I have so much to say, but I think I'll save the bulk of it for when we chat in a few days.
What I want to offer in the comments here is this:
Something cracked open in you once your piece was published on my Substack. I can see it in this follow-up piece in the specific story about you and Jerry sharing that muddy moment and half-dirty apple pie.
I think it's important to normalize how terrifying it can be to share a story like yours, especially with your coming out before you were ready and with the sudden homelessness. Each of us has pieces of our past that we wonder, "Will I still be loved if I tell people about this? Or will they reject me? Will they abandon me?"
You took that risk. Look at what happened!
The comments are still coming in underneath your honest rendering on my Substack. To me, it was like you were extending your heart in your hand and the people who responded took your hand in theirs. We are all holding you up, Alex. We are telling you that you are an incredible human and that your story is profound. Your voice is needed here. And we are all glad to be part of your Substack family.
When I say something cracked open in you, I think it has to do with the fact that you sat with the tension of your resistance and asked what it was trying to tell you. And then you responded by sharing even MORE with us. Because it is safe. Because you know we are here to provide a soft landing space for you.
Discovering our safe people who lift us up and accept us, regardless of who we are or who we once were, liberates us to be our truest selves. And then we can celebrate each other. That is what it means to love and to embrace our humanity, which you do so well.
KEEP SHARING YOUR STORY. KEEP USING THAT POWERFUL VOICE OF YOURS. We are here for you. We stand with you.
Jeannie - your words have left me sitting here, taking deep breaths and soaking it all in. You're right about something cracking open. It's like that moment with Jerry and the apple pie happened all over again - finding unexpected sweetness in what felt scary to share.
You've captured exactly what that resistance was about - that whispered worry of "is it too much?" And here you are, here everyone is, creating this incredible soft landing space. It reminds me of how Jerry cleared that spot next to him that rainy day - a simple gesture that said "you're safe here."
Thank you for seeing not just the story, but the journey of telling it. For understanding how sitting with that resistance led to something deeper. You've created this remarkable space where stories like mine can unfold at their own pace, where we can all show up exactly as we are - muddy apple pies and all.
I'm looking forward to our chat. 🩵
And yes - I'll keep sharing. These stories feel different now.
I think you’re right, Alex, that your stories feel different now. That’s the beauty of leaning in to what stories want to be told through us—asking them what it is they want to say and how we can be vehicles to convey them to those who need to hear them. That’s what you are doing! It is landing powerfully to many.
It seems to me you have an innate ability to encourage others through your writing. I think you are quite gifted in many ways, one of which is that I’ve noticed a pattern of others opening up in the comments section of your story. Maybe you offered them a door they could go through, where they discover their own stories and find the courage to share them like you did. To me, this indicates a healing quality to what you share.
Just some things to keep in mind, and yes, I am excited to chat with you more on Friday!
I have to say, when I read that bit about the apple turnovers in the guest post on Jeannie's publication, I sensed something was deeper there. Actually, I knew the whole post was a creaking open gate to a much bigger landscape that is Alex. And I wondered to myself how long it would take for you to open the gate all the way and invite us all through.
not long, evidently.
I love this Alex, as much as I love everything about you.
The mother-who-never-got-to-be-a-mother wants to scoop up that 17-year-old Alex and take him home with me (like I wanted to bring home all my homeless high school students who still managed to show up to school every day...and yes, there were many).
The writer in me is in absolute awe and wonder of you and your skill and your storytelling mastership. I love being pulled into your stories and I just want to nestle into them and stay there for a very long time. even the ugly bits.
The spiritual coach in me celebrates the seed in you that boldly opts to grab and lamp post and swing on it while singing just because you can. I love walking in the rain without a raincoat, and here, you SING boldly!
The friend in me is just honored that I have gotten to know you, and that I get to keep getting to know you.
Thank you - your words mean so much to me. The way you see all these different parts of me, from the writer to that kid in the rain... it fills my heart. And knowing that you sensed there was more to the story even then - you have such a gift for seeing beneath the surface.
