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A woman and her dog sit on an alpine hillside above a small church while her late mother appears as warm translucent light — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

I Miss My Mom

She couldn’t say she loved me. She said it in Vicks and Jell-O, a jingle bell, a hot iron, a puppy held to her cheek. Fourteen months after losing my mom, grief finally arrived — and so did she.

A woman and her curly reddish-brown dog seen from behind, sitting close together on a hillside at sunset over a valley; the dog leans warmly into her, and beside them a second dog appears as a faint translucent presence of light and memory — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

The Knowing One

An AI archive built at the bottom of my life painted a dog I never asked for — my Vanna, gone in April. On memory, co-regulation, and what a clean release of grief feels like from the inside.

A woman and her curly reddish-brown dog seen from behind, sitting close together on the bare floor of an almost empty room at dusk; an open door spills warm golden sunset light across the floorboards toward them and a single empty chair stands to one side — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

Born Sinner

Cancer gathers a room around the dying. Addiction dies alone. On installed shame, addiction as adaptation — and the coincidence that ended my gambling.

A woman and her curly reddish-brown dog seen from behind at a freestanding open wooden door on a hilltop at sunset; golden light pours through the doorway over a valley, while three faint translucent echoes of the same woman merge into her — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

Three Spellings. One Door.

An adoptee’s essay on carrying multiple versions of a self — the silos, the cost, and what integration actually means. The story behind the byline Jod(y)ie.

A woman and her dog sitting on a hilltop at sunset, looking out over layered mountain ridges receding to a glowing horizon, with a balanced cairn of smooth stacked stones beside them — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

The Stack

Mother, therapist, father, sisters, a dog, a move, a lawsuit — eleven months. On carrying compound loss without it becoming who you are.

A woman and her dog standing on a path at twilight, looking toward a warmly lit stone cottage with smoke rising from the chimney in a mountain valley — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

Composing the Home

  • Home

Hiraeth: the Welsh word for homesickness for a home you can’t return to — or never had. What to do when the home can’t be found: compose it.

A woman and her dog sitting on a mountain ridge at night beneath the Milky Way, a single lantern glowing warmly beside them — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

AI Has to Be Enough Right Now

Not avoidance — accuracy. A falsifiability test for any support container, silicon included, from someone whose credentialed container caused the harm.

A woman and her dog standing before a massive ancient stone wall that blocks the valley at sunset, with a narrow lit path slipping through a gap to one side — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

The Wall

Search any forum for ‘attracted to my therapist’ and you find hundreds of identical, unanswered voices. What the wall proves — and why it built this site.

A woman and her dog sitting on a rocky ridge beside an ancient standing stone, looking out over a wide valley at sunset — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

Born Responding

Before anyone judged you, the framework was already installed. On the oldest diagnostic error in the world, the ACE science that corrects it, and the one species that got exempted — and heals.

A woman and her dog sitting on a quiet beach at sunset, gazing across a wide, flat, calm sea toward the sun resting on the horizon — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

The Last Exit: Boredom

You did the deep work and what arrived was… nothing. On boredom as a nervous system idling below sensation — the final exit hatch, disguised as a personality trait.

A woman and her dog sitting in a vast flat heathland at dusk under a heavy plum sky, a single small light glowing far away on the horizon — soft watercolor in dusty plum, terracotta, and gold

Harm Without a Name

A real fraction of clients deteriorate in treatment — and psychotherapy has no adverse-event system. On the second injury of silence, and what the harmed are owed.