why i’m sharing the messy drafts
after almost a decade healing childhood abuse + living with cptsd, i’ve learned the unfinished words are just as important as the polished ones.
i was reading a book the other day and came across these words:
“hearing stories from other people… it creates a space where we are all valid and free to feel, without judgment or expectations.”
i felt that in my bones.
for most of my life i thought i was the only one carrying this much hurt. i thought i had to stay quiet, mask my pain, and pretend i was fine.
i remember so many sessions with my therapist where i was drowning in shame, feeling hopeless and messed up beyond repair. she wanted so badly for me to be able to find others living with cptsd + healing from childhood abuse so that i could see that i wasn’t alone. that i wasn’t the only one with these thoughts, the body pain from flashbacks, panic attacks, insomnia and drowning in shame.
i searched for support groups and i couldn’t find one focused on childhood abuse, or living with cptsd. but what i did find was books and writing from survivors. and that helped me feel a little less alone.
words then became my anchor too.
first in my journals, then in therapy, then out loud.
i don’t write because i have answers. i write because i’m still here. because sometimes reading someone else’s words was the only thing that made me feel less alone, and i want to offer that back.
that’s what this substack is for. and if you want to walk this long road of healing with me, you’re welcome here.
what to expect
free subscribers
the free side will hold the steadier words.. poems, letters, and essays i’ve carried long enough to share publicly. words you can revisit whenever you need them. written from me, to you.
paid subscribers
this is where i share the unfinished drafts, the in-the-moment letters, the raw pieces that show how untidy healing really is.
you also receive:
daily messages from me to you, to encourage and guide you on the healing journey (mon–fri)
monthly virtual + live support circle (including me sharing a new healing practice and guiding you through it)
recorded audio readings (for nights you can’t focus enough to read)
a private chat where survivors like you and me can connect.
important note: i don’t share raw, unfinished pieces because i need rescuing. i share them because i want you to see that i’m still in it too.
as one anonymous survivor wrote: “writing these letters was an opportunity to be hopeful but still honest - to reckon with myself where i am, not where i think i should be.”
almost a decade into healing, my life is completely different and still, there are things i kept buried, things i couldn’t face until now, that rise up and ask to be written.
i want to write the survivor-truths that aren’t ready for the wide world yet, but might remind you that you don’t have to have it all figured out either.
the words in these pages are complex in their hurt, their fragility, their strength, their wonder, their love, their hope. it’s a place where my words don’t have to be polished or perfect, where they can be both raw and steady, fragile and strong.
other ways we can connect
this substack is just one part of the ways i share what’s helped me survive:
instagram (@inthemesswithmak) → reels, reflections, and community posts.
“30 practices that helped me heal” guidebook → my digital guide with the practices i’ve used consistently over 9 years of healing. click here for more info
“i have felt desperately alone for a long time. in mak’s group, i felt supported, validated, and heard. it’s the safest i’ve felt speaking my truth in front of others. any way i wanted to show up was accepted and it was freeing to feel that.”
why now
because i don’t want another survivor to sit alone in the dark thinking they’re the only one.
other peoples words saved me when nothing else could. now it’s my turn to offer them back.
healing is slow. it’s messy. it doesn’t always make sense. so if you want to walk this long road with me, you’re welcome here.
whether you choose the free or paid circle, thank you for reading my words, for letting them sit with you, and for being here on this planet at the same time as me.
take what you need,
mak