Your story is gutting, my friend, and also so rich with new life and growth. Some people bloom because they were tended to with great care, in fertile soil with plenty of light and love. Others, like you (like my own beautiful mother who grew up with great neglect) are sidewalk flowers. You have done the impossible: grown beautiful in the crack between lifeless, harsh concrete. And to you, I bow. For in your persistence you have not only grown, but polinated all over that barren landscape. Your writing breathes life. Keep going- if this is 80 percent, I'm going to be gobsmacked at what's next. ❤️🧡💛💚💙
Kendall, your words feel like sunlight finding its way into the cracks—thank you for seeing me and honoring the persistence it’s taken to grow here. The image of sidewalk flowers resonates so deeply. There’s a quiet power in those blooms, isn’t there? Resilient, uninvited, and yet undeniable. And as for what’s next—perhaps it’s time to widen those cracks just a little more and let more life push through. Thank you for this reflection—it’s a gift I’ll carry with me. ❤️
Kendall, your encouragement is a gift, and I appreciate the space you’ve created for this growth. The idea of widening those cracks resonates deeply, not as an effort, but as an invitation for more life to naturally flow through. Thank you for seeing me and offering such a meaningful reflection. Here's to letting life unfold, bit by bit. ❤️
Oh Jay 💔 my heart breaks for you . And yet , you are able to write like an angel and inspire so many others . As Kendall so beautifully wrote , sidewalk flowers still manage to put their heads up above the concrete and find the sun . You are not alone ❤️🌸🌼🎈
Thank you, Pippa. Kendall’s image of sidewalk flowers pushing through the concrete mirrors my journey. Your words remind me that even in breaking cycles of oppression, there is a community of voices offering light and strength. I deeply appreciate your compassion. ❤️🌸
Thank you, Jay. Bold and honest. I appreciate you so much, and relate to all you write about. Our parents were wounded people who then took their wounded hearts and parented us with no ability to provide safe space for us, they were our biggest perpetrators. I hear you, my friend. Sending love to you. xo
Thank you, Nan. Your words resonate deeply, and I appreciate your honesty here. It’s so true—our parents carried their own wounds, and in doing so, they often couldn’t provide the safety or care we needed. That’s a painful truth to hold, especially when they became both our protectors and our biggest perpetrators.
I also see how this pattern of avoidance and denial plays out on a larger scale. Just as individuals turn away from their own pain because it’s too uncomfortable to face, the majority of the population seems to do the same—ignoring what’s happening because it feels easier than reckoning with what it would demand of them.
Sending love back to you, my friend. It means a lot to be heard. x
Your story is gutting, my friend, and also so rich with new life and growth. Some people bloom because they were tended to with great care, in fertile soil with plenty of light and love. Others, like you (like my own beautiful mother who grew up with great neglect) are sidewalk flowers. You have done the impossible: grown beautiful in the crack between lifeless, harsh concrete. And to you, I bow. For in your persistence you have not only grown, but polinated all over that barren landscape. Your writing breathes life. Keep going- if this is 80 percent, I'm going to be gobsmacked at what's next. ❤️🧡💛💚💙
Kendall, your words feel like sunlight finding its way into the cracks—thank you for seeing me and honoring the persistence it’s taken to grow here. The image of sidewalk flowers resonates so deeply. There’s a quiet power in those blooms, isn’t there? Resilient, uninvited, and yet undeniable. And as for what’s next—perhaps it’s time to widen those cracks just a little more and let more life push through. Thank you for this reflection—it’s a gift I’ll carry with me. ❤️
Yes! Widen those cracks! I meant every word ❤️
Kendall, your encouragement is a gift, and I appreciate the space you’ve created for this growth. The idea of widening those cracks resonates deeply, not as an effort, but as an invitation for more life to naturally flow through. Thank you for seeing me and offering such a meaningful reflection. Here's to letting life unfold, bit by bit. ❤️
Oh Jay 💔 my heart breaks for you . And yet , you are able to write like an angel and inspire so many others . As Kendall so beautifully wrote , sidewalk flowers still manage to put their heads up above the concrete and find the sun . You are not alone ❤️🌸🌼🎈
Thank you, Pippa. Kendall’s image of sidewalk flowers pushing through the concrete mirrors my journey. Your words remind me that even in breaking cycles of oppression, there is a community of voices offering light and strength. I deeply appreciate your compassion. ❤️🌸
Thank you, Jay. Bold and honest. I appreciate you so much, and relate to all you write about. Our parents were wounded people who then took their wounded hearts and parented us with no ability to provide safe space for us, they were our biggest perpetrators. I hear you, my friend. Sending love to you. xo
Thank you, Nan. Your words resonate deeply, and I appreciate your honesty here. It’s so true—our parents carried their own wounds, and in doing so, they often couldn’t provide the safety or care we needed. That’s a painful truth to hold, especially when they became both our protectors and our biggest perpetrators.
I also see how this pattern of avoidance and denial plays out on a larger scale. Just as individuals turn away from their own pain because it’s too uncomfortable to face, the majority of the population seems to do the same—ignoring what’s happening because it feels easier than reckoning with what it would demand of them.
Sending love back to you, my friend. It means a lot to be heard. x
xoxo