Category: writing prompt responses

Responses are to either the daily prompts in Jetpack, prompts I create, or prompts from instsgram pinterest or elsewhere

  • Part 1 — National Coming Out Day Reflection

    Part 1 — National Coming Out Day Reflection

    The Beginning of Owning My Truth

    In eighth grade, I told my best friend at the time that I had to tell her something. Before I could even say it, she looked at me and said, “What, you like girls?”

    No duh, me too.

    That moment was my quiet entry into honesty. It was not a big speech, not a dramatic scene, just truth spoken aloud. I told a few other friends. Most didn’t care, one freaked out a little. You know, the classic “ew, we slept in the same bed!?” comment. In my usual fashion, I just told her, “Yeah, no shit. Doesn’t mean it was anything weird. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m into all girls.”

    It wasn’t some grand parade or rainbow banner moment. I just stopped hiding it from all my homies.

    High School and Small Town Silence

    I grew up in small-ass Martins Ferry, Ohio. A tiny town, tight gossip circles, everyone knowing everyone’s business. I graduated in 2010, and there were maybe three out lesbians in my class. The rest were “straight in public” or “hush-hush about it.”

    I wasn’t loud about my sexuality in high school. But the moment I was no longer a student, I made my Facebook and MySpace say “interested in women.” No more hiding, no more pretending. Just existing.

    Family Reactions and Reality Checks

    My mom’s best friend was a lesbian who came out in the early 1980s, so she didn’t have much to say beyond not wanting it “broadcasted” to my little sisters. They were nine at the time. But my younger cousins told them. It wasn’t like they knew better.

    One sister said she didn’t care. The other said “ew,” but she got over it fast enough. Kids echo what they hear. And they learn what we show them.

    But there was one adult man, a friend of my mom’s. He was much older than me, always joking that he’d “take me on a date when I turned 18.” Everyone would laugh like it was harmless. I knew it wasn’t.

    Sure enough, once I turned 18, he messaged me on Facebook asking me out. I told him, “Dude, I’m with my girlfriend. I’m gay.”

    He flipped out, said I “lied” instead of just saying no. But I wasn’t lying. I was telling the truth, my truth. But he just couldn’t handle it.

    Looking Back on Coming Out

    Back then, coming out wasn’t about attention or pride flags. It was about not lying anymore. It was survival in small-town Ohio. And being honest even if nobody clapped for it.

    When I think about National Coming Out Day, I think about that moment in eighth grade. The one where I said, “Yeah, I like girls.” I think about every time after that when I had to say it again. Whether that was to friends, to family, to strangers who thought they had a say in it.

    This is Part 1 of my story… the first step in a much longer journey.

    Part 2 will come later today. It’s about when I came out again, not as a lesbian.

    Because coming out isn’t one moment. It’s a lifetime of moments: each one a little braver, a little louder, a little more you.

    Today, on National Coming Out Day, I remember that younger version of me. Who was scared, quiet, and honest anyway. The one who chose quiet truth in small towns where everyone knew your name.

    I came out as a lesbian first. I came out as myself second. Both are chapters worth telling. Both matter.

    Because every story of coming out whether it’s whispered, shouted, or written down… reminds someone else they’re not alone.

    Stay tuned for Part 2: Coming Out as me.

    When Axton first came out socially as transgender female to male. The start of a era
  • If I Had a Million Dollars to Give Away – Supporting TransOhio other Nonprofits

    If I Had a Million Dollars to Give Away – Supporting TransOhio other Nonprofits

    If you had a million dollars to give away, who would you give it to?

    QR CODE for free zine written by Axton N.O. Mitchell & published by Poeaxtry’s Poetry Prism
    Use this code of your free copy! Just for reading this post!

    If I had a million dollars to give away, I wouldn’t hesitate… every cent would go to TransOhio and other transgender nonprofits across America. Right now, the political climate in the U.S. is hostile toward transgender people, with countless bills attacking trans rights, healthcare access, and youth protections in multiple states. Organizations like TransOhio are on the frontlines, offering essential resources, advocacy, and legal support to protect transgender lives.

    Funding these nonprofits isn’t charity. Yet, it’s a critical investment in human dignity, equality, and survival. Transgender communities face systemic discrimination, harassment, and targeted legislation designed to erase their rights. But by supporting them financially, I can help provide safe spaces, mental health services, legal defense, and community programming that keeps trans individuals (like me) and families alive, thriving, and visible in society.

    Giving to trans nonprofits nationwide also amplifies a ripple effect. Every local program, educational workshop, and advocacy effort contributes to a larger movement resisting oppression, dismantling misinformation, and fighting for civil rights. In a time when politicians and legislators increasingly threaten trans existence, this support isn’t optional… it’s necessary.

