Words Can Wound. But Yours Heal.

July 27, 2025 · 3 min read

What two strangers on the internet did to my Saturday morning.

Yesterday was a very powerful day for me. And it's all because of you.

I woke up at my normal Saturday time — 6:30 am. A year ago, me would be super proud of me.

Three years ago, I would say, "No effing way."

Six years ago, I'd be too hungover to think.

Ten years ago, I'd be pissed that I've gotten old.

I reached for my phone — not to doomscroll, but to make sure my device was charged and ready to perform at the gym. Full charge. Most notifications I ignore. I go straight for missed texts and Substack. That's really it.

No missed texts. One new comment on a post.

Oh! My new friend Mahmoud commented. Hope he liked it!

Click click click…

"I'm addicted to your writing."

My eyes widened. My jaw dropped. My heart pitter-pattered with a feeling that was more than pride. More than gratitude. More than love.

It was validation.

On the Slippery Slope of Validation

Yes, validation is a slippery, tricky slope. Most times in life, you don't receive it from the outside. I spent most of my youth and young adulthood chasing it — from people, from performances, from proving. But when I went searching for it within, that's when I finally found it. The unconditional kind. The kind that says, Even if no one claps, you still did it.

But yesterday — yesterday, I woke up to external validation that healed wounds I didn't even know were still bleeding.

I went to the gym with my head held high. Five more reps of every exercise. Five extra minutes in the sauna. I walked into my home office with the same energy. Sat down in my chair. Exhaled.

My body, full of peace, let the words flow for another post.

I never know what I'm going to write about each day. There is no plan. Just presence. And so far, it's worked. I'm just as surprised as the reader.

I've gotten good at pressing "Publish" and letting go of the stress. Will anyone read it? Will anyone care? Those are questions I don't ask anymore. I trust that whoever is meant to find it will. And whoever I'm meant to read, I will. It's the most freeing mindset I've ever known.

The Parking Lot

On my way to get groceries, my phone buzzed. A new comment from a new connection, Paris. I waited until I parked before I read it.

I'm not even exaggerating when I tell you that this was one of the most gripping, emotional, and empowering things I have ever read. This deserves millions of reads, and that still wouldn't be half as much as it's worthy of. Thank you so much for sharing your story, for writing it so eloquently and beautifully, and for being strong enough to not only share it but share how much you've transformed that pathetic man's actions into your own power. This was really, truly so moving for me. I'm so glad I found you on this app.

"Even if it took years. Even if I still sometimes wish I could go back and hug the woman in the car, the woman on the floor, the woman who almost gave up." This part made me tear up.

I'm so, so sorry that you were let down by so many people, particularly men, when trying to seek help. I'm so glad that you were able to seek the support of other women and not only help yourself but undoubtedly help them too. You're incredible.

— Paris

I read it once. My smile reached the stars.

I screenshotted it and sent it to my kids. They haven't read anything I've written yet. But I wanted them to be a part of that moment. I wanted them to know: Your mom is worthy of kindness. Of pride. Of light. Even after all the darkness you've seen her walk through.

Middle"Aww. That's so sweet."

Youngest"That's awesome. I love that."

Eldest"WOW! That's amazing! Mom, you just keep finding yourself more and more in different ways."

I went into the store and floated through the aisles like a woman carrying a secret love note in her pocket. I wanted to read the comment again. Make sure Paris and Mahmoud weren't playing some cosmic joke on me.

I resisted. No. I can wait until I get home.

I grabbed the bare necessities and practically ran out of there. I needed to be alone when I read it again. Just to make sure it was real.

And it was. Still is.

Later that night, I took that comment to dinner with me. Along with every kind word any of you have ever sent my way. And when the day ended, I was wrapped in a version of peace that only being truly seen can give you.

That is what you've done for me. You let me write what I need to write. Not what's trending. You let me be real. Raw. You see me. And you help heal me.

I don't have the words for what that means. Not really.

But I know this: I'm not just writing for myself anymore. I'm writing for all of us.

If my journey helps even one of you feel less alone in yours — then every painful memory, every awkward sentence, every exposed layer — it's all worth it.

Thank you from every ounce of who I am.

I'll see you tomorrow.