The Nuance Diaries

The swiftie in me kind of died writing that. But it’s true. She can’t.

To be clear, Taylor has saved my world many times over. I vividly remember hearing ‘Abigail gave everything she had to a boy who changed his mind’ in my childhood/teenage bedroom, and being forever changed.

And yet, as powerful as Taylor’s music has been for me, she alone cannot save the world, and we have to stop acting like it.

We have to stop acting like Taylor could end wars and genocides with social media posts, rallies, donations, and whatever else you think she isn’t doing.

We criticize celebrities for being too self-important. And then we criticize them for not being our saviors.

She was vocal about the 2024 election. It didn’t change the outcome.

And yet, people are still truly convinced that pressuring her to “speak up” is the solution.

I am not saying that she or anyone is perfect. Many people could be doing many different things with their platforms. That’s not actually a critique, it’s just a fact. Everyone could be doing more. Even the people posting on social media.

Everyone could be doing more.

Including you and me.

Speaking of doing more — there are lots of resources at the end of this post!

And unfortunately, we never know exactly what will turn the tide and start a revolution that actually makes a difference.

But you know what is 1000% not going to make a difference?

Using your precious time and energy to criticize Taylor Swift, or any other celebrities.

Taylor Swift is an archer, a mirrorball, a tortured poet. She has been a Brit, a New Yorker, a Kansas City girl — and now, a showgirl. But she is, by her own admission, an anti-hero. And anti-heroes cannot save the world. So why do we act like she could end a genocide with a single post?

Why do you want someone who boldly declared, “It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me,” to be the solution?

Why are people SO obsessed with pressuring her to speak up for the world’s crises when they could be directing that energy towards people who actually have the power to effect the change we’re seeking? (SO many resources at the end by the way.)

Probably for the same reason that people are paying hundreds of dollars to protest at Kamala Harris’ book tour. The woman they didn’t elect for President, because they didn’t think we had any good options. Remember?

I’m not here to convince you to be a Swifie. You have your taste, I have mine.

But this thing we do where we loudly criticize people we’ve never met, like we have all the facts, and we’re the judge and jury? And we act like these people deserve our scrutiny because they chose to be in the public eye?

I’m sick of it.

Taylor isn’t seeing your posts about everything you wish she was and wasn’t doing.

Glennon Doyle also isn’t seeing all of your posts about why she should never have started a Substack. (That whole thing? Insane. I have so much to say, but I truly will not go there.)

The universal truth I keep coming back to is that our reactions to people have more to do with us than them.

In some cases, we can and should loudly react to celebrities doing objectively horrible things. But even then, our reactions will still point to something specific inside us that has nothing to do with them. We get upset about certain things more than others for a reason. It’s our heart talking. It’s past experience talking.

But if you’re furious with a celebrity who left his wife for someone else, and you make a ten-minute TikTok talking about what we all have been led to believe happened, you’re having that strong of a reaction for a reason. I’m not criticizing you for having that reaction. I’m just saying that your reaction has more to do with you than that celebrity.

So to be clear, it’s completely fine if you’re mad at Taylor Swift for not posting about one or all of the world’s many atrocities. But if you’re so mad that you’ve convinced yourself she is doing nothing whatsoever? You’re having a really strong reaction that’s causing you to make up a narrative that fits the scope of your rage.

You have no idea what Taylor Allison Swift has or hasn’t done. Neither do I. There are plenty of people in this world who quietly educate themselves, donate, and even influence the people around them, without posting on social media about every single thing they’re doing. That’s a perfectly fine thing to do.

You know what’s not fine, though? Making angry, cavalier posts about how much Taylor Swift sucks just because she has not done this one thing that you think would change the tides of a literal war.

It’s not fine when your middle school cousin, who looks up to you, reads your post and is heartbroken that you hate one of their personal heroes whose music helped them get through 5th grade when they were being bullied.

The same people who are screaming Tortured Poets Department at the top of our lungs, and proudly wearing friendship bracelets —

We’re the same people who are absolutely heartbroken by the tragedies of this world. We’re doing everything we can to turn our heartbreak into action.

