Like Cheryl, I asked for help. Numerous times.

When I was at some of my lowest points, I was told by women from my church:

• You can never tell your husband no to sex. You either say yes or convince me. It’s your job to make the home a sanctuary for him.

• Journal at the end of each day. Write down the “hard things” about being a mom and thank God for those things.

• I know you’re struggling, but I don’t have the capacity to offer you any support.

I’m no longer bothered by those bullet points. They are insignificant to where I am in my life at this stage, and they don’t hold any power over me like they used to. Though I’m no longer bothered, that doesn’t mean that what happened was okay. But I’m okay now.

Unlike Cheryl, I didn’t have a partner who was equipped to carry me when I couldn’t carry myself. I felt really sad about that after reading her post. Then, I read a journal entry from October 1, 2024, that punched me in the gut.

Let me set the stage.

In June 2024, I hit another low. While walking around the neighborhood by myself, I thought about stepping in front of a car and ending all the misery. Mine and everyone else’s who was having to deal with me. (This wasn’t the first time these thoughts occupied my mind. One night in October 2018, I seriously contemplated suicide. I didn’t make a detailed plan, but I stayed up late after my ex went to bed. My only plan was to end it all in a place that ensured he found me and not one of the kids.)

At the end of September 2024, I sought out alternative medicine to assist with healing my trauma, alleviating anxiety, and addressing my overall depressive state. I had two intense sessions with the medicine, on a Saturday and Sunday. I’d originally planned to not return home until Tuesday, but I missed home so much that I came back Sunday.

Cue the tension.

Incoming run-on sentences.

I recorded the following: “I went to bed last night with my head hurting a little and after being disappointed with [ex’s name redacted] and crying about how much stays the same because I wanted him to take the kids to school and he wanted me to and I said I would but was feeling some kind of way about how my brain went through so much Saturday and Sunday and I’m technically not even supposed to be here and so it would be nice if he could’ve taken the kids. I then said something to him about it and how I know I can take care of myself and I’d love to not have to and then as I came to bed, he was in the bed and I said, ‘The more things stay the same’ and I was feeling so disappointed about how discontented I was already feeling with my life again. So, I said that phrase as I got in bed and he was upset and made the couch up to sleep on and left and I cried in the bathroom because I don’t want to hate my life.”

That October 2024 journal entry got me thinking about when I expressed to my partner in 2023 that I was feeling physically unable to help with cooking dinner and cleaning up afterwards. He would come home from work, and I would retreat to the bed, only emerging to eat before returning to the comfort of the covers. For months, I told him that I just didn’t have it in me to cook and clean. In November 2023, I told him that I wanted a divorce, which he did not receive well.

We met with a counselor in December 2023. When the counselor asked each of us what the other person could do to show that they are in this and committed to working on the relationship, my ex told me, “You can help with the cooking and cleaning at night.”

The very thing I’d already communicated that I couldn’t do.

I started weeping at how unheard, uncared for, and unimportant I felt.

And years before that, in the summer of 2016, my ex and I had two children under two years old. I had no idea how the post-partum period would go this second time and was concerned because of how depressed I’d been after the birth of our firstborn. My ex had been asked to be the lead deacon of the first slate of deacons at our church. However, he was asked to do this even though the start up coincided with the birth of our second baby.

One evening, while he was in a deacon meeting, I developed mastitis. My right breast was on fire. The number behind the decimal on the thermometer climbed by the minute. I repeatedly dialed my ex. No answer. I tried calling the pastor. No answer. Shivering on the bed with my two-month-old beside me, I felt cut off from everyone else. My husband should have been home with me and our newborn. Sobs shook my entire body. Nursing abandonment issues and an infant, I knew the expectation was that I not disturb the deacon meeting, despite the fact that I was, at that moment, being deeply disturbed. The church family, the pastor, and the roles we played within that structure seemed to matter more than my well-being.

I’m no longer bothered by the neglect contained in the aforementioned events (and the many not mentioned events) from my marriage. That’s all they are - events that happened. And I don’t feel like they happened to me but rather that they happened for me. Though I’m no longer bothered, that doesn’t mean that what happened was okay. But I’m okay now.

I can look back on everyone involved throughout my journey, including myself, with tons of tenderness and decide to be mindful moving forward about the weight of my own words. I can consciously choose to hold space for the pain of others without spiritually bypassing, diminishing, or invalidating their experiences.

All we have is each other, and I am sending all the love in the world to each of you and your beautiful Souls.

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com

Another co-worker walked up and heard me talking about Thursday night’s partial lunar eclipse. I shared that I set an alarm to wake up to see the eclipse at 12:12, when it was at its peak. She told me she thinks I’m a witch.

