This is absolutely, crushingly beautiful and honest and accurate. Thank you for sharing your raw experience and putting it into such beautiful words. 🌸🤍 Wishing you relief from pain and and complete healing- of body and soul.
Arty, your words mean more to me than I can express—knowing that something I shared resonated with you in such a deep way makes its weight feel a little lighter. Thank you for your kindness, for seeing the honesty in my words, and for reflecting it back with such warmth. Wishing you the same healing—in all the ways you need it most. 🤍🌸
Beautiful Thaissa. Such radiant, refreshing, necessary reflections in a culture that packages everything (even slowness, mindfulness, surrender) as catalysts for self-improvement. Trusting the pause, the stillness, and letting the cycles of our lives move at their own pace is a radical, nurturing act. And like you say, opens us to an entirely new way of seeing, of loving. 🙏
Thank you for receiving the piece with such openness and insight, Kimberly. It means a great deal to be understood like this—especially when reflecting on something so quiet, so countercultural. You’re absolutely right: even rest is often co-opted into productivity. But real surrender—the kind that allows time to unfold without demand—is a brave, restorative act. I’m grateful that you see that, and that you took the time to share this with me. Here’s to more moments of radical stillness, and to the unexpected beauty that can rise from them.
In my slow, aimless wanderings through Substack, I stumbled upon this essay and how exceedingly grateful for it, Thaissa! This entire piece reads like a poem - soft, gentle and open. I will definitely be re-reading this a few more times - I’m sure with each reading, layers of beauty will be revealed.
That means more to me than I can say—thank you for taking the time to sit with the piece, to let it breathe with you, Jayasree. I wrote it in a quiet moment, hoping it might land softly somewhere, and knowing it found you in your wanderings makes it all the more meaningful. I believe some things are meant to be discovered like that—unexpectedly, yet exactly when we need them. May the essay continue to reveal itself gently each time you return.
"And when I learn that my words have found their way into someone else’s story—that they have, in some small way, echoed within another heart—it reminds me why I keep writing. Why I must." if its any consolation in this transitory melancholy you are growing through know that your words always reverberate, echo, here...and i understand how so often they are a poor substitute for expression but you manage it always generously and with such agility xo
Appleton, this is the kind of message that lingers long after it’s read. There is a joy in knowing that words, however fragile they may seem, can still find resonance in another heart. I often wonder if language is enough—if it can ever truly capture the depth of what we feel—but then there are moments like this, when the mere act of reaching out becomes the expression itself.
Your kindness, your understanding of the weight and limitations of words, remind me why I keep searching for them. If my words have echoed, it’s only because they’ve met someone willing to listen. And that, in itself, is a rare and generous thing.
Kaitlyn, there’s something deeply moving about writing to someone you haven’t met yet—it’s like casting a thread into the unknown, trusting that it will connect somewhere, somehow. The intimacy of writing transcends physical presence—it bridges distances, allowing us to exist beyond time and space in a way few things can. I hope your letters continue to bring you that quiet, profound joy because the act of writing them is already something sacred.
I am sad to hear you have not been feeling well and hope that, as the season shifts, so does your energy. May you return to your full center feeling much better❤️
I resonate with your sentiment that sometimes being here on Substack can be overwhelming. It's almost like there is too-much-great-art even though there is no such thing as too much great art! When I want to stop and read every single thing and support every amazing writer and my little envious self wishes I would've written that gorgeous piece...sometimes it just feels like too much and I need a short break.
As always, I love the pictures you share in your posts.
Donna—I appreciate your wish for renewal as the seasons shift, and I hope the same for you in every way that matters.
I deeply resonate with what you said about Substack feeling overwhelming at times. It’s such a paradox, isn’t it? Being surrounded by so much beauty, insight, and talent, yet feeling the need to step back and breathe. I think that tension—the desire to take it all in while also needing space—is part of what makes art so powerful. It moves us, stretches us, and sometimes even humbles us.
And I love that you notice the pictures I choose. They are often an extension of what I can’t quite put into words. Your way of seeing and feeling is a gift—thank you.
What I love about your essays the most is that they start somewhere and I never know where they end up. There was just so much soul in this one as well.
Also congrats on the subscribers! You deserve them all an more. 💕
Thank you, Mary! That’s exactly how I feel when I write—letting the words guide me somewhere unexpected. There’s something freeing about surrendering to the movement of thought, following its winding path without knowing exactly where it will lead. In that space of discovery, the truest reflections seem to surface. Having thoughtful readers like you, who embrace that journey with me, is the greatest gift.
Thaissa - I have been unwell for what feels like weeks on end and in this state—"sick in the mind and sick in the body"—I find myself longing for the faint whispers of healing that nature and its creatures sometimes bring me. In my harder moments, I wonder if that type of healing will ever return to me renewed within. In those moments of wrestling with my anxieties and the diconnection from the self I prefer, I begin to understand that I seek silence, a quiet refuge and a peace of mind that my heart longs for.
Somehow, through time, writing and love, you illuminate this longing—revealing how these forces shape you in ways both subtle and profound. Your invitation to slow down, to be present, and to honor the fleeting beauty of life—within and beyond—is a rare gift.
And so, I bow to what you have offered this community and I bow to the unseen force that makes such connection between and within possible 🙇
Your reflection humbles me, Bronce. The way you speak of longing and seeking healing in nature’s whispers and stillness resonates deeply. I believe healing moves in cycles—sometimes distant, sometimes close, yet always waiting to return in a form truer to who we are becoming. May the silence you seek cradle you with kindness, and may this unseen force that binds us all bring you exactly what you need, in its own time.
This is absolutely, crushingly beautiful and honest and accurate. Thank you for sharing your raw experience and putting it into such beautiful words. 🌸🤍 Wishing you relief from pain and and complete healing- of body and soul.
