Thank you for sharing this with such raw honesty and vulnerability. Your words touched my heart and stirred something deep within my soul. Thank you for trusting us with such a tender piece of your heart. Life can be unimaginably hard, but you don’t have to carry it alone. You are not alone.🙏🙏❤️❤️
This really touched that deep vulnerable spot in my soul. There's the unknown, while also knowing too well what the reality is. It's hard not to slip into fear and dread, while also trying to live for today and what we still have. Hugs.
David, this is such a raw and vulnerable piece. I can’t fully imagine how difficult this must be for you. I was especially moved by your honesty about the pain not being fixed, but still being capable of movement. Thank you for trusting us enough to bring us to the edge with you. I am holding you with care. You are not alone in this. ❤️
I am sorry life has not been gentle with you. I could relate to a great deal of this. things I'm afraid to say and health issues. and knowing the two or related
In high school, I painted my hand gripping the edge of a cliff, from the perspective of safety. I was experiencing too much teenage angst to be original lol, but it’s interesting now to think the view may have been that of my future self. I grew into someone who could hold my own reality, rather than dangling from the edge of something I was expected to be.
You’re not alone. ❤️🩹 I imagined all our edges connecting to make a grand canyon. Very thought-provoking, well done and thank you for sharing.
Sharon Lukert talks in When My Memory Fails Me about being diagnosed with mild cognitive impairment, and knowing it will only get worse and eventually lead to Alzheimer’s, she adopted her mindset of curiosity rather than fear, which helped her manage her expectations and fears around her diagnosis. If you haven’t yet read her book, I highly recommend it.
Thank you for sharing your experience with so much vulnerability and grace.
One more thought. Lukert knows her situation will not get “better.” I doubt mine will, and if it does, it will likely be just a phase before aging sets in. Everything is temporary. There’s no time to waste on toxic positivity.
Thank you for this, David. I've been at my edge too, this week. I like the thought that we're all hanging out there together. It doesn't make the pain go away. But it helps.
David your vulnerability is to be commended. Not in a "well done mate" kind of way, but in a real, "thank you for sharing this" kind of way. The way you write matters. "Things that are real and exist in an incredibly complex web that do not define my existence, but certainly contribute significant weight to my experience and to other people’s as well." Related hard to this line, for profoundly different reasons than the ones in which you wrote it, I'm sure. But nevertheless it put me at that edge with you. You have helped me so much this week, genuinely. 💚
David, Wow, this is honest and deeply personal and at the same time, you invite us all to sit with you and grieve together. I loved the story of how hearing your client's stories lightened your load. I felt the same way during a somatic therapy group class 2 years ago. So many folks are silently struggling. Thank you for this.
Thank you for sharing this. I know I have an edge and there are times when I can walk right up to it and even see beyond it. Now is not one of those times. Now I am avoiding my edge because it is too scary for me. It hasn’t always been scary for me but right now it is. I know my fear is temporary but while I’m feeling it, it feels permanent. I have to remind myself constantly that it will fade. It won’t fade away completely, but it will fade away enough that I can get closer to my edge and maybe walk right up to it like I have in the past.
I’m glad you were able to feel some relief when you were laughing with your client. I think laughing with another person is such a wonderful release.
I hear you. We know it will change shape and is temporary, but the intensity of the moment can eclipse that awareness or any relief that comes from it. I think we’re always doing that dance of coming up to the edge and backing off. It sounds like you know where you need to be right now. It is so scary and deeply unsettling.
I'm glad I stayed up to read this. You requested a moment of sharing, so I'll offer you one of mine. One thing you need to know: you are not alone. We are different, but we can still see each other.
I didn't know I was a mutant until my 30s, after things started going really weird. Among other, crazy things I have a spontaneous genetic mutation (it wasn't a family thing - my parents were just really bad for each other and I'm the unfortunate result.)