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What I’ve realized is that the niceness of a nice guy serves a purpose. His “niceness” is his identity and therefore must be protected. A nice guy is only nice because he wants people to think he’s nice.

However, a kind man is kind without having to construct an identity and derive meaning from it. A kind man is kind simply because he is kind. Kindness flows from him because he can’t act contrary to his innate kind nature.

A nice guy is attached to an outcome. If he doesn’t get that outcome, his “nice” persona evaporates. The mask falls fast.

• Example: I gave her a compliment. She didn’t appreciate it. So, fuck her!

A kind man practices non-attachment to an outcome. Because he doesn’t behave in a certain way to achieve a certain result, he is steady regardless of the behaviors of others.

A nice guy withdraws affection or otherwise punishes others when he doesn’t get his way.

• Example: She doesn’t want to go on a date with me, so I’m going to give her the silent treatment the next time I see her. That’ll really show her what she’s missing out on!

A kind man remains kind even when he is “rejected” because he has no reason to take the rejection or the boundaries of others personally.

A nice guy will bestow financial “blessings” on people and then have stipulations about how that money should be “stewarded.” This is because his niceness is about controlling the behaviors of others and was never about the person on the other end of the interaction. The niceness was always in service of his own ego.

• Example: I gave that person money to help him pay his rent. He shouldn’t be buying that nice watch and should instead be saving his money for next month’s rent so that I don’t have to bail him out again. Because I will not be giving him any additional money if he can’t be a wise steward.

A kind man doesn’t attempt to control others, trusts that people know better for themselves than he could possibly know, and is generous for the sole purpose of being generous.

A nice guy makes himself meek to hear people praise how peaceful he is. But as soon as he feels like he’s being taken advantage of, he rants and raves about how ungrateful, malicious, or manipulative the recipient of his “niceness” is.

• Example: I volunteered for nine months without complaining once. And I’ve never been publicly recognized for my investment. But the Volunteer of the Quarter award is going to some person who just started two months ago. This whole operation would fall apart without me. I’m gonna let them see how much they need me by just not showing up next month.

A kind man honors his commitments, invests his time in causes he cares about, and doesn’t need public recognition for following through on what he said he was going to do.

A nice guy is always a victim of his circumstances. Since his reactions are the result of someone else’s behavior, he is the one who was wronged. Never the one who did wrong. Therefore, he cannot be held accountable.

• Example: He made me angry. If he hadn’t accused me of cutting corners, I wouldn’t have lost my temper.

A kind man holds himself accountable, doesn’t react defensively when someone approaches him about a concern, and repairs harm as needed. He remains receptive, curious, and open-hearted because he has nothing to hide.

A nice guy goes through the motions of mental health and uses the language of therapy and boundaries to justify his selfishness and calloused behavior.

• Example: I know things are tense between me and my ex-wife now as she thinks I misrepresented my financial status during the separation period. She said that I inflated my budget. I might have put some cushion in there, but I did not inflate it. Besides, I have to look out for myself. I’ve always put others first. That’s what led to me getting taken advantage of by my ex this whole time. Now, I’m going to be putting myself first.

A kind man takes responsibility for his emotional growth. He acts in alignment with integrity, whether people are looking or not. He doesn’t need an audience to do the right thing, and he doesn’t need the threat of exposure to prevent him from doing something selfish or calloused.

A nice guy watches people he should care about struggle and derives pleasure from it. He wants to be the hero, so he waits for them to reach out to save them. If they don’t reach out and end up suffering, he holds it over their heads with reminders that if they’d just asked him for help, he could have kept them from harm. If they succeed without him, he holds it against them, tries to make them feel bad for not needing him, and vows that if they do need him in the future, he might not want to help them next time.

A kind man is discerning enough to know when to step in and when to trust people to figure things out without him. If he intervenes, there are no strings attached to the assistance he offers. If he offers to help and is told that his help isn’t needed, he doesn’t sulk, stew, or brood about it.

A nice guy tells you he knows he needs to change. But when you ask him to name what needs to change, he’s unable to articulate any specific adjustments to make because he isn’t actually planning to alter his behavior. Instead, he’s future faking in an effort to keep you hooked on the possibility of him being the person he pretends to be.

A kind man is thoughtful with his words. He means what he says and says what he means. If he promises to do something differently, you can trust that he will. He doesn’t play games with the emotions, hearts, and lives of those he loves.