I still had a moment of hesitation in sending this article. But I did. I'm so glad I did. I'm so glad I took the first step on Friday with Jeannie's collaborative article, and I'm really excited about the next two stories I share.
I'm so deeply grateful for your presence here, for how you hold space for these stories, and for the friendship we're building. Thank you for being exactly who you are - mother heart, writer soul, spiritual guide, and cherished friend. I'm honored to be sharing this journey with you.
That's such a sad and beautiful story. There is always beauty and even perfection underneath all the worldly ick. If you look for those perfect moments, you are sure to find them. Be proud of how far you've come. I'm learning to listen to resistance and tension, it's hard to wait when you feel so antsy. It's always worth it in the end, to find what that small wise voice has to share. Thank you, Love, Virg.
Thank you, Virginia, for taking the time to read and respond. It is sad, but yes, beautiful too. As I look back, I definitely see more beauty than sadness. My reality wasn't great, but I wasn't feeling it yet. I was too busy savoring a delicious apple pie.
I can definitely relate to it being hard to wait when you feel antsy. That has been something I have practiced over the years - part of my practice, for me, is learning to sit with "resistance" in all it's forms. Anxiety and antsyness are some of them. Some days I'm really successful with it. On other days, it takes a few tries!
Those fried McDonald's apple pies that you can't get anymore in the continental US (except at the oldest one in Downey, CA)? I would TOTALLY eat those muddy in a heartbeat!
But I loved your point. And the memory that birthed it. Thanks for sharing!
Alex, thank you for sharing part of your memories and honoring yourself and Jerry in this way. And, thanks for modeling that we do not need to share anything, in any way, until the time and the context is right for us. Our stories are gifts, and we deserve to be intentional about how we choose to share them with the world. I'm so grateful for this one!
Thank you, Lori, for this very thoughtful reply. I truly believe there is magic in allowing ourselves to organically experience our memories when things feel right rather than forcing ourselves through the process. Had I forced myself through this, it wouldn’t have been such a meaningful experience, and I would have regretted it. Thank you for seeing that and honoring that. 🩵
Your apple pie story is priceless, Alex. I feel more alive and happier after reading it. I’m glad the memory resurfaced. :) Oh, and I’m enjoying the ‘get to know me’ at the end of your articles.
Definitely in some mud these days and getting forced into the practice of patience. When I sit with the resistance, I am so surprised that there's hope and imagination there. And, oh, the synchronicities and connections when I wait it out, don't move into fixing or action too quickly are also a welcome surprise.
"Because underneath all my street-tough pretense, I was just a kid who felt safe enough here to break." I totally get that and the value of finding the people and places that are safe. So glad I found this in my feed today.
Oh I love that you find hope and imagination there.
I think resistance in many ways (at least for me) is this big flag that says… “HEY! Look here - there is a really important conversation I need to have, and it comes with a solution.” I come away, when I treat it with respect, feeling empowered.
I’m so glad you found your way to my article. Reading your comment today was a little spark of goodness that I needed! Thank you 🩵
Such a beautiful and powerful story - told with such heart and honesty. I cannot even imagine the journey you have been on since then, but I am so grateful that you are sharing pieces of that tale with us here. Your stories are a gift.
Thank you, my friend, for receiving this story with such openness and care. It means so much to know these moments resonate and connect. I'm grateful you're here, making space for these pieces of the journey to unfold.
Floored. By the story behind the story behind the story, plus the first two layers of story. I can't imagine a better metaphor for life than eating a muddy pie with a lot of sweetness buried way down deep inside of it.
Wow - thank you for seeing all those layers in this story.
I'm deeply grateful you're here, taking the time to sit with my story. The metaphor has stayed with me all these years because it feels more relevant than ever. There's so much mud on things right now, isn't there? But I truly believe there's still sweetness waiting for all of us, if we can just be patient enough to find it and deliberate enough to savor it.
My wife and I were just talking this morning about how Leif Enger’s most recent novel epitomizes what you’re talking about. The beautiful parts of humanity hidden in the darkness of things.
