same space, making the reader realize that poetrycan actually soundlikethem.
Bridging the Gap to Build Community for those Writing Poetry & those Who Wish to Resonate:
At its core, this compliment suggests that the poet is an architect of inclusion. By using direct language to tackle complex trauma, joy, or daily observation, the insider to writing poetry invites the “outsider” back into the artistic fold. This creates a shared vocabulary for those who previously felt they didn’t have the “right” to speak on art.
Core Strengths of This Writing Style:
Directness: Cutting through the pretentious sparkles to reach the honest bones of the issue.
Rhythmic Familiarity: Utilizing cadences that feel natural to modern ears, often blurs the line between prose, song, and verse.
The Impact of an Open Door:
Writing accessible poetry for non-typical poetry readers is ultimately an act of creative advocacy. It turns a solitary, often exclusionarycraft into a public square where everyone is welcome, regardless of their literary background.
This philosophy doesn’t just change how people read, it changes how they view their own stories. This works at proving that the “complex human condition” doesn’t require complex jargon to be profoundly felt. By leaning into relatability and subverting the “boring” stereotype, a poet ensures their worklives in the heartsof the many rather than the libraries of the few.
The Shared Goal:
The ultimate goal of anycreative person you would think, would be to resonate beyond the boundaries of their own niche.
I work at this goalpersonally in my owncraft by stripping away the academic barriers. In doing this I am able to connect with readers on an honest, authenticlevel that transcends the feelings of dread brought on by an English lit classroom .
The compliment that my work is for the non-poetry reader is the highest honor I can receive because it means the message is louder than the medium.
It confirms that when I write, I am not justcreating art; I am creating a doorway for anyone who has ever felt left out of the conversation.
TLDR:
Inclusivity: Accessible poetry dismantles the “ivory tower” and invites everyone to participate.
Lyrical Influence: The style mirrors the experience and honesty of modern musical storytelling that Ren & NF both use frequently.
Emotional Honesty: Using direct language turns poetry from an intellectual puzzle into a survival tool for the everyday person.