We raised millions of dollars in a Swifties for Harris Zoom fundraiser in like 90 minutes. We speak up and do everything in our power to show our solidarity and support for all kinds of crisis relief.

*speaking of millions of dollars, Taylor Swift has donated hundreds of millions since I first wrote this.

We’re not wasting our energy villainizing a celebrity for not making a social media post.

Again, you can feel however you want to feel about this! You’re allowed to think I’m wrong. You’re allowed to think that the revolution should happen a certain way. You’re allowed to want it to happen one way.

I’d LOVE to live in a world where a single post or donation could end a war.

But it can’t. It literally can’t. And that’s not actually what you want to happen.

You want these social media posts and donations to galvanize people. You want the whole world to be inspired, care, and take action.

Me too.

Instead of expecting one person’s entire fanbase to magically do that, what if we focus on what we can do and what’s productive and what we KNOW will help?

What if we encouraged our friends to make donations and volunteer with impactful organizations? What if we spread factual information from reputable news sources, so that genuinely confused people can understand what the hell is going on?

What if we stopped wasting our precious, limited, valuable energy being mad at Taylor Swift?

I am so deeply over the era of loudly hating women, by the way— but that’s another post.

If you’re unhappy with how someone’s behaving, you have freedom of speech (for now) and you can say whatever you want. But with all of the truly atrocious, heartbreaking tragedies in this world, maybe we could just focus on loudly criticizing the people in power?

Maybe we could loudly amplify the people who are already doing something to help?

Maybe we could remember that 2025 has been hard for everyone at every level of life, and that being nasty online is literally not helping you or anyone in the slightest?

On that note, the comments for this post might eventually be turned off. This took a lot of courage to write and post. I’m going to exercise some self-compassion and give myself the kindness of not subjecting myself to the opinions of every single person on the internet. Democracy is important. Free speech is important. But this is my comment section, and I’ll be damned if I deal with every single troll who wants to come after me.

If you can disagree and be respectful, go ahead and sound off. But if not, I’m not dealing with the keyboard warriors. It is not worth my energy. Or yours.

If you feel the need to call me a hypocrite, or say vile things about me or our *lord and savior Taylor Swift —

In the words of Renee Rapp, “leave me alone **** I wanna have fun.”

*Yes, I know I upset “the Christians” with that one. They’ve been upset since Cynthia Erivo played Jesus. They’ll live.

I wrote the song Storybook Undone almost exactly two years ago after signing a copy of the Best Women’s Stage Monologues of 2022, an anthology in which I’m featured.

Here in this book you will find 70 very diverse monologues written for women. These pieces present great acting challenges, and actors will have the pleasure of sinking their teeth into this sublime material while continuing to perfect their craft in their online or in-person workshops. The monologues all come from plays. Read these pieces, act these pieces. They will seem familiar to you as you hold the mirror up to nature and realize that art is indeed life.

Smith and Kraus Website

I’ve been thinking about Storybook Undone a lot lately, after writing a new song that I love, which in many ways feels like the sister of this song. I’m really excited to release it soon.

These are the last few lines of Storybook Undone — the final chorus.

And now that I’m free / I can learn to just be me

Not who I thought I was / Who you thought you loved

She’s not here no more / She walked through the door

Oh, watch me run / Watch me tumble on

Storybook Undone was largely inspired by A Doll’s House Part 2, a sequel inspired by Henry Ibsen’s acclaimed A Doll’s House.

Before we talk about A Doll’s House Part 2, we obviously have to talk about Ibsen’s original masterpiece.

For the record, you could see A Doll’s House Part 2 with no context, but what fun is that?!

Housewife and mother Nora Helmer lives a delicately constructed — and seemingly perfect — life focused on keeping up appearances and meeting expectations. When a long-held secret comes to light on Christmas Eve, the foundation of Nora’s world begins to crumble. The blackmail and lingering resentments that emerge force her to come to terms with the fragile facade of her doll-like existence. Torn between playing the part that’s been built for her or leaving behind everything she’s ever known, Nora is faced with an impossible choice.

-from The Guthrie Theater website.