    So… if I had a million dollars, it would fuel the fight for equality, safety, and community. TransOhio and other trans nonprofits deserve more than just recognition. And they deserve tangible action. So, I’d use that money to make sure their work can continue, expand, and protect those who need it most.

  • Exploring My Native American and Polish Heritage: Pride, Curiosity, and Family Legacy

    Exploring My Native American and Polish Heritage: Pride, Curiosity, and Family Legacy

    What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?

    Heritage shapes who we are, connecting us to the past and guiding how we see ourselves in the present. For me, my cultural background includes both Native American and Polish roots. I feel they each offer a unique perspective and sense of identity. Exploring these lineages has been a journey of pride, curiosity, and reflection, even when faced with challenges in learning about them.

    Native American Heritage:

    My Native American lineage comes from my father’s side, and it’s the part of my identity I feel deeply connected to, even though I’ve had limited access to family knowledge. My dad’s mother was fully Native American, but I don’t know the specific tribe or much about the traditions she may have practiced. She passed from liver related illness when my dad was very young. Also, if you didn’t notice, I don’t speak to my father, connecting with this side of my heritage has been a challenge.

    Still, I’m proud of this lineage. I am fascinated by the culture, history, and values it represents. It inspires me to learn independently through research, books, and online resources, seeking to understand and honor the heritage that is uniquely mine.

    Polish Heritage:

    On my Polish side, I have a clearer connection. Both my great-grandmother and grandfather were fully Polish, and I had access to stories, traditions, and family memories that enrich my understanding of this heritage. I could speak fluent polish up until the age of 14. My “butchie” passed and for me that was unrealistically out of know where. I had not yet seen death. I think because of this I somehow repressed the majority of the language we spoke together.

    Anyway. I am proud of the resilience, values, and cultural richness passed down through generations. From Polish customs to the shared family narratives, this helps me feel rooted and connected to a broader story beyond my immediate experience.

    Reflections on Heritage and Family:

    Exploring both lineages has highlighted how family dynamics can impact access to heritage. Some family members I know are not closely connected to older generations or to those who have passed, making certain knowledge difficult to retrieve.

    Even with these limitations, I feel a sense of responsibility to honor both my Native American and Polish heritage. These experiences have taught me that heritage is not just about knowing every detail, it’s about curiosity, pride, and intentional exploration of the traditions, stories, and values that shape us.

    Learning about and celebrating my Native American and Polish roots has been a meaningful part of understanding my identity. Even when access to family history is limited, cultural heritage offers a path for self-discovery, connection, and pride. Whether through independent research, storytelling, or embracing family traditions, I am committed to honoring both lineages and sharing the lessons, values, and beauty they bring into my life.

    Hiking prompt links

    🔗

  • Choosing More: Trails, Bonfires, Waterfalls, Love, and Creativity

    Choosing More: Trails, Bonfires, Waterfalls, Love, and Creativity

    What could you do more of?

    My thoughts:

    Lately, I’ve been thinking about what I need more of. And not in the material sense, but in the marrow of my days. The kind of “more” that fills, steadies, and fuels. The kind of “more” that shapes a life worth remembering. It’s not about excess, it’s about abundance in the things that matter most: trails, laughter, waterfalls, family, community, creation. These are the moments that root me, the pieces of life that remind me why I keep pushing forward.

    I want more Ohio winding trails, through forests, hills, and hidden ridges that still call my name.

    The backwoods bonfires, with sparks lifting like prayers into the dark.

    Then of course more s’mores, sticky fingers and laughter mixed with smoke.

    Relaxing trips to the lake, the sun reflecting on ripples like glass.

    That leads to more camping trips, with the quiet hum of crickets and the steady breath of earth beneath me.

    I’m a sucker for a waterfall, tumbling like time itself.

    And I could use more kayaking, with my arms burning but spirit alive.

    I’d love time with Kelso, their presence steady as a compass.

    And time with my sisters, weaving memories out of ordinary afternoons.

    I’ll always want time with my mom. May she rest in paradise. Though, I am carrying her in every quiet moment, every place where the wind sounds like her voice.

    I want more of these moments because they are the anchors: where the noise quiets and the core of living rises up clear. Trails, rivers, bonfires, and late-night laughter don’t just fill time; they carve it into memory. They remind me I’m not just moving through life, I’m part of it… woven into the forests, the water, the people who walk beside me.

