First Brew

 

I make coffee for people whose names I’ll never know. 

I steam milk while my own thoughts curdle. 

I smile, because I’ve learned how to wear warmth like a uniform.

 

This space isn’t for advice.

It’s not for healing, or hope, or even clarity.

It’s for the quiet ache that doesn’t ask to be fixed. 

For the weight that presses gently, daily, without drama.

 

I support someone I love through clinical depression.

I carry my own, too.

Some days I’m the strong one. 

Some days I’m just the one who shows up.

 

This blog is a place to speak without flinching.

To write what I can’t say aloud.

To let the bitterness bloom beside the sweet.

If you’re here, welcome. 

There’s no sugar in my coffee.

But the cup is warm.