A nice guy drains energy with his woe-is-me mentality, catastrophizes even the most mundane of circumstances, and expects everyone else to tiptoe around his emotions. He does the bare minimum while expecting unending gratitude for the crumbs he drops from the table. He is a parasite who takes, takes, takes from his hosts. He chooses his hosts carefully by targeting those who are nurturing, empathetic, and compassionate. He is frequently heard saying things like, “Nothing ever works out for me,” “Everything is a struggle,” and “No one appreciates me.”

A kind man is a breath of fresh air. Any relationship with him is rooted in reciprocity. He understands that basic human decency should be a given, so he doesn’t expect praise for doing the least. He ends up doing the most and still doesn’t expect praise. He derives joy from loving the people around him. He looks on the bright side without spiritually bypassing. He is frequently heard saying things like, “Everything is working out for me,” “I’m grateful for another day on this planet,” and “I’m just happy to be alive.” He treats life like a precious gift and handles the people around him with intentional care.

I can say that there are many nice guys that I like. Even though I like them, I do not trust them. The reason I don’t trust them is because I know that they will turn on me so fast and use my compassion against me. So, I have to protect my energy and not grant them access to my heart. And when boundaries are put in place, one can expect to be called rude, a bitch, a slut, and all manner of insults that aren’t very nice from the mouths of these nice guys. But it’s a price I’m willing to pay because my peace means too much to me now to not protect it.

Thank you all for reading my ramblings! As always, I’m sending so much love to you and your beautiful Souls.

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com

So, last Sunday’s post was “Dating Myself: Screaming My Own Name”. Today’s “Dating Myself” post is all about being my own Sugar Daddy!

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My final traveling adventure on this trip took place during my 22-hour layover in Iceland. One part of me was fully content to sit in the airport for the duration of the layover and read a book. That is the woman I am. However, I’m trying this thing where I do what the woman I want to be would do (per a conversation about this in December last year with a friend who inspired me to start living like I already am the woman I want to be). The woman I want to be would hop on the Flybus and head to downtown Reykjavík for an adventure. So, your girl did just that!

An employee at the bus terminal downtown found a hostel where I could stay, told me which bus to board and stop to get off at, and I headed that way. However, a hostel ended up being a bit more adventurous than I was ready to be, and I booked a private hotel room that was somehow connected to the hostel but separate (and so very expensive, though I didn’t know that until after I got home and checked my bank account because when the good people of Iceland would tell me the price in ISK, I was unfamiliar off the top of my head with the conversion rate).

That evening included some wandering the streets of Reykjavík in search of sustenance since I hadn’t eaten anything except some yogurt that morning. The first few restaurants I went to were closing at 10:00. It was only 9:30 (and deceptively bright out), but the kitchens were closed. When I came across a food hall, I ordered and ate the most delicious fish and chips I’ve ever had in my whole entire life. (And I still read a book at the bar because I am who I am!)

The next morning, I set off for a half hour walk to The Icelandic Phallological Museum (aka The Penis Museum). I’ll need to write a whole separate post about this experience because it was truly magical. I’m not sure what I expected, but it definitely exceeded my expectations!

When I left The Penis Museum, I had a little cushion of time to walk the route around downtown and to the bus terminal that I’d walked with the man I hooked up with in Iceland last year. I went to places we’d gone to together and took pictures of myself in the same spots so that I now have a photo without him in these locations, such as the Skólavörðustígur Rainbow Street.

Reflecting on how much has changed in a year, how much I’ve changed, was exactly what I needed. Though I have known intellectually that I don’t “need” a man to have a good time, I got to prove to myself that I don’t. I got to show myself that I am whole and complete. And I got to enjoy the bliss of being with myself in the streets of Paris and Reykjavík.

This solo trip changed me. And by that, I guess I just mean that it provided me with opportunities to access the me I want to be. It was such a beautiful gift to spend time with the woman I am who is adventurous. I miss her. Not because she’s perfect or because everything went smoothly. In fact, I almost missed my connecting flight on the way to Paris and had to run through the airport just to be told that the gate listed on my boarding pass was no longer the departure gate, which led to me sobbing uncontrollably due to the built-up stress in my body. And on my return flight from Iceland, an old man yelled at me for touching his bags in the overhead compartment, which led to me sobbing uncontrollably due to my sleep-deprived state. But even when there were hiccups, I could tell myself, “Everything is figure-out-able” and return to a balanced state quickly.

Okay, friends, that’s it for now. Thank you so so much for reading! As always, I’m sending all the love in the world to you and your beautiful Souls.