For some, it's just frustrating and painful, but for me it's slowly winding my body down as my skeletal system wears out and my nervous and organ systems get a little depressed and whiny as the parts slowly let go and shut down. Having suddenly found myself basically alone in the literal sense, trying to manage all of this in near isolation, is just…exhausting and painful on its own.
I believe that dark, dry humor, sarcasm, and gratitude can get you through anything, and I embrace and hold tight to them as my lifelines. I think each of us finds our own, and they are vital. I hope you can find yours, and you have comments from people who maybe can help you find them with you. We believe it's possible, and that you are among friends here.
May you have a week that isn't so overwhelming ahead. <3
Thank you so much for staying up to read this and for taking the time to share. It means a lot. Dark, dry humor is a lifeline for me too. I’ve been showing old British humor videos to my daughter lately. The comments and emails I’ve received have been beautiful. I’m sending you a big hug.
I'm certainly glad if it helped in some way. I seem incapable of giving a comment that isn't as many words as an article. lol I've just shared with you more than I've shared yet here on Substack in general. I guess I don't have the courage you do, yet. I used to run a project on social media kind of like here, but life has made me shy, now. And that's okay. I'm in no rush.
And I love your sharing your vids with your kiddo. The Brits have two types of humor, some I love and others I don't, but I'm happy to know you find joy in sharing that with her. <3
Thank you for sharing this. 🙏 I always appreciate how honest and vulnerable you are. The part how you said a friend told you that you may be at the edge of being able to hold the whole thing, at the threshold — this essay felt very much like the title of your publication: Cracked Open.
“I’m writing right now in part with the desire that I can find some loophole that will bring me some relief.” I’ve felt this way too. It’s like I’m searching for the safer, calmer spot in my brain.
“I know each and every one of us has an edge where we bump up against and know that for whatever reasons, this is forbidden territory.” When I read this sentence it felt like you peered into everyone’s souls. 🤯 and then when I got to “I’m imagining you reading this and locating your own edge and joining me so we’re all sitting at the edge together.” I felt like: yup!
“The specifics don’t matter as much as the shape.” Mhm!
“We’re not sitting at the same edge. We’re sitting at our own edges, close enough to see each other.” I loved this imagery.
I also loved the way you talked about the layers. Very true to my experience.
The part about whether you are re-grooving the same track felt like exactly what you said you do earlier in the essay, where you shine a light on all the dark corners. It’s what I love about your writing.
“The weight isn’t gone, but it isn’t a fixed thing either.” So very true. It reminded of when I do my Headspace meditations and he’ll often say how things are always changing. It’s not that they disappear but how it is in this exact moment may not be exactly the same as how it was before. But it’s still there. That’s how I interpret it.
Thank you so much, Nessie. What a thoughtful and beautiful reply. It made me smile reading it. I’m grateful to have you as a partner at the edge. This definitely is a Cracked Open essay!
Dear David, Upon reading this eloquent piece I feel as if you have seen my soul. I too wrangle with your same unrelenting disease. Most days I deliberately stay away from the dark edge but once in a while I get a terrifying glimpse with absolutely no idea how to avoid it or compensate. I often refer to it as free climbing a sheer rock wall by my bleeding fingertips and never reaching the top. (Sisyphus?) Today, moment by moment, I am choosing to deliberately focus only on the hand holds in front and directly above me having faith that there will be a crevice or crag at the next level. It's exhausting. There is no choice. For now, just climb. - Amy
Amy, it’s so wonderful to see you hear and hear you. It warms my heart to know it resonates so much for you. I know exactly what you mean about moment to moment with bleeding fingertips. I’m right there with you.
Thank you for sharing this with such raw honesty and vulnerability. Your words touched my heart and stirred something deep within my soul. Thank you for trusting us with such a tender piece of your heart. Life can be unimaginably hard, but you don’t have to carry it alone. You are not alone.🙏🙏❤️❤️
How beautiful, Kelly. Thank you so much for reading and for joining me. I feel you. ❤️
This really touched that deep vulnerable spot in my soul. There's the unknown, while also knowing too well what the reality is. It's hard not to slip into fear and dread, while also trying to live for today and what we still have. Hugs.