They’re about to do an adaptation by Amy Herzog, whom I love! She wrote the play 4000 Miles, which I did a monologue from for years. So if you are in Minnesota. Pleaseeeeee see this for me!

The choice that Nora makes at the end of the play is shocking and largely unprecedented for a woman in the 19th century.

I’m not going to completely spoil the ending too much because I would give anything to watch and read this play again for the first time.

I will say that the door that protagonist Nora walks through is famously considered the door slam heard around the world; the slam that closed the door on the way things were and ushered drama into the new, modern world.

A Doll’s House is easily one of my favorite plays. I first saw it at a theater company* I worked with in high school. I loved it so much that I saw it 2 or 3 times. I also ended up reading it in high school, and maybe again in college, and then saw the Broadway production with Jessica Chastain in 2023. In that production, Jessica Chastain as Nora walked out the door and straight into the streets of New York City, which was truly electrifying. (Some have criticized the staging because the quintessential ‘slam’ is missing - but I loved it.)

** I was so excited to be working off-off Broadway that I didn’t even think about the fact that I was paying dues and not actually getting paid. I don’t even think I got free tickets for friends and family to come to my shows. There also wasn’t really a formal casting process - I think we had some kind of email system where we’d express interest in being part of a certain play, and then the founder would make decisions with the directors. Not the most ideal or ethical situation — and nonetheless a really formative experience. I loved being a professional actor. I loved going to rehearsals. I loved taking the C train home at midnight from Times Square after an evening performance. I didn’t love it when a drunk guy walked across the stage one night — but that’s a story for another time.

I unfortunately missed A Doll’s House Part 2 when it came to Broadway. I’m confident I’ll get to see it staged one day, as it is literally one of the most performed plays in America. It was written by Lucas Hnath, who also wrote The Christians — a monologue I’ve used for auditions from a play I’ve come to love.

And so, when I came across the script for A Doll’s House Part 2 at The Drama Bookshop, I couldn’t not read it.

As I mentioned at the beginning, I had just signed a copy of the monologue anthology I’m featured in, The Best Women’s Stage Monologues of 2022. I didn’t know that the anthology would be there, but I really, really hoped it would be (hence the visit.)

Here I was, an actor turned playwright in the new and improved version of a bookstore that means everything to me — holding a book that contained my own words. It was surreal and magical. I was floating. I couldn’t just leave and re-enter the outside world yet. And so, I wandered the bookshelves and looked at plays, like I had done so many times before.

I spent a lot of time at the old Drama Bookshop. It was where I would go to hunt for monologues and often sneak a picture of one that I liked so that I wouldn’t have to buy the whole play (sorry Drama Bookshop — promise I have not done this since I was a teenager!) I would sit for hours, poring through pages and pages of scripts, some familiar and some new.

I did the same on that July afternoon. I sat in a cozy armchair, ironically elevated on a stage, and read the sequel to one of my favorite plays — just a few feet from a shelf that now held my own words.

A Doll’s House Part 2 picks up 15 years after the original play ends. I can’t really talk about the plot without spoiling it for you, which you’re welcome to do yourself, but I leave that choice to you.

What I can say is that even if I were going to speak freely about this sequel, plot spoilers be damned — I still don’t think I’d have the words. I think that Storybook Undone, the song I wrote immediately after finishing A Doll’s House Part 2 are still the only real words I have.

I’ll also borrow Lucas Hnath’s own words when asked about the enduring power of the original play.

From a Vogue Interview

The action that takes place at the end was a shock when it was first produced, and it’s still a shock today. The way that it’s built is it’s a couple that actually is failing to talk to each other for most of the play. Then you hit that final scene where Nora says, “We need to talk.” That is such a resonant moment, and it’s such a familiar moment, too. It cuts to the heart of a problem in all intimate relationships. Also, Ibsen is trying to define what freedom is and is identifying the ways in which we are not as free as we think we are. Fears about reputation and how we’re viewed in the world, and anxieties about money and social standing—I think those are all shackles that remain today.

Freedom.

I guess I can unequivocally say that both A Doll’s House and A Doll’s House Part 2 are about women and freedom.