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com

Someone I used to work with said, “Men need to bring more than a penis and a paycheck. I make my own money and can buy a penis on Amazon. They’re missing the most important ‘p’ - personality.” This always made me laugh, and when I told this to someone I work with now, she replied, “My ex had multiple personalities.” You guys, women are so fucking funny!

If you’ve been around, you know that I don’t shy away from talking about sex. I love to write about desire, sexuality, and anything considered taboo sexually.

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What I mean is, I fell more in love with myself.

You thought I was going to say I fell in love with a man, didn’t you? Because historically that has been very on brand for me - LOLs.

But no, I fell deeply, madly, and wildly in love with myself in the city of love. Which is why it has been so damn hard being back in my “real life.” Post-Paris depression is a whole thing.

In Paris, I got to spend time with a part of myself that I don’t get to utilize much in my day-to-day life. Usually I’m very predictable. In Paris, I was adventurous.

It all started when I arrived à l’aéroport Charles de Gaulle. Originally, I planned to take a taxi from the airport to the hotel where the group was staying. That seemed like the safest route, though it would be more expensive. Well, when I took one look at the taxi drivers, I knew there was no way I was getting into a car with any of them. They were so freaking hot! And because people are prone to fall in love with me, I couldn’t tempt the taxi drivers (or myself). I couldn’t be that person who was taking a lover within an hour of landing in France. After all, I was in Paris to be a very serious writer who takes my writing very seriously.

Since a cab was no longer a viable option, public transport was the next best thing. I spoke with someone at the information desk, and she explained that I would take the RER B train line to Luxembourg Station. After several wrong turns, I found where to purchase my ticket and boarded the next train. The announcement to watch for pickpockets put me on high alert to protect my passport at all costs.

Unfortunately, I was on an older train that didn’t provide any type of tracking to notify me of which station we were approaching. I had to look out the window at each stop to see what name was painted on the wall. When I finally saw “Luxembourg,” I grabbed my backpack and suitcase and rushed off. As I wandered around the station, I wasn’t sure where to go. Though I’d purchased an eSim, I wasn’t able to activate it because I wasn’t connected to Wi-Fi.

I approached an employee and stumbled through the sentence, “Une femme à l’aéroport a indiqué le Luxembourg pour cet hôtel.” I handed him a paper I had with the name of the hotel on it. The name with no address. He spoke to me in English to make sure he understood what I was needing and printed off a map for me with the route highlighted in gray. “Merci beaucoup,” I beamed, before sprinting away up the stairs.

Emerging from underground, I was not prepared for the sights and sounds that awaited me in the Latin Quarter. Wandering the street beside the Jardin du Luxembourg, I tried to follow the map but wasn’t 100% sure I was headed in the right direction. (Spoiler alert: I wasn’t.)

Behind me, I heard two men speaking in English. So, I turned around and asked them for help. One pulled up Google Maps, typed in the hotel address, and explained that I would turn around, walk down the road he pointed at, and take a left to find my hotel on the left. After wandering up and down the road he’d pointed at for about 10 minutes, unsure of when to make the left he’d told me, I decided to take the first left. And there was the hotel, up on the left!

Your girl was on top of the world, fully convinced she is capable of conquering anything after navigating public transport in Paris (with lots of help from kind strangers). I also want to note that everyone I interacted with seemed to appreciate the effort I made to speak the language, no matter how mediocre the attempt. I choose to believe it’s because my Southern drawl delivering botched French was endearing.

Almost all of the exploring I did in Paris was with the writing group participants or the best friend I made on the first day. (Shoutout to Lori!)

There was one night a few of us went to watch the Eiffel Tower light up at 10:00 and walked an hour back to the hotel.

Then, on the last day, I decided to walk by myself to a chocolate shop. It was just a ten minute walk that consisted of one right turn and one left turn, but I did it all alone! (Well, alone except for the assistance of Google Maps dictating when to make that one right turn and one left turn.) And I bravely read an excerpt about masturbating while on mushrooms from my work in progress in front of the group as we had a champagne toast by the Seine River the final night.

I know this is a weird place to stop (masturbating on mushrooms), but I have to wrap this up because otherwise I’ll spiral into more wildness. Come back next week for part 2! There will be at least one reference to penises…

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com

I’m writing to let you know that I’ll be in Paris for a writing retreat from July 20 - 27. So, I won’t be posting on Substack the next few weekends. I just wanted to inform you since I know you sit by your phone every weekend waiting for my updates - JK, JK! (I crack myself up!)

Thank you all for your support in this little corner of the writing world. I am forever grateful for the ways you have shown up for me here.

I’m sending each of you lots of love!