Exactly ❤️
David, this is such a raw and vulnerable piece. I can’t fully imagine how difficult this must be for you. I was especially moved by your honesty about the pain not being fixed, but still being capable of movement. Thank you for trusting us enough to bring us to the edge with you. I am holding you with care. You are not alone in this. ❤️
Thank you so much, Judy. I feel it and deeply appreciate it and you ❤️
I am sorry life has not been gentle with you. I could relate to a great deal of this. things I'm afraid to say and health issues. and knowing the two or related
❤️
In high school, I painted my hand gripping the edge of a cliff, from the perspective of safety. I was experiencing too much teenage angst to be original lol, but it’s interesting now to think the view may have been that of my future self. I grew into someone who could hold my own reality, rather than dangling from the edge of something I was expected to be.
You’re not alone. ❤️🩹 I imagined all our edges connecting to make a grand canyon. Very thought-provoking, well done and thank you for sharing.
That’s beautiful, Lisa. Thank you for sharing, for your support and care, and for being you. I so appreciate you ❤️
❤️❤️
Sharon Lukert talks in When My Memory Fails Me about being diagnosed with mild cognitive impairment, and knowing it will only get worse and eventually lead to Alzheimer’s, she adopted her mindset of curiosity rather than fear, which helped her manage her expectations and fears around her diagnosis. If you haven’t yet read her book, I highly recommend it.
Thank you for sharing your experience with so much vulnerability and grace.
Thanks so much, Elizabeth. I haven’t and I am going to get it right now.
One more thought. Lukert knows her situation will not get “better.” I doubt mine will, and if it does, it will likely be just a phase before aging sets in. Everything is temporary. There’s no time to waste on toxic positivity.
Amen to that!
Thank you for this, David. I've been at my edge too, this week. I like the thought that we're all hanging out there together. It doesn't make the pain go away. But it helps.
Thank you for letting me know, Barbara. It helps to be there together. Sending you a big hug.
This resonates. Navigating internally, figuring things out within yourself, can be so deeply messy. Thank you for sharing what you felt you could.
Thank you, Emily. So, so messy.
❤️
David your vulnerability is to be commended. Not in a "well done mate" kind of way, but in a real, "thank you for sharing this" kind of way. The way you write matters. "Things that are real and exist in an incredibly complex web that do not define my existence, but certainly contribute significant weight to my experience and to other people’s as well." Related hard to this line, for profoundly different reasons than the ones in which you wrote it, I'm sure. But nevertheless it put me at that edge with you. You have helped me so much this week, genuinely. 💚
Thank you, Steph. That means so much to hear. I’m so grateful to be at the edge with you.
❤️❤️❤️
David, Wow, this is honest and deeply personal and at the same time, you invite us all to sit with you and grieve together. I loved the story of how hearing your client's stories lightened your load. I felt the same way during a somatic therapy group class 2 years ago. So many folks are silently struggling. Thank you for this.
Thank you so much 🙏❤️
Thank you for sharing this. I know I have an edge and there are times when I can walk right up to it and even see beyond it. Now is not one of those times. Now I am avoiding my edge because it is too scary for me. It hasn’t always been scary for me but right now it is. I know my fear is temporary but while I’m feeling it, it feels permanent. I have to remind myself constantly that it will fade. It won’t fade away completely, but it will fade away enough that I can get closer to my edge and maybe walk right up to it like I have in the past.
I’m glad you were able to feel some relief when you were laughing with your client. I think laughing with another person is such a wonderful release.
I hear you. We know it will change shape and is temporary, but the intensity of the moment can eclipse that awareness or any relief that comes from it. I think we’re always doing that dance of coming up to the edge and backing off. It sounds like you know where you need to be right now. It is so scary and deeply unsettling.
I'm glad I stayed up to read this. You requested a moment of sharing, so I'll offer you one of mine. One thing you need to know: you are not alone. We are different, but we can still see each other.