Alex, this post is a wonderful follow-up to the one you published on Jeannie's Substack. I loved that post, as well as this one. Your story matters, and I can understand the fear in telling something so deeply personal. Perhaps you felt the readers might judge you negatively.
I value honesty and truths and stories of humanity. Yours is a journey that relies on resilience and grit -- and honesty. In words you are able to capture the fear, heartache, and some appreciation of what you'd been through: "Jerry's wisdom wasn't just about a dropped dessert - it was about the art of finding sweetness beneath life's inevitable mud."
You did a great thing by sharing that inner-most part of you. Thank you. As I said in the Comments section of your post on Jeannie Ewing's Substack, your discussing your trauma may help others trying to cope with their traumas. And that truly is important, too.
I remember when I started telling my story: it's complicated, but in a nutshell, I was diagnosed at a young age with breast cancer, and the first thing my mom said was "Don't tell anyone." And I did what was in my heart: I told the world by publishing my story. This feat, as you know, was scary and filled with reservation, but I had to share my breast cancer experience, so I put my story out there. And there was a huge outpouring of support. I've been putting it out there for years now, and I still feel some trepidation at times, but overall, I know this is the right path for me.
And as an artist, I recently introduced an art series of tasteful nudes titled Breast Cancer, Female and Young to illustrate the pain and suffering that comes out of a breast cancer diagnosis. One of my Substack essays can be found here: https://bethlgainer.substack.com/p/out-of-sync
Keep sharing and writing. Your words are impactful.
Thank you for this beautiful, thoughtful response and for sharing your own journey with such openness. You're right - there was so much fear wrapped up in sharing this story.
It's powerful to hear how you chose to tell your own story despite your mom's "don't tell anyone" - how you knew in your heart that sharing was the right path, even with all that trepidation.
Isn't it amazing how our stories, once shared, create these ripples of connection? Your art series sounds incredibly powerful - using creativity to illuminate difficult truths and create understanding. That takes such courage. I can't wait to dig in - thank you for sharing a link. Breast cancer is near and dear to my heart. I have had several friends go through this diagnosis, treatment, and two that moved to their next journey.
Thank you for being here, for seeing the deeper layers of this journey, and for creating your own brave spaces where truth can breathe. Your story matters too. 🩵
Thank you for seeing that - yes, it's amazing what can unfold when we approach our resistance with curiosity instead of judgment. Sometimes the hardest part is just staying present with it. I'm grateful you're here, exploring this alongside me.
Jane, I also want to express my heartfelt gratitude to you for your kind words and pledged support. It brought a wave of gratitude through my body and tears to my eyes. Thank you 🩵
"How sitting with resistance can unlock doors we'd forgotten were even there?" ... Sitting with resistance as you describe has never been my go to. Thank you for nudging me closer to trying. Great insights, as always! 💫
Thank you! You know, sitting with resistance wasn't my go-to either - it took me a long time to learn there might be wisdom in those uncomfortable moments. I love how you're open to exploring it. That curiosity itself is such a gift. ✨
Thanks for sharing your story of getting kicked out of your house and having nowhere to go, Dr. Alex. You've been through so much; we can all relate to feeling alone and unwanted. That one shred of hope is always there to be discovered. I'd love to hear more of your story.
Thank you for this kind note, and for seeing both the struggle and the hope in this story. You're right - that feeling of being alone is something so many of us have known. But yes, there's always that thread of light waiting to be found, isn't there? More stories are coming - I'm grateful you're here to share in them.
Alex,
I have so much to say, but I think I'll save the bulk of it for when we chat in a few days.
What I want to offer in the comments here is this:
Something cracked open in you once your piece was published on my Substack. I can see it in this follow-up piece in the specific story about you and Jerry sharing that muddy moment and half-dirty apple pie.
I think it's important to normalize how terrifying it can be to share a story like yours, especially with your coming out before you were ready and with the sudden homelessness. Each of us has pieces of our past that we wonder, "Will I still be loved if I tell people about this? Or will they reject me? Will they abandon me?"
You took that risk. Look at what happened!