-Nicki

He assured me it was okay to have a type, and that he himself enjoyed dating women like me. I’m assuming he meant women who are eager to prove we’re worthy of love and will ignore our intuition to experience the dopamine hit that comes from the ounce of affection we earn after chasing him. It’s as if these wounds in each other made us feel better in some twisted way. Made us feel like we were helping to address the wounds. Possibly make them better.

The longer I’ve detoxed from that relationship, though, the more I’ve come to understand something crucial. It’s not only that I love wounded men. It’s more so that wounded men love me. Here’s what I mean.

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I watched this video recently where someone joked about how the existence of Buc-ees is proof that we are living in a simulation with all these NPCs (non-playing characters). He was talking about how a Buc-ees will pop up, and then it’s never not packed. He asked, “Where were all these people stopping before the Buc-ees was built, and why are there always so many people there?” The conclusion he came to was that all the people are just filler NPCs who just wander around the store, like NPCs in other video games. His analysis was funny, but it got me thinking about a video I watched a few months ago where the content creator posed the question, “What if there are no NPCs?” Ever since then, I’ve been approaching people who seem to be asleep, people who the “enlightened” would call NPCs, as important, valuable, and loved, simply because they are here, face-to-face with me. And it’s changing everything.

Let me give you a little additional context, though, just so you know where my head is in all of this. I’ve been on this journey into astrology and trying to understand more about the moon, sun, and planets (and where all of this is in my personal chart). I listened to The Astrology Lounge podcast episode “Full Moon in Capricorn & Mercury Retrograde; A Final Realization About Your Past” and learned all about Jupiter in Leo and Mercury retrograde. The host talked about how people who were born during a Mercury retrograde tend to be more productive during these periods, while everyone else tends to withdraw or slow down. Turns out, I was born during a Mercury retrograde, and I’ve been very productive the past week. Coincidence? Maybe.

The podcast host also recommends that her listeners journal during new moons and full moons and go back to read what they wrote during the next new or full moon in that sign. So, I went back and read my journal from January 18th, when the first new moon of 2026 was in Capricorn. In the entry, I wrote, “I’ve been watching videos on TikTok about the matrix and how this reality is just a simulation set up by our higher selves. In some ways, it doesn’t make sense. It sounds too outlandish. Too sci-fi. And in other ways, it’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.” The Nicki who penned these ponderings in January had no idea that in a month or two she would be syncing the left and right hemispheres of her brain once (sometimes twice) daily via The Gateway Tapes and learning how to work with her body’s natural energy, which has radically and rapidly shifted my entire life. Because I now believe that I am the creator, I don’t have to wait on anyone else to create anything for me, and separation is an illusion as we all come from one Source.

Each morning, I tell myself:
I am sovereign.
I am infinite.
I am that I am.
I am whole and complete.
I love myself.
The all are one.
And the one is all.

Y’all, I don’t know if any of this is true. But I want it to be. And I want mermaids and dragons and unicorns to be real. I want Bigfoot to be an interdimensional being who uses caves as portals. And I want the frequency of love to raise the vibration of the earth to the point where we stop fucking killing each other, committing genocide over land, and hoarding resources. And I have to hold onto the hope that I will not only witness but be an active agent in the creation of this New Earth where the lower vibrational energies of fear, scarcity, and shame can no longer be supported here because they are incompatible with the updated software.

And I know how wild I sound right now. I get it. But why can’t all of this be real? The argument can’t be that it’s too magical when we live on a planet where trees communicate with each other. If that’s not magic, I don’t know what is.

And it doesn’t hurt anyone for me to believe it this way. And it doesn’t hurt anyone for me to believe there are no NPCs and to treat everyone as a playing character.

Okay, friends, thank you for reading. I hope you still love me. (LOL) Whether you still love me or not, I’m sending so much love to each of you!

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com

If you’re unfamiliar with the term, Melissa Kalt explains in this article, “Future faking is a manipulation tactic employed when a narcissist or toxic person promises to fulfill your desires in the future to get something they want in the present—which is often simply to get off scot-free, delay a commitment, obtain resources, or avoid a conflict.”

Put simply, the person making promises is faking a future with words they have no intention of honoring with their actions.

I just heard about future faking for the first time in a video on Facebook a few weeks ago. But I’ve been on the receiving end of it for almost 20 years.

The next time I heard about future faking was in another video. In that video, the person talked about the man she is divorcing telling her lots of pretty words. To determine if he was using this tactic of future faking, she asked him, “What exactly do you think you need to change in order to be the man you say you want to be?” Then, she sat back and listened as he vaguely answered the question in a roundabout way. His lack of specificity was confirmation for her that he is not committed to actually following through on the future he falsely promised.