I didn't know I was a mutant until my 30s, after things started going really weird. Among other, crazy things I have a spontaneous genetic mutation (it wasn't a family thing - my parents were just really bad for each other and I'm the unfortunate result.)
For some, it's just frustrating and painful, but for me it's slowly winding my body down as my skeletal system wears out and my nervous and organ systems get a little depressed and whiny as the parts slowly let go and shut down. Having suddenly found myself basically alone in the literal sense, trying to manage all of this in near isolation, is just…exhausting and painful on its own.
I believe that dark, dry humor, sarcasm, and gratitude can get you through anything, and I embrace and hold tight to them as my lifelines. I think each of us finds our own, and they are vital. I hope you can find yours, and you have comments from people who maybe can help you find them with you. We believe it's possible, and that you are among friends here.
May you have a week that isn't so overwhelming ahead. <3
Thank you so much for staying up to read this and for taking the time to share. It means a lot. Dark, dry humor is a lifeline for me too. I’ve been showing old British humor videos to my daughter lately. The comments and emails I’ve received have been beautiful. I’m sending you a big hug.
I'm certainly glad if it helped in some way. I seem incapable of giving a comment that isn't as many words as an article. lol I've just shared with you more than I've shared yet here on Substack in general. I guess I don't have the courage you do, yet. I used to run a project on social media kind of like here, but life has made me shy, now. And that's okay. I'm in no rush.
And I love your sharing your vids with your kiddo. The Brits have two types of humor, some I love and others I don't, but I'm happy to know you find joy in sharing that with her. <3
Thank you for sharing this. 🙏 I always appreciate how honest and vulnerable you are. The part how you said a friend told you that you may be at the edge of being able to hold the whole thing, at the threshold — this essay felt very much like the title of your publication: Cracked Open.
“I’m writing right now in part with the desire that I can find some loophole that will bring me some relief.” I’ve felt this way too. It’s like I’m searching for the safer, calmer spot in my brain.
“I know each and every one of us has an edge where we bump up against and know that for whatever reasons, this is forbidden territory.” When I read this sentence it felt like you peered into everyone’s souls. 🤯 and then when I got to “I’m imagining you reading this and locating your own edge and joining me so we’re all sitting at the edge together.” I felt like: yup!
“The specifics don’t matter as much as the shape.” Mhm!
“We’re not sitting at the same edge. We’re sitting at our own edges, close enough to see each other.” I loved this imagery.
I also loved the way you talked about the layers. Very true to my experience.
The part about whether you are re-grooving the same track felt like exactly what you said you do earlier in the essay, where you shine a light on all the dark corners. It’s what I love about your writing.
“The weight isn’t gone, but it isn’t a fixed thing either.” So very true. It reminded of when I do my Headspace meditations and he’ll often say how things are always changing. It’s not that they disappear but how it is in this exact moment may not be exactly the same as how it was before. But it’s still there. That’s how I interpret it.
I’m thinking of you, and I appreciate you. ❤️
Thank you so much, Nessie. What a thoughtful and beautiful reply. It made me smile reading it. I’m grateful to have you as a partner at the edge. This definitely is a Cracked Open essay!
🫶🙏🩵🩵
Dear David, Upon reading this eloquent piece I feel as if you have seen my soul. I too wrangle with your same unrelenting disease. Most days I deliberately stay away from the dark edge but once in a while I get a terrifying glimpse with absolutely no idea how to avoid it or compensate. I often refer to it as free climbing a sheer rock wall by my bleeding fingertips and never reaching the top. (Sisyphus?) Today, moment by moment, I am choosing to deliberately focus only on the hand holds in front and directly above me having faith that there will be a crevice or crag at the next level. It's exhausting. There is no choice. For now, just climb. - Amy
Amy, it’s so wonderful to see you hear and hear you. It warms my heart to know it resonates so much for you. I know exactly what you mean about moment to moment with bleeding fingertips. I’m right there with you.