Prologue | As Nature Knows
Not all endings are tragedies. Some are contractions—waves of breaking and becoming, as raw as they are necessary.
If we look to nature, we see it clearly: Birth is not quiet. It is not clean. It tears. It floods. It demands everything before offering anything.
Even spring, so full of bloom, begins in the shattering of ice. In the thaw. In the splitting open of seed and soil.
So too, this life of mine—what dissolves is not just pain, but what no longer fits. What held me too tightly, or not at all.
And yes, it hurts. Yes, it asks more of me than I thought I had to give.
And beneath it all, a knowing rises: I am not falling apart. I am breaking open.
This is not a collapse. This is a beginning wearing the face of fire. Let each part be spoken. Let each piece fall away with purpose.
Because something new is arriving. And I intend to meet it whole.
1 | Dissolving | Relationships
Dissolving Begins
They faded quietly,
not like doors slamming,
but like rooms emptied
without warning.
At the beginning of 2024,
I still said friend out loud
and believed it.
By January 2025,
only three still reached back.
Today, only one remains.
It wasn’t betrayal.
It was erosion.
A slow wearing away
of who I had to become
to be tolerated.
They loved the version
who twisted into usefulness,
who bore weight
without asking for gentleness in return.
But I could no longer hold
that shape.
I unfolded.
And when I did,
most of them
let go.
What dissolved
was not just connection.
It was the performance
of closeness,
the silent contract
to be small.
And in their absence,
a stillness.
Painful.
Clean.
2 | Dissolving | The Company
Collapse and Exhaustion
I gave it everything.
Before it was even mine,
I gave it everything.
My thirties, my forties, into my fifties,
the hours I should have slept,
the years I should have been healing—
all offered
to something I helped build
from ash.
And when it became mine,
when my name was on it,
when the title matched the effort,
I thought:
maybe now
it will return the favor.
But it didn’t.
It couldn’t.
It devoured me gently.
It wore my name
like armor
while hollowing out my health,
my finances,
my spirit.
Fifteen years of trying
to save a sinking thing.
And still, I blame myself
for the drowning.
And I am not the water.
I am not the hole in the hull.
I am the one
finally swimming away.
3 | Dissolving | The House
Letting Go of Space
I look around
at everything I gathered
to make permanence feel possible.
Books in corners.
Fabrics on chairs.
Walls I once touched
as if they could hold me.
But this was never mine.
Not fully.
Not truly.
It was a container
for survival,
not a sanctuary.
Now,
I walk from room to room
and ask:
Will this come with me?
Will this wait in storage?
Will this be released?
Two suitcases.
That’s all I’ll carry.
Everything else
will be sold, stored,
or surrendered.
And somehow,
this feels like clarity.
Like stripping down to the bone
so I can remember
how to feel light again.
4 | Dissolving | The Community of Heirs
The Quiet Breaking
We shared a lineage,
a name,
an agreement written
in inheritance and grief.
Bound by loss.
Bound by law.
Bound by the fragile thread
of family.
My brother wants to end
the shared bond
of what we’ve been given.
On paper,
it’s just the dissolution
of a legal structure.
But to me,
it’s the quiet end
of the last thread
I once called home.
It does not feel like betrayal.
It feels like standing alone
on the last remaining dock
as the ship pulls away.
And yes,
there will be money.
A beginning, perhaps.
A resource.
But also:
a goodbye
to the illusion
of being part of something
that could not hold me.
And in that,
a loss I cannot name
except to say:
I feel it everywhere.
5 | Dissolving | The Country
Refusal and Release
It was never safe.
Not really.
The streets I walked
taught me to shrink.
The systems I worked in
rewarded my silence.
This country never saw me.
Only what I could produce.
Only what I could endure.
I played by its rules
and was still
found guilty
of being too much,
too different,
too human.
My body learned
to brace itself
every time I left the house.
Hypervigilance became habit.
Tension became the tide
I lived inside.
I do not owe this place
my breath.
It cannot have
what little strength remains.
I am not fleeing.
I am refusing.
I will leave.
Not just the land—
but the violence
it taught me to accept.
I am done
being loyal
to something
that never kept me safe.
6 | Dissolving | My Past Life / Emergence
The Becoming
It is all gone.
The roles,
the rooms,
the residue.
I do not mourn
the scaffolding.
I mourn
how long I stayed inside it.
And yet—
even that grief
feels like a door opening.
No more keys.
No more ownership.
No more architecture
built from obligation.
What emerges now
is not a plan—
but a pulse.
A rhythm I finally hear.
A self I finally feel.
I do not know the name
of the life I am walking into.
But I know this:
it is mine.
Fully.
Gently.
Wildly.
Two suitcases.
An open sky.
And a self
no longer divided.
This is not a beginning.
This is the becoming.
I am not dissolving.
I am becoming water,
light,
motion.
I am not starting over.
I am arriving.
With Gratitude
To all who walk with me
on this path toward Emergence—
thank you.
Your presence, belief, and care
have helped carry this unfolding
from silence into voice,
from survival into possibility.
With special thanks to:
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as well as all of my paid subscribers,
and those who have trusted me with their stories,
their questions, their healing.
Through your support,
you’ve kept this dream—
of one day arriving fully in my life—
vibrant, rooted, and very much alive.
With all my heart: thank you.
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Music: Lonely Heart by Alex Wit from Pixabay i'm ok - Calm Sad Ambient by Clavier Clavier from Pixabay Dark Ambient Background Music (Polluted Horizons) by LFC Records from Pixabay A Lonely Planet by Universfield from Pixabay Deep Memories by Ashot Danielyan from Pixabay Dark Ambient Background Music (A Hundred Windows) by LFC Records from Pixabay Calm Classical Piano Melody by Clavier Clavier from Pixabay
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