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COMMUNITY
Come sit with us.
You don’t have to introduce yourself.
You don’t have to tell us your story.
You don’t have to know what you’re looking for.
You don’t even have to say a word.
You can come quietly.
Read.
Listen.
Stay awhile.
Share when you’re ready.
Or don’t.
There is nothing you have to do to earn your place here.
You already belong.
Welcome home.
This Is a Place to Be Human
Some days are fucking hard.
Some days are beautiful.
Some days are both.
And some days are wonderfully unprofound.
All of them belong here.
You can be grieving.
Scared.
Confused.
Angry.
Hopeful.
Excited.
Peaceful.
You can be moving through a huge life change.
Or you can simply want to tell us the birds sounded really happy this morning.
We are not gathering around what is wrong.
We are gathering around being human.
There is room for grief and belly laughs.
Fear and courage.
Loss and new beginnings.
Shitty Tuesdays and beautiful Thursdays.
More than one thing can be true at once.
What Are You Noticing Today?
This is the heartbeat of our community.
One simple question:
What are you noticing today?
Your answer can be deep.
Ordinary.
Funny.
Hard.
Beautiful.
A feeling.
A boundary.
A sunset.
A weird bug.
A heart-shaped rock.
Bonus. 😂
You can answer it.
You can carry it privately.
You can read everyone else’s answers.
You can ignore it completely.
There are no streaks.
No catching up.
No gold stars.
You did not notice yesterday?
Cool.
You’re here today.
Welcome home.
Sometimes We Just Listen
When someone we care about is hurting, our first instinct is often to help.
To fix.
To give advice.
But sometimes the most loving thing we can offer is our presence.
We practice listening.
Not preparing our response.
Not rushing toward a solution.
Not assuming we know what another person needs.
Sometimes we can simply say:
I’m here to listen. And if you want my thoughts, I’m happy to share them. If not, I’m just here with you.
“I see you.”
“I’m here.”
“Thank you for trusting us with this.”
Sometimes that is enough.
We Share. We Don’t Prescribe.
Your experience matters.
Your story matters.
What helped you may help someone else see something differently.
Share it.
But there is a difference between:
“Here’s what helped me.”
and:
“Here’s what you need to do.”
We are not authorities over one another.
Your story may help illuminate someone else’s path. It doesn’t need to become their map.
Listen first.
Share when it feels appropriate.
Never assume your way is someone else’s way.
We Celebrate What the World Might Overlook
Of course we celebrate the big things.
But around here?
We celebrate the tiny shit too. 😂
You got out of bed.
You went outside.
You said no.
You cooked yourself something.
You called someone.
You rested.
You laughed.
You noticed a cool breeze.
You had one peaceful moment.
Sometimes new growth is not an entire forest.
Sometimes it is one tiny green shoot after a fire.
And when we see it?
Holy shit.
It’s new growth.
We don’t only celebrate what you accomplished.
We celebrate what you noticed.
Nothing is too small to matter here.
If it matters to you, it matters here.
If it is your win, we celebrate it with you.
Your Win Doesn’t Make Me Behind
Comparison is the thief of joy.
And it is really fucking easy to do.
Someone else is blooming while you feel like you are still standing in winter.
Someone else takes a giant step while yours feels tiny.
Their season says nothing about your worth.
Their timeline is not yours.
Their joy does not diminish yours.
Their growth does not mean you are behind.
Comparison pulls us away from ourselves. Presence brings us home.
When comparison shows up, notice it.
Then return.
To your life.
Your season.
Your next step.
Your home.
We Don’t Have to Agree
Imagine how boring this table would be if everyone sitting around it thought exactly the same way. 😂
We will have different beliefs.
Different experiences.
Different relationships with spirituality.
Different ideas about grief, boundaries, healing and life.
I call my higher power Source.
You may call yours God.
The Universe.
Spirit.
Something else.
Nothing at all.
I may find a heart-shaped rock and think it means something.
You may think:
“That’s a cool fucking rock.”
Both of us can sit at the same table.
We are not here to change one another’s minds.
Sometimes the healthiest thing we can say is:
I see that differently.
Agree to disagree.
And move the hell on.
We don’t require agreement to offer respect.
This is not a place to win arguments.
It is a place to belong.
Everyone Is Welcome. Disrespect Is Not.
Acceptance does not mean accepting shitty behavior.
You can disagree.
You can be angry.
You can have a terrible day.
You can swear.
Clearly. 😂
But you cannot belittle someone.
Shame them.
Attack them.
Ridicule their experience.
Or intentionally make them feel small.
There is room here for mistakes.
There is room for grace.
There is room for:
“I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
But a mistake and a pattern are not the same thing.
There is room for grace here. There is not room for repeated disrespect.
Compassion and boundaries can exist together.
And protecting this table may sometimes mean asking someone to leave it.
You Don’t Have to Participate to Belong
Maybe you are quiet for a week.
A month.
Longer.
Maybe you want to watch.
Listen.
Learn the rhythm.
Decide whether this feels safe before you say anything.
Please do.
Nobody is going to greet you with:
“WELCOME! TELL US YOUR ENTIRE TRAUMA HISTORY!” 😂
You decide when you speak.
You decide what you share.
And if you are someone who rarely shares at all?
You are still part of this community.
Presence does not require participation.
You do not have to perform belonging to belong.
We Hold the Hard. We Celebrate the Good.
Please bring your joy here too.
Tell us what made you laugh.
Show us the flower.
The dog.
The sunset.
The new beginning.
The courageous thing you did.
The peaceful moment.
The weird mushroom.
The heart-shaped potato.
Actually, if you find a heart-shaped potato, I am going to need photographic evidence. 😂
Joy belongs here.
You do not need to minimize something beautiful because someone else is having a hard day.
We can sit beside someone’s grief and celebrate someone else’s joy.
We can struggle and laugh.
We can miss someone terribly and still have a beautiful day.
We can be healing and still hurt.
More than one thing can be true at once.
Eventually, This Becomes Ours
In the beginning, I’ll hold a lot of the space.
I’ll ask the questions.
I’ll help establish the culture.
I’ll protect the container.
But my hope is that this community does not depend on me to keep breathing.
Eventually:
we hold it together.
Someone new arrives?
We make room.
Someone shares something hard?
We listen.
Someone celebrates something the rest of the world might overlook?
We celebrate it too.
Someone offers a different perspective?
We can share our experience without turning it into instructions.
Over time, we become the people at one another’s table.
There Is a Place for You Here
You can land here.
Figure out what you need.
Be happy.
Be quiet.
Share.
Or don’t.
Bring the enormous win.
Bring the birds you heard this morning.
Because you matter.
Not because of what you have accomplished.
Not because you are healed.
Not because you are interesting enough.
Wise enough.
Spiritual enough.
Strong enough.
Because you are you.
And someday someone else may arrive quietly, wondering whether there is room for them.
We’ll pull out a chair.
We’ll listen.
We’ll let them be.
I’ve got you.
Because that is what we do here.
We see each other.
You were always worthy of being seen.
Come sit with us.
You already belong.