Perhaps liberation — more so than freedom. The process of finding freedom, and the freedom itself.

The song I wrote after reading A Doll’s House Part 2 is about freedom.

My circumstances are very different from Nora Helmer’s, and yet there are so many ways I can relate to her. She, a married mother of three in the 19th century, went from her father’s house to her husband's. I’m single and childless and living in the 21st century. She is White. I am Black.

And yet, we both grew up with a great deal of financial privilege. We both struggled with our predetermined roles. We’ve both been underestimated. We’ve both longed for things outside of our current circumstances.

There is a kind of freedom I have been chasing my whole life, personally and artistically. Figuratively and literally.

The freedom to be myself, to say what I want to say, to be imperfect, messy, and unrestrained, and loved because of who I am, not in spite.

Seeing my monologue, from a play I wrote on my couch in pajama…

I am *not* a licensed mental health professional.

RESOURCES available at AFSP and 988 and NAMI and one of my favorite resources for Black women and non-binary individuals, The Loveland Foundation. (These are also copied again at the end of the post.)

Today is suicide prevention day. As I sit here writing this, it’s the night before. I had no idea that today was the exact day, as I was writing all this- truly. Eerie.

I was going to publish this another time, but now I feel like it has to be today.

I posted last year, around this time, about my unaliving attempts.

And a lot of people in my life didn’t respond the way I expected. And that’s completely okay and valid. Seriously. And it was also kind of hard.

And here I am, talking about it again.

But this time — I’m talking directly to survivors (like myself) and people still considering it.

Everyone else is welcome to read too. I totally encourage you to do so.

I’m nervous to post this. I’m worried it’s imperfect. I know it’s imperfect.

But I know that if I reach just one person, it’s enough.

And I know that talking about suicide imperfectly is better than not talking about it at all. Because not talking about suicide does not prevent suicide. And talking about it doesn’t cause it. Those are just facts.

That being said, take care of yourself, as always, and make the choice whether to read on or read something else - based on what is best for you today.

When we tell people that we don’t want to be alive anymore, and they say ‘things will get better and you just need to hold on’ — I don’t think they realize how much they’re underestimating our pain.

The idea of some hypothetical good future is no match for the excruciating pain that has made me/us no longer be on this planet.

When I wanted to end my life, I didn’t need a distraction from the pain or a promise that it would get better. I needed someone to sit with me in it. I needed to know that it’s normal to feel this way. I needed to know that I wasn’t weak for feeling like I wanted to end it all. I needed to know that survival is hard and that I was capable of surviving.

It doesn’t make sense on paper, but the surrender is what saves people.

Glossing over the pain and throwing tons of coping strategies at us isn’t what saves us

What saves us is realizing that it’s okay to need saving every day. There is no magic cure for the excruciating pain that life brings. There is nothing wrong with you if that pain feels insurmountable.

You are not bad.

You are not bad.

You are not bad.

Even if you’ve done “bad things”

Even if you have “bad thoughts”

I promise you from the bottom of my heart, you can feel all of these intense, sharp, agonizing feelings inside of you, and survive.

I promise you from the bottom of my heart that ending your life will not solve anything — even if you’re 100% convinced that that’s true.

So what do we do? If leaving all this pain behind isn’t the answer, what is?

Survival. I think survival is the only answer.

And you can do whatever you need to do to get through the night and survive.

You can free yourself from the judgment of people who have no idea what you’re going through - and survive.

I have no idea when it will get better.

But I know that it can get better.

But the only way it gets better is if you survive.

It does not matter how close you are to the edge.

If you are here reading these words, you have a chance to survive.

And I hope to God that you take it.

I’m really glad I did.

I came very close to not taking that chance.

Several times.

My life is a miracle.

The fact that I’m alive is a miracle.

You are not exempt from miracles.

You have that same chance.

I won’t pretend to know your circumstances.

I won’t pretend to know how hard whatever you’re facing is.

You can admit that it’s hard.

And scream at the sky.

And rail at God.

And think everything is impossible.

And survive.

You can think, ‘wow, she does not understand me at all, who the hell does she think is?’ and survive.

