Why I Write About the Hard Things
On learning to tell the truth on the page when there was no way to say it out loud.
STILL JUNE · ESSAY № 03 · NOVEMBER 2025 · 5 MINSome people first found my writing through the essays about what happened in Charlotte. I’m grateful for that. But the truth is, I didn’t become a writer because of moments like that — I write because life has always asked more of me than silence.
I write about the hard things because they’ve shaped me more than anything else. Motherhood, mental health, family fractures, faith unraveling, grief that comes in waves or in silence — these are the places where I learned who I was, and who I wasn’t. These are the moments where everything I thought I knew about myself fell apart, and something new had to grow in its place.
I don’t write to be inspirational. I don’t write to be dramatic. I write because for most of my life, I didn’t have the words for what was happening to me or around me. I didn’t know how to say, “This hurts,” or “This is confusing,” or “I’m not okay and I don’t know what to do with that.” I didn’t know how to tell the truth out loud, so I learned how to tell it on the page.
The hard things are where my life became real. They’re where my voice started. And they’re where I finally stopped trying to be the version of myself I thought I was supposed to be.
So yes — sometimes my writing is heavy. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it presses on old bruises. But it’s also where I find clarity, softness, humor, and the pieces of myself I lost along the way. It’s where I figure out who I’m becoming. And it’s where I tell the truth, even if it’s uncomfortable.
If you’re here, maybe it’s because something hard in your own life taught you more than any easy moment ever did. Maybe you’ve lived through things you don’t talk about because you’re not sure anyone would understand. Maybe you’ve carried feelings around for so long they feel like part of your spine.
Either way, you’re welcome here.
I’m not here to give answers or solutions.
I’m just here to say the quiet things out loud.
And if my writing does anything — if it gives you language for something you’ve lived or offers even a moment of recognition — then that’s enough.
This space won’t always be heavy. But it will always be honest.
STILL JUNE · ESSAY № 03 · FILED FROM CHARLOTTE, NC
Thank you for the introduction! Welcome to the Substack land (as a fellow newbie myself) I look forward to reading more of your work!