A light bulb went off as my busy brain got to work firing off new synapses. My ex and I had our final mediation appointment that morning, and he’d attempted to use this tactic on me. Here’s how he did it.

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Let me back up, though. I’m sure you want to know the story of how I came to be connected with this group.

When I had the idea to host the “Becoming the Writer You Want to Be” writing workshop at The Mercantile, I met with the events coordinator. She told me about Matt Shaw and the Speak Up writing group he facilitates upstairs on Wednesday mornings at the store. This led to a Zoom call with Matt where we discussed ways to support each other in our respective visions for writing communities in Rock Hill.

So, at 9:30 AM a couple of weeks after our call, I walked up to him, shook his hand, and awkwardly blurted out, “Wow, you’re tall! Do you hear that a lot?” He graciously replied that he does hear that a lot and agreed with me that he’s definitely taller than on Zoom.

Once all of us writers were settled in, Matt passed out papers with a series of prompts. We then spent about ten minutes writing in four separate sprints, with the optional invitation to share. I surprised even myself when I decided to read my work aloud each time we stopped.

Writing 1

• “I’m surprised by…”

I’m surprised by trees communicating with each other underground. I haven’t fact checked every piece of information I’ve consumed, but I desperately want these tidbits to be true. I want to live in a world where a tree sends nutrients to its offspring. I want to live in a world where trees warn one another of danger. Whether that danger be of disease or some other impending doom. I want to live in a world where trees are magical.

Sure, there are so-called scientific explanations for everything. But I want to believe in the magic of the trees.

I want to live in a world where humans look to the trees for lessons on what it means to love, care, and live in community, interdependence, and unity. And if I want to live in this kind of world, well, then I’d better embody these qualities on the deepest soul level, remembering my own magic and infusing it into the trees, soil, and roots around me. Not so I personally get anything out of it, though I know I will. After all, a healthy community produces healthy individuals. Just as a healthy grove contains healthy trees that bear healthy fruit.

So though my own wholeness will inevitably be a by-product of living like the trees, I don’t want to do so for the sole purpose of succeeding on my own. Rather, I do so because it’s the thing that heals us all.

Writing 2

• Share about a goal you accomplished. Or about a goal you’d like to reach.

I don’t know much anymore these days, about anything at all really. Paradigms keep shifting. Perspectives follow after. Most of the narratives I grew up believing about myself, others, and God are gone. Exchanged for far more expansive beliefs than I ever dared to believe. But one constant has remained the same. From the earliest age, all I wanted was to love and be loved. Mind and ego got in the way, my own and of those around me. Yet I somehow kept coming back to love.

I now know that the reason I’m here, on this planet at this time, is to love. To love radically. To love unconditionally. And to love at great cost to myself, though never at the expense of myself.

Each day, I wake up and remember that all I “have” to do is love. Anything else I accomplish is a beautiful gift. To be here now, intentionally practicing presence, this is what I came here to do. To encounter the darkest parts of another person and stay steadily rooted in love, this is what I came here to do. And some days it’s easier than others. But the work remains the same.

And yes, I get deceived, and yes, people take advantage and take for granted. But I refuse to let someone else’s lack of love alter the core of who I am and what I’m here to do. So, I lean into love. The kind of love that says, “I see you. All of you. And I’m not scared. And I’m not going anywhere. You can try to push me away. And I’ll leave if you truly want me to. But I know that you don’t want me to. Because though we have different names, you and I, we are the same. So here, I will remain, and the work remains the same.”

Writing 3

• Share your advice for dealing with disrespect from others in a healthy way.

One of the things that has changed my life the most is believing the best about others. To stop assigning a motive, projecting an insecurity, or writing a narrative that doesn’t need to be written. I simply one day decided to stop taking everything personally. Unless, of course, someone explicitly tells me that I should, in fact, take their words personally. And even then, I strive to lean into curiosity.

If the message someone relays to me sparks defensiveness, I now ask myself why. I examine their critique to uncover any validity. And if what they said is true, well, then I can express gratitude and course correct as needed. But if what they said is false, well, then, I don’t have to expend my precious, limited energy defending myself against falsehoods. I have far better things to do than stew.

And maybe it’s not so black and white. Maybe it’s not all they’re wrong and I’m right. And that’s all right. So I weigh any feedback that comes my way. And if the relationship is important to me, I’d rather preserve the connection than win an argument. Because at the end of the day, people want to know you’ll stay, and I refuse to throw people away.