As long as you are not hurting anyone, you can do whatever you need to do in this moment to survive.

When I say “as long as you’re not hurting one’ — please know that that includes you.

Please stay.

Please stay.

Please do whatever you need to do to stay.

Below are some other pieces about surviving that you might enjoy.

If writing like this is comforting to you or holds any value, and becoming a paid subscriber is not feasible at this time, just email me.

If a paid subscription IS feasible for you at this time, consider becoming a paid subscriber to support someone who can’t afford it.

RESOURCES available at AFSP and 988 and NAMI one of my favorite resources for Black women and non-binary individuals, The Loveland Foundation

Hi there,

A lot has changed since I wrote this post back in August ‘25. As I sit here writing this update, it’s November 30th, ‘25.

The first change, the name of this newsletter! It’s now The Nuance Diaries!

The second thing, a post I never thought I’d publish, went viral.

The third thing, and perhaps the most important —

I went against pretty much everything I said in the essay below.

Yes, I have posted some paywalled posts. But a lot of them have been free. I go to paywall something and then think, I don’t want to limit who gets to read this one, or this one, or this one.

I believed everything I wrote below at the time I wrote it. I still like the piece, so I’m not deleting it.

But I am changing my mind. One of my only life-long resolutions is that I can always change my mind.

I’m going to keep paid subscriptions on. If you’re a paid subscriber, you will get everything + some occasional perks.

And if you’re a free subscriber, you will get 99% - 100% of everything, too.

I feel less attached to this metaphor about the ocean that you can read about below. But if I had to use it one more time, I’d say that maybe I’m not the ocean. I am certainly in the ocean. And I’ll write about the ocean forever.

But the whole thing I wrote about absorbing all the debris and letting anyone say whatever they want and throw whatever they want into the ocean if there’s no seawall? I’m not feeling aligned with that mentality anymore.

I have connected with a lot of people I might not have, if certain posts had been paywalled.

And yes, there will always be people who try to pollute the beach. But I think the solution is to deal with those people as they come — not to restrict everyone’s access to the beach. The people who love it here at the beach have also been very kind to help me pick up litter (aka mean comments) when they come.

If you’ve been here a while and want to pay to financially support my work, I deeply appreciate that.

If you’re new and have the means to financially support my work, I deeply appreciate that.

And if you don’t have that ability right now, that is also completely fine. I’m truly just so glad that you’re here.

Does this change mean I don’t care about making money from writing anymore? Of course not. I still want money. I need money. We all do, in this fun little capitalist society. I’m probably going to write about that soon.

I think I just want to make money in ways that feel good along the way. And it doesn’t actually feel good to limit who gets access to this kind of writing, at this point in time.

Love you all,

Alexa

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN IN AUGUST 2025 - paid policies have now changed (everything’s going to be free again), but I’m leaving the essay up.

Remember when we would go back to school in September and talk about what we did that summer? 

If I had to answer that question today, in the context of how I spent my summer on Substack, here’s what I’d say – 

I did construction work on a beach. 

Huh? (That’s what I imagine my fellow classmates would say.)

What I mean is, I built a seawall. 

You what? Okay, okay. Let me explain. 

Paywalls are often thought of as barriers that keep people out. 

Sea walls are literally built to contain the ocean in places where the land is vulnerable. The wall literally holds the waves.  (We’ll get into a deeper definition in just a second.) 

You can still come down to the beach. You can still get to the waves. With the sea wall in place, there are just different levels of entry. There is still something for everyone at each level, whether you’re up on the cliffs, at the shore, or swimming in the waves. 

You might be catching on to the fact that I didn’t actually build a literal sea wall. 

I did build a metaphorical one, though. And it’s going to change how things work here at Wild Cozy Free, going forward. 

“I am swimming for my life. I am swimming to shore.

I am swimming like hell to get to shore.”

Life Rafts

If you’ve been reading for the last few years, or even months, you know that this isn’t the first time I’ve used the metaphor of the beach and the ocean. In my first ever welcome essay here, I said that in my fantasies, “ Wild Cozy Free feels like looking out at the ocean from a lighthouse at sunset.”

