In a recent writing class, the teacher said what I wrote was a “cultural critique.” (I was prompted to write about cemeteries and in turn death about which I’ve got a lot to say.)

I had never had someone use those words to describe my writing. My ego felt very smart, but more importantly, I felt so seen.

There is such value in finding teachers who illuminate what’s inside of us and illuminate our path. Having space held tenderly for our most intimate parts, the things we hold dearest – like my writing – is so healing.

It can be scary to sign up for something new and unknown, to place trust in someone else’s process, especially when we’ve been wronged before. And it can be just the thing that is needed if we find that illuminating teacher.

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I write everyday because it allows me to voice what is at the surface. Once that is out of my head, I can dig in another layer deeper. My daily writing practice has been my greatest exploration of self and humanity. Sign up here to receive these thought nuggets in your inbox on the daily.