Arty, your words mean more to me than I can express—knowing that something I shared resonated with you in such a deep way makes its weight feel a little lighter. Thank you for your kindness, for seeing the honesty in my words, and for reflecting it back with such warmth. Wishing you the same healing—in all the ways you need it most. 🤍🌸
Beautiful Thaissa. Such radiant, refreshing, necessary reflections in a culture that packages everything (even slowness, mindfulness, surrender) as catalysts for self-improvement. Trusting the pause, the stillness, and letting the cycles of our lives move at their own pace is a radical, nurturing act. And like you say, opens us to an entirely new way of seeing, of loving. 🙏
Thank you for receiving the piece with such openness and insight, Kimberly. It means a great deal to be understood like this—especially when reflecting on something so quiet, so countercultural. You’re absolutely right: even rest is often co-opted into productivity. But real surrender—the kind that allows time to unfold without demand—is a brave, restorative act. I’m grateful that you see that, and that you took the time to share this with me. Here’s to more moments of radical stillness, and to the unexpected beauty that can rise from them.
In my slow, aimless wanderings through Substack, I stumbled upon this essay and how exceedingly grateful for it, Thaissa! This entire piece reads like a poem - soft, gentle and open. I will definitely be re-reading this a few more times - I’m sure with each reading, layers of beauty will be revealed.
That means more to me than I can say—thank you for taking the time to sit with the piece, to let it breathe with you, Jayasree. I wrote it in a quiet moment, hoping it might land softly somewhere, and knowing it found you in your wanderings makes it all the more meaningful. I believe some things are meant to be discovered like that—unexpectedly, yet exactly when we need them. May the essay continue to reveal itself gently each time you return.
"And when I learn that my words have found their way into someone else’s story—that they have, in some small way, echoed within another heart—it reminds me why I keep writing. Why I must." if its any consolation in this transitory melancholy you are growing through know that your words always reverberate, echo, here...and i understand how so often they are a poor substitute for expression but you manage it always generously and with such agility xo
Appleton, this is the kind of message that lingers long after it’s read. There is a joy in knowing that words, however fragile they may seem, can still find resonance in another heart. I often wonder if language is enough—if it can ever truly capture the depth of what we feel—but then there are moments like this, when the mere act of reaching out becomes the expression itself.
Your kindness, your understanding of the weight and limitations of words, remind me why I keep searching for them. If my words have echoed, it’s only because they’ve met someone willing to listen. And that, in itself, is a rare and generous thing.
So much nostalgia here. I recently started writing letters to someone I haven’t met in this world yet and it’s been the most beautiful thing. 🥲
Kaitlyn, there’s something deeply moving about writing to someone you haven’t met yet—it’s like casting a thread into the unknown, trusting that it will connect somewhere, somehow. The intimacy of writing transcends physical presence—it bridges distances, allowing us to exist beyond time and space in a way few things can. I hope your letters continue to bring you that quiet, profound joy because the act of writing them is already something sacred.
Truly!
I am sad to hear you have not been feeling well and hope that, as the season shifts, so does your energy. May you return to your full center feeling much better❤️
I resonate with your sentiment that sometimes being here on Substack can be overwhelming. It's almost like there is too-much-great-art even though there is no such thing as too much great art! When I want to stop and read every single thing and support every amazing writer and my little envious self wishes I would've written that gorgeous piece...sometimes it just feels like too much and I need a short break.
As always, I love the pictures you share in your posts.
Donna—I appreciate your wish for renewal as the seasons shift, and I hope the same for you in every way that matters.
I deeply resonate with what you said about Substack feeling overwhelming at times. It’s such a paradox, isn’t it? Being surrounded by so much beauty, insight, and talent, yet feeling the need to step back and breathe. I think that tension—the desire to take it all in while also needing space—is part of what makes art so powerful. It moves us, stretches us, and sometimes even humbles us.
And I love that you notice the pictures I choose. They are often an extension of what I can’t quite put into words. Your way of seeing and feeling is a gift—thank you.
What I love about your essays the most is that they start somewhere and I never know where they end up. There was just so much soul in this one as well.
Also congrats on the subscribers! You deserve them all an more. 💕
Thank you, Mary! That’s exactly how I feel when I write—letting the words guide me somewhere unexpected. There’s something freeing about surrendering to the movement of thought, following its winding path without knowing exactly where it will lead. In that space of discovery, the truest reflections seem to surface. Having thoughtful readers like you, who embrace that journey with me, is the greatest gift.
Thaissa - I have been unwell for what feels like weeks on end and in this state—"sick in the mind and sick in the body"—I find myself longing for the faint whispers of healing that nature and its creatures sometimes bring me. In my harder moments, I wonder if that type of healing will ever return to me renewed within. In those moments of wrestling with my anxieties and the diconnection from the self I prefer, I begin to understand that I seek silence, a quiet refuge and a peace of mind that my heart longs for.
Somehow, through time, writing and love, you illuminate this longing—revealing how these forces shape you in ways both subtle and profound. Your invitation to slow down, to be present, and to honor the fleeting beauty of life—within and beyond—is a rare gift.
And so, I bow to what you have offered this community and I bow to the unseen force that makes such connection between and within possible 🙇
Your reflection humbles me, Bronce. The way you speak of longing and seeking healing in nature’s whispers and stillness resonates deeply. I believe healing moves in cycles—sometimes distant, sometimes close, yet always waiting to return in a form truer to who we are becoming. May the silence you seek cradle you with kindness, and may this unseen force that binds us all bring you exactly what you need, in its own time.
Beautiful thaissa! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
This filled my ❤️🔥 with joy—thank you, Paolo!