    I want more because “more” isn’t greed, it’s gratitude. It’s choosing to multiply the things that heal instead of the things that drain. More connection, more earth beneath my boots, more stories written in smoke and stone. These are the things that make the days stretch wide and give me the energy to keep pushing, keep creating, keep fighting for the world I believe in.

    The list Continues:

    All this make me want More sunrises on trailheads.

    And then sunsets bleeding across horizons too wide for words.

    I wish for journals filled, ink poured like rivers of thought.

    I’d love a good rockhounding trip, uncovering pieces of the earth’s hidden heart. UP MICHIGAN is always on my list!

    I want advocacy, protests, standing up when silence would be easier.

    And More poetry read aloud, words stitched into air.

    With this I need more community built, where every voice finds its place.

    I love more time with my dog. The walks, snuggles, the simple grounding presence only she can give.

    And time with my cats, their quiet purrs stitching calm into my days.

    Who wouldn’t love more time gaming? We know play matters too, and escape can be just as healing as creation.

    I would die for more time making physical products for my shop: witchy items, jewelry, keychains, and more. The tangible art that keeps my hands moving and my spirit rooted.

    And more time on writing retreats, they don’t need to be fancy! I just need the only noise to be pen to paper and the only task is to let words flow free.

    Spending time connecting with other poets and creators, trading sparks and building bonfires out of shared voices.

    More more more ! Give me more! experiments, more mistakes, more chances to grow without apology.

    Why?

    Because if I’m honest, FOMO: the fear of missing out, lurks in the background. Not about the shiny, curated things the world flaunts online, but about missing the marrow of my own life. Missing the trails I haven’t hiked yet, the poems I haven’t written, the moments with the people and creatures I love most. Fear of missing the work that matters, the fire that only comes alive when I’m fully in it.

    So this is my reminder to myself: don’t let fear decide. Let more decide. More moments, more presence, more joy stacked up like stones marking a trail forward.

    Because life isn’t about less. It’s about leaning into more, the kind of more that fills you up without emptying the world.

    Wanting more doesn’t make me restless, it makes me aware. Aware that life is short, that moments slip by, that time with people I love and places that restore me cannot be taken for granted. So I’m choosing more. More presence, more connection, more experiences that outlast the scroll of a screen.

    Your turn:

    What would you want more of? Where do you feel time calling you? Share it with me, and let’s hold each other accountable to seek more of what matters, and to build lives overflowing with meaning, not scarcity.

    Poeaxtry’s links

    Amazon Author

  • Energy: Where Does it Come From?

    Energy: Where Does it Come From?

    What things give you energy?

    Energy reserves:

    Energy is slippery for me. With ADHD, I don’t always wake up with a neat little battery icon at 100 percent. Instead, it’s closer to an energy reserve that ebbs and flows. And sometimes that spark is bright and fast. While other times it’s dwindling with little to no warning. I’ve had to learn that energy isn’t just about sleep or food for me, and it’s more about where my spirit plugs in.

    Nature:

    Nature is my primary resource. Hiking trails, creeks running wild, sandstone ridges shaped by centuries of wind, and a roaring waterfall at the end of a sweat soaked trail. There is where energy is recharged for me. In those places I refill in ways caffeine never could.

    The Red River Gorge or a simple forest path near home becomes a charging station for my mind and body. It’s like a Tesla charging station I didn’t need Elon Musk to build. The rhythm of my tennis shoes against dirt, the press of cool rock in my palm, the sudden flash of a butterflies wings are all part of what fuels me.

    Out there, my ADHD mind isn’t too much; it’s just right. It matches the chaos of leaves, the unpredictability of weather, the endless possibility around each bend in the trail.

    Advocacy:

    Advocacy also gives me energy, though it comes from a different kind of spark. Speaking up, protecting minority community voices, making space for marginalized creators. This is the kind of work that costs energy and yet somehow returns it at the same time. Fighting for change isn’t easy, but it is necessary. And every time I see someone feel heard, every time a voice long silenced finally resonates, I feel that flicker of fire in my chest. That fire is renewable.

    Energy:

    So, what gives me energy? It’s a perfect mix curated by and for me. The rush of ADHD hyperfocus when I’m passionate. The grounding pulse of nature that steadies my racing thoughts. The charge of advocacy that reminds me I’m not just one voice, and I’m part of something larger: a collective heartbeat that refuses to be quiet. My energy isn’t always predictable, but it is powerful, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

    So how do you recharge your battery?

    Poeaxtry’s links

    Coffee discord

  • Perfectionism: The Hidden Red Flag in humans and It’s Dangers

    Perfectionism: The Hidden Red Flag in humans and It’s Dangers

    What personality trait in people raises a red flag with you?

