Sharing the twisted Trump trick about intrusive thoughts?
Risky
Admitting I use AI to help untangle my chaotic brain?
Vulnerable
And what’s coming next?
Well, it feels like walking into oncoming traffic.
But here we are – gearing up for story time.
The Truth About Real Stories
Real-life stories aren’t tidy, safe, or tame. They’re messy, chaotic, and often unfinished. Half the time, they don’t even make sense until you’ve survived them long enough to stitch some meaning out of the wreckage.
We’ve been taught to fear that kind of mess. Taught to shrink it, sanitize it, and sell a version that won’t scare anyone off.
But I’m tired.
Tired of shrinking.
Tired of pretending the hard parts didn’t happen just because they don’t fit in a curated box.
And honestly?
Life’s too f**king short to lie about how brutal it can be.
It’s brutal.
And it’s beautiful anyway.
It’s also pretty damn funny – if we let it be.
Why I’m Choosing to Tell My Stories
So many of us suffer in silence because we were taught that emotional expression is a liability – That if we crack open, we’ll never get put back together again.
It wasn’t until I heard stories like mine that I realized: I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t broken. Life was.
Telling the truth about our shitshows?
It creates connection.
It dissolves shame.
It gives us our humanity back.
And my truth? It’s not just messy – it’s a full-blown mental health graveyard:
- Dead parents
- Dead friends
- Dead life-partner
- 150+ schoolmates – dead
- Suicide
- Overdose
- Murder
- Cancer – so much cancer
- The Troubled Teen Industry
- Modern-day cults
- Domestic violence
- Medical injury and illness
- Federal investigations
- Congressional hearings
- Family fractures that never fully healed
- Oh, and a pandemic
The hits didn’t stop. They just got more creative.
And as wild as it sounds, single parenting found its way to the top of that list.
My old psychiatrist once told me:
“You’re one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met. Most people with your history have had multiple institutionalizations and suicide attempts. You’ve thrived in the face of adversity. ”
“Why, thanks for the compliment, Doc,” I replied, blushing and flicking my short hair like a fabulously unbothered gay man in a psychiatric drama nobody asked to star in.
But the thing is, I wasn’t thriving – I was performing – And not well.
I was constantly smiling with my eyes while my nervous system reenacted the goddamn Vietnam War.
What I needed wasn’t resilience. I needed safety. I needed connection. And connection doesn’t come from pretending – It comes from dragging the messy, complicated truth into the light.
So after a lifetime of contorting myself into versions that made other people more comfortable – I’m done.
It’s time to live out loud.
What I’ll Be Telling Stories About (And Why It Might Get Weird)
We’re going to dig into the stuff people usually sidestep – because it’s messy and uncomfortable AF:
- Finding Humor in Dark Places because sometimes laughing through the shitshow is the only way out
- Deconstructing Hysteria how self-expression got weaponized – and how we’re taking it the f**k back
- Eliminating Toxic Shame the kind that never belonged to us in the first place
- Normalizing Authentic Emotion no more apologizing for existing as we are
- Exploring the Human Condition and the absurdity of the human experience
- Examining Relationships love, betrayal, codependency, interdependency, and the brutality of outgrowing people – or being outgrown
- Navigating Parenthood the unfiltered version – not the Pinterest board bullshit
- Surviving Grief and Trauma because healing isn’t linear, and survival isn’t glamorous
- Balancing Joy and Suffering because life is never either/or – it’s both, always
- Connecting with Compassion especially when you want to punch someone in the mouth
- Creating Meaning and Purpose even when it feels like there is none
And yes – we’re going to talk about the Troubled Teen Industry.
The places that profited from pain.
The scars they left behind.
The silence that still surrounds it.
Some of these stories will sting. Some might piss you off. Some might make you laugh. And some might unearth whatever you buried under sarcasm, denial, and your therapist’s idea of “progress.”
That’s where the rebuilding starts.
From Sadness to Rage
For a long time, I lived in sadness.
Heavy, bone-deep, crushing sadness.
But something’s shifted.
I’m not just sad anymore.
I’m angry.
Calmly enraged.
Not the rage that torches everything – The kind that clears a path.
Positivity says:
bypass the pain
Rage says:
bring it with you
and make it f**king matter
Sometimes rage is what momentum looks like after grief. It doesn’t lift like hope, and it doesn’t drag like despair – it just moves. With force.
While humor and rage seem to have carried me farther than sadness or hope ever did, I’m slowly learning they all deserve a seat at the table.
The Deeper Problem
The shame we carry for being too much, too loud, too emotional – It wasn’t born in us. It was instilled.
Especially in women.
Especially in anyone who dared to feel out loud.
Emotions weren’t just dismissed. They were pathologized.
Couldn’t handle a woman’s grief?
Hysteria.
Couldn’t handle her rage?
Hysteria.
Couldn’t handle her refusal to conform?
Hysteria.
And we’re about to tear that word to the ground.
What’s Coming Next
This is just the beginning.
We’re going to unpack how feeling too much became a diagnosis.
How honesty got labeled as unstable.
And why reclaiming our whole, messy, complicated selves might be the sanest move we’ll ever make.
Because we were never too much.
The boxes they attempted to fit us in were just too damn small.
For the Ones Who’ve Been Called Too Much
If you’ve ever been called too much – too emotional, too sensitive, too weird, too honest – good. That means you’re exactly who you were meant to be.
You don’t have to fix it unless it’s hurting you. You don’t have to pretty it up. You don’t have to shrink yourself to keep other people comfortable. You just have to let it all out.
Loud. Messy. Unapologetically human.
Because if you’re not freeing it…
You’re storing it.
Stay Curious,
❤︎ Hag