What I’ve realized in the last 2 years and change of writing here is that Wild Cozy Free doesn’t just feel like looking out on the ocean from a lighthouse. Wild Cozy Free is the ocean. It’s the beach. It’s the lighthouse.

And because this blog is an extension of me, I am therefore also an ocean, beach, and lighthouse. 

I am in the waves and I am the waves.

I created Wild Cozy Free so that I’d have a lighthouse and safe haven to house all of my messy, big, unfiltered feelings. And in doing that, my words became a lighthouse for you too..

Right now, anyone can wander onto the beach. It’s an open coast. For the last two years, this open, gatless entry has felt expansive, freeing and exactly right. 

But lately, something has felt off. For a while, I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. 

But then out of nowhere, and right on time,  I remembered the title of a play I saw years ago called Seawall / A Life. And everything just clicked. 

*The plot of the play isn’t crucial to the rest of this essay, but for those interested, you can read more about it here. It’s described in part as “an exploration of love and the human need to know the unknowable,” which feels very fitting considering my own exploration of sea walls themselves lately.

A seawall is a physical structure built along a coastline designed to protect the land from the force of waves and prevent erosion. It acts as a barrier between the ocean and the shore, absorbing and reflecting the power of the waves to stop them from washing away beaches, roads, homes, and infrastructure.

Seawalls help slow down or stop the gradual breakdown of the land caused by constant wave action, storms, and rising tides. While the ocean remains wild and powerful, the seawall provides a stable edge where land and sea meet, keeping both safe.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/mapplegate/1162785573

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Seawallventnor.jpg

For two years, Wild Cozy Free has been my ocean—raw, chaotic, vulnerable, and wide-open. I’m swimming in this ocean. I’ve invited you into this ocean. And I am this ocean.

I created this space so I’d have a place to swim in the unfiltered truth and write about it freely. 

Here’s what happens in vulnerable areas, when there is no seawall between the ocean and the land, and the ocean crashes directly into the land: 

* Erosion pulls soil, sediment, trash, and manmade materials into the sea.

* That debris disrupts the marine ecosystem—it muddies the water, affects animals, and pollutes the sea.

* The ocean becomes cluttered, cloudy, and harder to breathe in.

* The sea is forced to absorb the collapse of the land.

* There’s no buffer between the sea and what needs protecting.

Yeah. Not great. 

And if I’m the ocean (which I think I am), then that’s what it feels like when I share my writing with no boundaries. When I pour out my most vulnerable truths for anyone and everyone to consume.

Without a seawall, I’m constantly absorbing things. I was never meant to hold: the projections, the noise, the silence, the misreadings. I’m cleaning up after the wave before I can let the next one crash.

The tide is powerful, and it wants to move. But I often end up subconsciously holding it back.

Trying not to say too much.Trying not to spill over.Trying not to be too much.

I don’t know who’s reading. I don’t know what context they’re bringing. I end up absorbing everything. So many things that have nothing to do with me. 

And so naturally, I’m trying to clean up the beach in between the waves.

To protect others—and to protect myself from being too exposed.

This is what it feels like for me when everyone can access everything.

My vulnerability becomes exhausting, not liberating. 

That’s what it …

Do I at least remind you of every girl that made you mad?

Florence and The Machine, Dream Girl Evil

Dear Men,

When you piss a woman off, you are splashing a well of rage

You are tossing a pebble into a fiery, red-hot pond filled to the brim with righteous anger.

Maybe you don’t deserve to be the target of our rage (that day, at least.)

Maybe our reaction is out of proportion. Maybe the rage doesn’t fit the crime.

But like I said.

When you piss a woman off, you are splashing a well of rage

Tossing a pebble into a fiery, red-hot pond

Casting debris into a river that people pollute time and time again

And the thing about rivers is

They overflow

Just like a tide rises each night

And grows even higher on a full moon

When women are full

When we have had enough

When we have e —motherfucking — nough

The tide will rise

The waves will roar

And if you’re not careful, you’ll get swept up in the arms of the sea

The water will settle

The tide won’t be as high in the morning

But all anyone will talk about the next day is the storm last night

How scary it was

So out of control

Dramatic

Wild

Insane

Few will stand in awe of this vast, magical body of water that can transform from a calm, gentle thing into a raging cacophony* overnight

The masses will just say, ‘That was crazy’

She is crazy

Look at that wild sea

Look at that wild woman

Do not poke the bear unless you want to hear its roar.