Writing 4

• “Home is…”

How often do you meet someone and from the jump you already know from the first handshake that there’s no way your life will ever be the same?

Those are the people who feel like home to me.

Less like an introduction and more like a remembering.
An “I’ve been looking for you and didn’t even know it.”
Or a “There you are, you silly goose.”
As if you’ve been playing hide-and-seek games with this person your whole life.
If not in this lifetime, then maybe in some other one that exists somewhere else.

Home is a place I can’t physically describe, but I know what it feels like.

I know that it’s rooted in reciprocity.
I know that everyone has all that they need.
I know that it buzzes with the frequency of unconditional love.
I know that the operational systems of judgment, punishment, and hierarchy that flourish here are outdated there. (They were likely never part of the programming in the first place.)

And maybe home isn’t in a place far away in the “there” or the “thereafter.”
Maybe home is inside of me and always has been and always will be.

So those are my responses to the prompts! They aren’t polished. But neither am I! Though I felt a bit awkward at times, I’m glad I tried a new thing! And Matt signed up for and promoted the “Becoming the Writer You Want to Be” writing workshop, which was so very kind of him!

If you’re local, I would love love love for you to join us at the workshop on Sunday, July 12th at 2:00 PM upstairs at The Mercantile in Rock Hill! My Substack community can use the code SUBSTACK at checkout to get 25% off the registration fee when you visit nickipappas.com. If you aren’t local or aren’t a writer but would like to sponsor someone to attend, you can send funds via Venmo (@nickipappas) or Cash App ($NickiPappas1) to cover the cost for a local writer!

Thank y’all for reading my ramblings! I’m sending you all so much love!

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com

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Excerpt

Our earliest experiences seem to have the most profound and long-lasting impact on us. A blueprint from which we operate.

Little me hiding behind my grandmother’s mundu, too scared to go to the two strangers who were my parents. They had come from England to claim me as their own and settle down as a family when I was three-years-old. But my family was my grandmother, and to have been torn away from her must have been sheer terror. The experience was akin to an earthquake shaking the core of my being. The next upheaval further damaged an already weakened foundation. I was five when I was sent to boarding school. When I think about it now, I cannot fathom why boarding schools exist for five-year-olds. At that tender age, your psyche is building your world for you. You need protection, security, indulgence, and to be the precious center of your family.

Asha wrote beautifully about the contractions she carries in her body: the desire to hide and the simultaneous desire to be seen. As someone who has also wrestled with belonging, Asha’s words resonated with me. A pivotal part of my journey has been cultivating, nurturing, and sustaining the human need for authentic connection, starting within. You can read more of Asha’s work on her Substack, Ripples in Silence.

The Avoided No More anthology reminds us that we all have stories buried within us, that there’s power in sharing our truth, and, perhaps most importantly, that none of us are truly alone on this journey.

Buy your copy today on Bookshop, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon. If you’re local to the Charlotte, NC area and would like a copy, reach out to me!

Now that we’re done with the essays from this special collection, I’m not sure what I’ll write about next week, but until then, I’m sending you all so much love.

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com

For example, just in the past week I pulled off an epic 10th birthday party for my daughter at the Purrfect Pair Cat Cafe, celebrated the one year anniversary of Luna Psychotherapy and Wellness, managed the production of Main Street Theater’s Pride shows, marched in the Pride March for Equality downtown (after Wine Walkers), picked blueberries with my kids at a friend’s house, had lunch with a different friend, took my daughter out for a one-on-one breakfast, talked with the head of the company that I do contract work for to discuss my future with the agency, drove to Columbia to stay with a couple of my closest friends, invited over 40 people to the “Becoming the Writer You Want to Be” writing workshop I am hosting at The Mercantile on July 12th, and visited 8 local business to ask them to display promotional flyers for the workshop (while purchasing something at each store and speaking with the employees and/or owners).

A few people in my life have speculated that I’m able to get so much done in such a short amount of time because I’m a robot. (I am not a robot. Though I realize that maybe that’s exactly what a robot would say…)

The answer for how I’m so efficient, effective, and productive is quite simple.

Read more

Excerpt

Generally, perhaps not shockingly, there are a few things I want to experience in this world:

· To walk down the street without looks from people trying to decipher what I am, asking, “Is it a man or a woman?”

· To be accepted by others without needing to prove that I have the right to exist.

· To not have to fight to be seen.

· To hear my correct pronouns, and to not have to fight for every little word.

· To be able to exist among others, just by being me.