The comments are still coming in underneath your honest rendering on my Substack. To me, it was like you were extending your heart in your hand and the people who responded took your hand in theirs. We are all holding you up, Alex. We are telling you that you are an incredible human and that your story is profound. Your voice is needed here. And we are all glad to be part of your Substack family.
When I say something cracked open in you, I think it has to do with the fact that you sat with the tension of your resistance and asked what it was trying to tell you. And then you responded by sharing even MORE with us. Because it is safe. Because you know we are here to provide a soft landing space for you.
Discovering our safe people who lift us up and accept us, regardless of who we are or who we once were, liberates us to be our truest selves. And then we can celebrate each other. That is what it means to love and to embrace our humanity, which you do so well.
KEEP SHARING YOUR STORY. KEEP USING THAT POWERFUL VOICE OF YOURS. We are here for you. We stand with you.
Jeannie - your words have left me sitting here, taking deep breaths and soaking it all in. You're right about something cracking open. It's like that moment with Jerry and the apple pie happened all over again - finding unexpected sweetness in what felt scary to share.
You've captured exactly what that resistance was about - that whispered worry of "is it too much?" And here you are, here everyone is, creating this incredible soft landing space. It reminds me of how Jerry cleared that spot next to him that rainy day - a simple gesture that said "you're safe here."
Thank you for seeing not just the story, but the journey of telling it. For understanding how sitting with that resistance led to something deeper. You've created this remarkable space where stories like mine can unfold at their own pace, where we can all show up exactly as we are - muddy apple pies and all.
I'm looking forward to our chat. 🩵
And yes - I'll keep sharing. These stories feel different now.
I think you’re right, Alex, that your stories feel different now. That’s the beauty of leaning in to what stories want to be told through us—asking them what it is they want to say and how we can be vehicles to convey them to those who need to hear them. That’s what you are doing! It is landing powerfully to many.
It seems to me you have an innate ability to encourage others through your writing. I think you are quite gifted in many ways, one of which is that I’ve noticed a pattern of others opening up in the comments section of your story. Maybe you offered them a door they could go through, where they discover their own stories and find the courage to share them like you did. To me, this indicates a healing quality to what you share.
Just some things to keep in mind, and yes, I am excited to chat with you more on Friday!
This is a very interesting take on my writing. I’m going to have to think about it more! I really appreciate you bringing this forward.
Wow. just wow.
I have to say, when I read that bit about the apple turnovers in the guest post on Jeannie's publication, I sensed something was deeper there. Actually, I knew the whole post was a creaking open gate to a much bigger landscape that is Alex. And I wondered to myself how long it would take for you to open the gate all the way and invite us all through.
not long, evidently.
I love this Alex, as much as I love everything about you.
The mother-who-never-got-to-be-a-mother wants to scoop up that 17-year-old Alex and take him home with me (like I wanted to bring home all my homeless high school students who still managed to show up to school every day...and yes, there were many).
The writer in me is in absolute awe and wonder of you and your skill and your storytelling mastership. I love being pulled into your stories and I just want to nestle into them and stay there for a very long time. even the ugly bits.
The spiritual coach in me celebrates the seed in you that boldly opts to grab and lamp post and swing on it while singing just because you can. I love walking in the rain without a raincoat, and here, you SING boldly!
The friend in me is just honored that I have gotten to know you, and that I get to keep getting to know you.
Thank you - your words mean so much to me. The way you see all these different parts of me, from the writer to that kid in the rain... it fills my heart. And knowing that you sensed there was more to the story even then - you have such a gift for seeing beneath the surface.
I still had a moment of hesitation in sending this article. But I did. I'm so glad I did. I'm so glad I took the first step on Friday with Jeannie's collaborative article, and I'm really excited about the next two stories I share.
I'm so deeply grateful for your presence here, for how you hold space for these stories, and for the friendship we're building. Thank you for being exactly who you are - mother heart, writer soul, spiritual guide, and cherished friend. I'm honored to be sharing this journey with you.
I will hug you in real life someday!
I can’t wait!
Sweet, savory bites
in surprising packages.
The goods are inside.