Do not provoke a woman unless you want to hear her roar.

There’s a reason we women choose the bear, you know.

We’re cut from the same cloth.

We could rip you to shreds with our bare hands if we wanted to.

Like the mothers who lift cars to rescue their babies.

We are so much stronger than you can even begin to imagine.

Weaponizing our strength isn’t our go-to.

Like the bears, we probably won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt us.

And yet.

You keep on insisting.

You fuel the fire

You splash the well of rage

You toss debris in our windy, wide-ranging rivers

You call us crazy when the water overflows

Even after we tried to contain the flood for so long

You act surprised when you throw gasoline at a fire and end up burned

Even after we tried to contain the fire for so long

You start the fires, we put them out

You flood the rivers, we mop up the land

While all the while

You call us crazy

Thanks for reading! If you’d enjoyed this post, paid subscriptions + tips make such a huge difference. Sharing, liking, and commenting make such a huge difference.

Also, if you’re feeling fired up after reading this and want to keep fueling your own fire, check out the country murder ballad I wrote.

I was sick a few years ago, and my sink was full of knives and spoons from making lemon honey tea — and thus Knives and Honey was born.

Further recommended listening in this playlist I made for you. I exercised some really impressive self-restraint by not including a song from Wicked Part II that would spoil a lot for those of you who don’t know what happens.

*Also for anyone reading this far, the inner english nerd in me needs you to know that I know I used cacophony in a way that doesn’t completely adhere to the definition, but I really liked it and this is a poem so I’m doing what I want!

I wouldn’t have said that I was a Frankie Grande fan before today. Not out of animosity, but unfamiliarity. I only knew him as Ariana Grande’s very funny, supportive older brother.

I learned more about Frankie throughout the Wicked press tour, as I continue to learn more about Ariana. Before Wicked came out, I mostly knew her through her hit songs. After falling in love with her performance in Wicked, I went down the rabbit hole quite a bit. Hampstead is now one of my favorite songs ever.

Suffice it to say, I was really excited to hear that the siblings would be doing a duet together on Frankie’s new album, Hotel Rock Bottom.

Endеd up in Hotel Rock Bottom

Don't know how I got here, that's my problem

Might not be paradise, I gotta stay the night

If I'm checking out tomorrow

Hotel Rock Bottom, I don't wanna stay here, I'm done falling

Might not be paradise, I gotta stay the night

If I'm checking out tomorrow

This is the anthem I needed when my former best friend left me in an Airbnb in the woods the day after my breakdown. After I spent my birthday drunk and sobbing over my toxic ex. After, she bought cigarettes from the hotel reception desk because she said I was “driving her to smoke.”

After she let me order a $200 Uber to my ex’s place, accompanied me there, and then left me alone when I insisted I wanted to go up to his apartment alone.

In her retelling of the story, I’m the one who left her there. She might have used the word abandon. She found it beyond reprehensible that I ‘left her in the middle of nowhere’ (Hamilton Heights). But it was perfectly reasonable for her to leave me in an Airbnb in the woods the next day.

We were supposed to stay for a week. It was my birthday trip. I ruined my own birthday.

Momma, you can't make believe

You don't know all the things you've known

'Cause it's far too much

To keep the secrets, keep bleeding, repeating

Full Transcript at https://wildcozyfree.substack.com

Hello!

I’m writing/recording this around 7 or 8 PM on Pride Sunday, eating chili on my couch.

I could not be more comfortable in my denim and my t-shirt.

I'm gonna go on a date in a little bit, but I thought we'd chat first.

I feel so free.

I feel so good in my body,

That’s kind of crazy to say, considering some of the personal stuff I'm going through right now. I'm going through some really, really hard stuff.

But in my body at this exact moment, I feel so good and free.