    Perfection. You know that flawless facade that some wear like armor. This is my ultimate red flag in any relationship, professional connection, or friendship.

    When someone presents themselves as perfect, never making mistakes or showing vulnerability, it’s not a sign of excellence but a warning of what lies beneath. Perfect people don’t exist. What does exist are individuals who have constructed elaborate defenses to hide their humanity.

    So what are you trying so hard to hide?

    The Danger Behind the Flawless Facade

    The pursuit of perfection creates impossible standards that crush creativity and authentic connection. I’ve watched “perfect” people:

    • Refuse to acknowledge their mistakes, even when obvious to everyone
    • Shift blame rather than accept responsibility
    • Hide struggles until they become unmanageable crises
    • Judge others harshly for normal human limitations
    • Exhaust themselves maintaining an unsustainable image

    This relentless perfectionism isn’t strength… it’s fear wearing a mask of confidence.

    What Perfection Hides

    Behind the polished exterior of perfectionism often lurks deep insecurity. The person who can never be wrong, never show weakness, and never admit confusion is typically terrified of being seen for who they truly are.

    This fear creates a barrier to genuine connection. How can you truly know someone who refuses to show their rough edges? How can you trust someone who can’t acknowledge their mistakes?

    The Value of Beautiful Imperfection

    I’m drawn to people who embrace their imperfections. People who can laugh at their mistakes, acknowledge their limitations, and show up authentically even when it’s messy. There’s something profoundly trustworthy about someone who can say “I don’t know” or “I was wrong” without their world crumbling.

    The Japanese concept of wabi-sabi celebrates the beauty in imperfection. A handmade ceramic bowl with slight asymmetry holds more character and value than a mass-produced “perfect” one. The same applies to people.

    Recognizing Healthy Striving vs. Perfectionism

    There’s an important distinction between healthy striving for excellence and toxic perfectionism:

    • Healthy striving is motivated by growth and learning
    • Perfectionism is motivated by fear and avoidance
    • Healthy striving allows for mistakes as part of the process
    • Perfectionism sees mistakes as unacceptable failures
    • Healthy striving focuses on the journey
    • Perfectionism fixates solely on flawless outcomes

    When I meet someone who can talk openly about their failures, who approaches challenges with curiosity rather than certainty, and who shows compassion for others’ mistakes… that’s not a red flag. That’s a green light for authentic connection.

    In my experience, those who project an image of perfection aren’t just hiding normal human flaws but, they’re often concealing something far more concerning. The person who can never admit to being wrong, who crafts an immaculate social media presence while their real life crumbles, who dismisses others’ struggles while presenting themselves as flawless. And these aren’t just annoying perfectionists. They’re often hiding deep-seated insecurities, manipulation tactics, or even abusive tendencies.

    The most dangerous people I’ve encountered weren’t those who openly acknowledged their struggles with anger, anxiety, or past mistakes. It was those who insisted they had none. Those who gaslit others into believing their perception of reality was wrong. When someone shows you a perfect facade, they’re not showing you who they are; they’re showing you what they want you to believe. And that gap between image and reality is where the real danger lies.

    True connection happens in the spaces where we allow ourselves to be seen… yes, the imperfections and all. Someone comfortable with their flaws rarely needs to control how others perceive them. Remember this the next time you meet someone who seems too perfect to be true. They probably are.

    The most interesting people I know are gloriously, beautifully imperfect. And that’s exactly what makes them perfect for genuine relationship.

    What trait do you consider an instant red flag? Share your thoughts in the comments.

  • My ideal rough week and Earth’s Hidden Gems

    My ideal rough week and Earth’s Hidden Gems

    Describe your ideal week.

    There’s nothing like a week dedicated to hunting beauty. Whether that is from the rocks I am hounding or the falls we are chasing. We are surrounded by natural beauty and creative inspiration. My ideal l getaway unfolds somewhere with diverse geology. A place where I can find fossils in the morning and crystals or semiprecious stones in the afternoon, all while soaking in breathtaking landscapes and the suns rays.

    Dawn to Midday: The Hunt

    Each morning starts with Luna’s cold nose nudging me awake as first light filters through the tent. Kelsey stirs beside me, already reaching for the camp stove to brew coffee. Our campsite sits far from designated campgrounds and tourist trails just wilderness, silence, and possibility. Oh yea and a composting toilet.

    After a quick breakfast, I grab my field kit. The essentials hammers, chisels, brushes, and collection bags organized for efficiency or just Aldi bags (if I’m being honest). The morning hours belong to serious specimen hunting, when my eyes are a little more sharp and my patience abundant. Some days I explore exposed rock faces rich with marine fossils; other days I sift through creek beds for tumbled treasures or I chip carefully at promising outcroppings.