Thank you, Marisol, for sharing such beautiful poetry with us 🩵
That's such a sad and beautiful story. There is always beauty and even perfection underneath all the worldly ick. If you look for those perfect moments, you are sure to find them. Be proud of how far you've come. I'm learning to listen to resistance and tension, it's hard to wait when you feel so antsy. It's always worth it in the end, to find what that small wise voice has to share. Thank you, Love, Virg.
Thank you, Virginia, for taking the time to read and respond. It is sad, but yes, beautiful too. As I look back, I definitely see more beauty than sadness. My reality wasn't great, but I wasn't feeling it yet. I was too busy savoring a delicious apple pie.
I can definitely relate to it being hard to wait when you feel antsy. That has been something I have practiced over the years - part of my practice, for me, is learning to sit with "resistance" in all it's forms. Anxiety and antsyness are some of them. Some days I'm really successful with it. On other days, it takes a few tries!
Thank you for sharing this space with me 🩵
Those fried McDonald's apple pies that you can't get anymore in the continental US (except at the oldest one in Downey, CA)? I would TOTALLY eat those muddy in a heartbeat!
But I loved your point. And the memory that birthed it. Thanks for sharing!
Haha, I still think you can get versions of them today. I still do when I need a nostalgic moment :) Thank you for reading, Yolanda!
Alex, thank you for sharing part of your memories and honoring yourself and Jerry in this way. And, thanks for modeling that we do not need to share anything, in any way, until the time and the context is right for us. Our stories are gifts, and we deserve to be intentional about how we choose to share them with the world. I'm so grateful for this one!
Thank you, Lori, for this very thoughtful reply. I truly believe there is magic in allowing ourselves to organically experience our memories when things feel right rather than forcing ourselves through the process. Had I forced myself through this, it wouldn’t have been such a meaningful experience, and I would have regretted it. Thank you for seeing that and honoring that. 🩵
Your apple pie story is priceless, Alex. I feel more alive and happier after reading it. I’m glad the memory resurfaced. :) Oh, and I’m enjoying the ‘get to know me’ at the end of your articles.
Thanks, Ryan! I’m so glad this article had that impact on you!
I’m trying to include a different type of picture in that section so that everyone gets a bit of an idea of my whacky personality. Haha.
The photos are helping me know you better and feel more connected.
Definitely in some mud these days and getting forced into the practice of patience. When I sit with the resistance, I am so surprised that there's hope and imagination there. And, oh, the synchronicities and connections when I wait it out, don't move into fixing or action too quickly are also a welcome surprise.
"Because underneath all my street-tough pretense, I was just a kid who felt safe enough here to break." I totally get that and the value of finding the people and places that are safe. So glad I found this in my feed today.
Oh I love that you find hope and imagination there.
I think resistance in many ways (at least for me) is this big flag that says… “HEY! Look here - there is a really important conversation I need to have, and it comes with a solution.” I come away, when I treat it with respect, feeling empowered.
I’m so glad you found your way to my article. Reading your comment today was a little spark of goodness that I needed! Thank you 🩵
Such a beautiful and powerful story - told with such heart and honesty. I cannot even imagine the journey you have been on since then, but I am so grateful that you are sharing pieces of that tale with us here. Your stories are a gift.
Thank you, my friend, for receiving this story with such openness and care. It means so much to know these moments resonate and connect. I'm grateful you're here, making space for these pieces of the journey to unfold.
Floored. By the story behind the story behind the story, plus the first two layers of story. I can't imagine a better metaphor for life than eating a muddy pie with a lot of sweetness buried way down deep inside of it.
Wow - thank you for seeing all those layers in this story.
I'm deeply grateful you're here, taking the time to sit with my story. The metaphor has stayed with me all these years because it feels more relevant than ever. There's so much mud on things right now, isn't there? But I truly believe there's still sweetness waiting for all of us, if we can just be patient enough to find it and deliberate enough to savor it.
My wife and I were just talking this morning about how Leif Enger’s most recent novel epitomizes what you’re talking about. The beautiful parts of humanity hidden in the darkness of things.
We just need to stick it out, be patient, and be deliberate. It is always there somewhere.
