I have to be okay, again, with being alone. In the still quiet of darkness. I have to relearn the art of loving writing, not merely for the off chance of readership or publication, but for myself, to get out of my head all the thoughts that plague me, if for no other reason than... Continue Reading →
I woke up this morning well-rested but dreading the two-step commute to my work computer. Working from home is a luxury. I love the company but not my current job. I love my managers and team but not talking on the phone for 8 hours a day. I love being in control and having choices... Continue Reading →
What they don’t tell you is that when the cold fire of metal handcuffs encircles your wrists, even loosely, you’ll believe, for a second, that you are a criminal. You are not safe. You’re a danger to yourself and these metal rings prove it.
Dear Readers, I’ve been contemplating some things over the past few weeks about the blog and where I want to take things moving forward. Everything isn’t set in stone yet but there’s one thing I want to come out and say now. Dylan Whittler isn’t my real name. I wrote a blog post about that... Continue Reading →
Dear writers of trauma, You and I both know that writing about trauma can be cathartic in any form, be it fiction or nonfiction, novel or personal essay. We are encouraged, as writers and storytellers and trauma survivors, to “write our truth” so we can heal but there is an underlying occurrence that I don’t... Continue Reading →