    Luna explores nearby, occasionally bringing me sticks instead of rocks (still working on her training after all this time). We like it out here since she doesn’t need a leash. My partner alternates between helping me search and capturing the landscape through their camera lens. We work in comfortable silence, occasionally calling each other over when something interesting appears.

    Midday to Afternoon: Water and Wonder

    When the sun climbs high and the day heats up, we transition to water exploration. A series of waterfalls create the perfect swimming holes. There are some shallow enough for Luna to splash in, others deep enough for proper diving. The cold water shocks against sun-warmed skin, creating that perfect contrast that makes you feel completely in the moment.

    After swimming, we spread our morning’s finds across sun-heated rocks to dry and examine. I pull out my loupe to inspect the details of particularly interesting specimens or finds. I love the crystalline structure of a geode, the delicate imprint of an ancient fern, and the perfect spirals of a fossil shell. Each piece tells a story millions of years in the making.

    Evening Rituals: Fire and Flow

    As afternoon fades, we return to camp to prepare for evening. May i build the perfect campfire while Kelso seasons thick-cut steaks with just rosemary, salt, and pepper. The simple preparation lets the quality of the meat speak for itself when it sizzles over open flames.

    With dinner preparations underway, I settle into my hammock strung between two sturdy pine trees. This is when I roll a blunt of quality green, taking slow, appreciative draws as I flip through my journal to go over notes for the day’s finds. The combination of physical exertion, successful discoveries, and gentle relaxation creates the perfect mindset for creativity.

    As twilight deepens, we feast on perfectly flame cooked steaks and fire-roasted vegetables. Luna lies nearby, gnawing contentedly on her own special treat, occasionally looking up to ensure her humans are still present.

    After dinner, the campfire becomes our center. My partner roasts marshmallows for s’mores while I pull out my laptop, the words flowing more freely here than they ever do in civilization. Poems about ancient oceans, the patience of stone, and the fleeting nature of human existence emerge onto the page.

    Days of Discovery

    Each day follows this rhythm but with different locations to explore. One day might focus on sedimentary layers rich with fossils; another might take us to mineral veins in metamorphic rock. We hike to panoramic overlooks where the landscape reveals its geological story in exposed strata.

    In the evenings, we alternate between different campsites, each offering its own unique character. We spend one night beside a waterfall, another on a ridge with sunset views, a third in a grove of ancient trees whose roots have witnessed centuries.

    The Essence of Escape

    What makes this week ideal isn’t just the specimens collected, though my bags grow heavier with treasures each day. It’s the rhythm of existence dictated by sunlight rather than screens, the deep conversations that emerge around campfires, and the way that disconnecting from everything else connects me more deeply to what matters: creativity, companionship, and the ancient stories told by stones.

    As the week concludes, I carefully wrap each specimen in paper, noting observations. But the real treasures are the filled digital journal pages, the renewed connection with kelso, Luna’s evident joy, and the lingering sense of peace that comes from a week lived exactly as we choose.

    This is freedom: rocks, water, words, love, and enough green to keep the edges soft. This is my ideal week.

    We all wear masks metaphorically speaking

    Poeaxtry’s🔗

  • Are You Holding a Grudge? When Grief Becomes Sacred Anger

    Are You Holding a Grudge? When Grief Becomes Sacred Anger

    Are you holding a grudge? About?

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

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

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

    When Grief Becomes a Grudge:

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

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

    The Poetry of Anger

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

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

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

    Questions for Your Own Journey:

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

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

    Links

  • Why I Blog: Healing Through Words and Wilderness

    Why I Blog: Healing Through Words and Wilderness

    Why do you blog?

    Finding My Voice in the Digital Wilderness:

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

    When Grief Needs Witnesses:

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

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

    Mountains as Medicine:

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

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

    Creating the Safe Spaces We Needed:

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

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

    The Healing Power of Owning Your Story:

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

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

    Building Community Through Shared Truth:

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

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

    Why This Matters:

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

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

    An Invitation to Connection:

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

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

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

    Links

  • Tears of Joy: Trans Representation in Media

    Tears of Joy: Trans Representation in Media

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

    The Moment Everything Changed:

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

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

    Visual Storytelling That Honors Our Truth:

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

    The Healing Power of Being Truly Seen:

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

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

    Setting New Standards for Representation:

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

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

    The Ally Behind the Art:

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

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

    The Power of Being Seen:

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

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

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

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