Alex, this post is a wonderful follow-up to the one you published on Jeannie's Substack. I loved that post, as well as this one. Your story matters, and I can understand the fear in telling something so deeply personal. Perhaps you felt the readers might judge you negatively.
I value honesty and truths and stories of humanity. Yours is a journey that relies on resilience and grit -- and honesty. In words you are able to capture the fear, heartache, and some appreciation of what you'd been through: "Jerry's wisdom wasn't just about a dropped dessert - it was about the art of finding sweetness beneath life's inevitable mud."
You did a great thing by sharing that inner-most part of you. Thank you. As I said in the Comments section of your post on Jeannie Ewing's Substack, your discussing your trauma may help others trying to cope with their traumas. And that truly is important, too.
I remember when I started telling my story: it's complicated, but in a nutshell, I was diagnosed at a young age with breast cancer, and the first thing my mom said was "Don't tell anyone." And I did what was in my heart: I told the world by publishing my story. This feat, as you know, was scary and filled with reservation, but I had to share my breast cancer experience, so I put my story out there. And there was a huge outpouring of support. I've been putting it out there for years now, and I still feel some trepidation at times, but overall, I know this is the right path for me.
And as an artist, I recently introduced an art series of tasteful nudes titled Breast Cancer, Female and Young to illustrate the pain and suffering that comes out of a breast cancer diagnosis. One of my Substack essays can be found here: https://bethlgainer.substack.com/p/out-of-sync
Keep sharing and writing. Your words are impactful.
Thank you for this beautiful, thoughtful response and for sharing your own journey with such openness. You're right - there was so much fear wrapped up in sharing this story.
It's powerful to hear how you chose to tell your own story despite your mom's "don't tell anyone" - how you knew in your heart that sharing was the right path, even with all that trepidation.
Isn't it amazing how our stories, once shared, create these ripples of connection? Your art series sounds incredibly powerful - using creativity to illuminate difficult truths and create understanding. That takes such courage. I can't wait to dig in - thank you for sharing a link. Breast cancer is near and dear to my heart. I have had several friends go through this diagnosis, treatment, and two that moved to their next journey.
Thank you for being here, for seeing the deeper layers of this journey, and for creating your own brave spaces where truth can breathe. Your story matters too. 🩵
Thank you for your kind words, Alex. All of our stories matter deeply. I am sorry for your losses of your friends.
Your expressing of your life experiences always touch my heart. Thank you, Alex just for being you!
Thank you, truly - your kindness touches my heart too. I'm so grateful you're here, sharing in these moments.
Sitting with the tension of resistance. No judgment, just curiosity. I need to do that too. Thank you so much for that powerful pointer
Thank you for seeing that - yes, it's amazing what can unfold when we approach our resistance with curiosity instead of judgment. Sometimes the hardest part is just staying present with it. I'm grateful you're here, exploring this alongside me.
Jane, I also want to express my heartfelt gratitude to you for your kind words and pledged support. It brought a wave of gratitude through my body and tears to my eyes. Thank you 🩵
"How sitting with resistance can unlock doors we'd forgotten were even there?" ... Sitting with resistance as you describe has never been my go to. Thank you for nudging me closer to trying. Great insights, as always! 💫
Thank you! You know, sitting with resistance wasn't my go-to either - it took me a long time to learn there might be wisdom in those uncomfortable moments. I love how you're open to exploring it. That curiosity itself is such a gift. ✨
Jerry's words will stay with me for a long time. Thank you for digging deeper, finding that moment, and sharing it.
Thank you - isn't it amazing how Jerry's wisdom still resonates after all these years? I'm so grateful you're here to help hold this memory with me.
Thanks for sharing your story of getting kicked out of your house and having nowhere to go, Dr. Alex. You've been through so much; we can all relate to feeling alone and unwanted. That one shred of hope is always there to be discovered. I'd love to hear more of your story.
Thank you for this kind note, and for seeing both the struggle and the hope in this story. You're right - that feeling of being alone is something so many of us have known. But yes, there's always that thread of light waiting to be found, isn't there? More stories are coming - I'm grateful you're here to share in them.