But, for 20 days, I left my nonbinary identity like a cup on a table and existed like most others do, no questions asked. I wasn’t able to pick it up and wear it, so I used the costume society gave me when I was born. Within that costume, I felt a cringy freedom; I wasn’t my truest self, but I didn’t have to explain to anyone what my clothes imply or why my hair is cut this way or why I walk the way I walk.

I didn’t have to decide if I should speak up every time someone misgendered me at the bakery or the supermarket. I didn’t have to decide whether or not to correct a friend who hasn’t yet “caught up” with who I am or a group of women-friends who make jokes and refer to all of us as “ladies” (ugh) or “guys” (even worse).

Lyda uses the symbol of a favorite cup left on the table to explore grief, emotional exhaustion, and identity. One line they wrote has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it: The realization that if I don’t speak about injustice and genocide, no one will do it for me rang truer than ever. If you’ve ever grappled with embodying your essence, this essay will resonate with you. Connect with Lyda on Instagram and Substack @unwrappedevolutions.

The Avoided No More anthology reminds us that we all have stories buried within us, that there’s power in sharing our truth, and, perhaps most importantly, that none of us are truly alone on this journey.

Buy your copy today on Bookshop, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon.

Come back next week for the final anthology post about Asha Unni’s essay “Being Seen.” Until then, I’m sending you all so much love.

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com

It was just last week I read something that provided the final piece of clarity I needed to move past the narrative that there’s anything wrong with the person I am at my core. This information has empowered me as I reflect on the early days of dating my ex, who fostered insecurity regarding something I couldn’t change about myself.

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Excerpt

Certain milestones defined 2017 for me. The first was my fortieth birthday in March. In April that year, I was in my kitchen, more than a thousand miles from my small hometown village in Louisiana, when my mom called and uttered the words that altered everything: “Mandy, your daddy has cancer.” Mom and Dad reassured me. “Everything will be fine, Mandy. We have to have faith.” I understood what they meant; faith is the substance of things hoped for when the evidence remains hidden. I asked the appropriate questions about the next steps. However, once the call ended, the rational adult in me took a back seat. My knees buckled, and my ill-prepared inner child emerged as I cried out, “Please, God, don’t take my daddy!”

Later on, Amanda shared, “Writing this piece was like trying to pour fifty gallons of content into a two-ounce container.” Amanda has such a gift for conveying emotions through her words, and she beautifully brings the reader into her ongoing grief journey in her essay. Connect with Amanda on Substack @storiesofamosaicmind.

The Avoided No More anthology reminds us that we all have stories buried within us, that there’s power in sharing our truth, and, perhaps most importantly, that none of us are truly alone on this journey.

Buy your copy today on Bookshop, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon.

Come back next week for a post about Lyda Michopoulou’s essay “A Cup Left on a Table.” Until then, I’m sending you all so much love.

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com

Let me back up, though.

Read more

Excerpt

On the afternoon of January 14, 2023, I spent time with a close friend at a local tea apothecary. The vibe in this particular tea bar is hard to find elsewhere: they intentionally do not offer WIFI and encourage everyone to unplug and be present. I spent the afternoon sharing how trapped I felt in my marriage. I had no idea how to move forward. At the end of our three-hour conversation, my friend looked at me and asked, “Do you believe that the universe conspires in your favor?” I paused and thought.

“I truly do not know,” I finally replied. We then got up, returned our uniquely designed teapots to the serving station and walked outside towards my friend’s car. There was a small labyrinth amongst the pine trees situated beside the car, and we stopped to take it in. As we drove away, I felt encouraged and held by my friend, though at the same time my hope was waning. The hope that things in my marriage could actually improve, the hope that the unearthing of who I have always been would require little more than a private conversation with tears falling into a cup of tea.

Becka shares pieces of her story of coming out as a late in life lesbian. What resonates with me in the excerpt above is the question her friend asked her: Do you believe that the universe conspires in your favor? On my own journey, answering this question in the affirmative and believing that yes with my whole heart changed the whole damn game! Connect with Becka on most social platforms @BeckaEppley and on Substack at beckaeppley.substack.com

The Avoided No More anthology reminds us that we all have stories buried within us, that there’s power in sharing our truth, and, perhaps most importantly, that none of us are truly alone on this journey.

Buy your copy today on Bookshop, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon.

Come back next week for a post about Amanda Conley Hines’ essay “How Grief Stole My Religion.” Until then, I’m sending you all so much love.

ALSO…

Order my latest book Coming of Age and Coming Out: Stories of Repressed and Reclaimed Sexual Desire – nickipappas.com/product-page/coming-of-age! With your purchase, you will receive a free download of the “Come Alive” guide in your inbox!

Subscribe to my website: nickipappas.com