For Pride Sunday, I wore this outfit that I loved, which is more revealing than what I usually wear.

I'm approaching my dating life very differently than I did in my early 20s and my 20s in general.

And I am just really not trying to prove anything to anyone anymore.

I think that attitude has grown out of the compassion I’ve built for myself.

My thoughts used to go, “Well, if I do that, then it means this.”

“If I go on this date at this time, it means I’m a slut.”

“If I wear this outfit, it means I’m asking to be harassed.”

“If I eat this…” You get it.

And now I’m just doing what I want.

It’s not just that I used to lack compassion for myself. I was mean to myself.

I had all of these miserable rules for myself. I policed myself.

I once told a nutritionist I didn't eat rice.

She, of course, asked why.

“I just don't.”

“Why don't you eat rice?”

“I eat rice on holidays.”

“Why can't you eat rice right now?”

“I just don’t.”

And that was just a made-up rule that I made up because I decided that rice was fattening. I would only eat white rice on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I made up a million rules like that for myself, so that I could judge myself in all categories of my life, not just my body.

I have done a lot of work on myself to be less punishing and judgmental.

I’ve gotten better at knowing what I want, and knowing that I know myself, and trust myself.

And now that I’m more compassionate with myself, I’m less tolerant of other people’s judgments and opinions.

My people know me. Because I am letting them know the real me, not the policed, constricted, controlled me. They know me, love me, and give me grace

It’s very freeing.

If someone wants to judge me the way I used to judge myself, and pick me apart over one little thing they think they know about me?

They’re free to do that.

I read an Instagram post today that was like, “I am done correcting people's rumors about me. Go ahead. Say it again.”

That’s the energy I’m bringing into the rest of this year and beyond.

You think I'm crazy? Say it again.

You think I'm a slut? Say it again.

You think I'm too emotional? Say it again.

You think I'm too vulnerable? Say it again.

You think I cry a lot? Say it again.

I’m not saying that because I want people to believe untrue things about me.

I’m saying it because I have nothing to prove

I have nothing to prove to people who make me feel like I have to prove something to them.

I want to express myself, show up with integrity, and show who I am. I also have certain standards for myself that I do want to meet.

But that feels like a much different energy than trying to prove something.

I'm here.

I'm worthy.

I'm making mistakes,

I'm having some wins,

I'm having some losses,

I'm muddling around,

And I have nothing to prove.

I am worthy, and I have nothing to prove.

You are worthy, and you have nothing to prove.

More on worthiness and a big reckoning I had around what it means to be worthy, while I was in San Diego — in the audio recording.

Speaking of San Diego, have you checked out New Yorker Goes West?

Thank you so much for being here! It would mean so much if you shared this episode with a friend.

Here are a few more ways to support my work (all linked)

Buy My Book

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Tip Me on VENMO or KO-FI (both linked)

Quick announcement - I’ve decided to throw out my strict posting schedule. I’m still going to limit myself to emailing you once a week because I refuse to clutter your inbox. BUT in the meantime, over on Substack, I will be posting as much as I want, whenever I want.

What does this actually mean, Alexa?

I’ll still show up in your inbox once a week. Sometimes, I’ll post something and opt out of emailing it to you, and it will just show up on the Wild Cozy Free homepage. Whenever I email you, I’ll send links to what else I’ve posted lately so you can get caught up.

This feels really freeing and right. I write a lot, and I’m excited to share more of my writing with you more often, without spamming your inbox. I think that this new approach is already forcing me to be less polished and more off the cuff, which is the point of Wild Cozy Free anyway.

If you enjoyed this episode, I’d be honored if you’d click here and become a paid subscriber for $7/month!

You can also leave me a tip of any amount here or at AlexaJJ on Venmo

I wrote this song about a year ago, and it’s one of my favorite songs I’ve ever written. The phrase “I know I’m working hard, and sometimes I can see it” came from one of my best friends during a conversation about how it can be hard to see our own progress when there’s no tangible ‘proof’ of how hard we’re working.

To listen, upgrade to a paid subscription for $7/month or $75/year ($9 off!) at https://wildcozyfree.substack.com