Humanity
(Part 1) To the Man I Was at 19: A Letter from You - 12 Years Wiser
Hey, You don’t realize it now, but the way you feel everything so strongly is not a flaw. It is proof that your heart works exactly as it should. You care deeply, you hurt deeply, and you see the world through empathy before logic. That is not weakness. It is the foundation of the man you will become.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcastabout a year ago in Confessions
Splenda Daddy: How Synthetic Men Starve the Divine Feminine
Let’s talk about “Splenda Daddy.” You know the type: always talking about women being gold diggers, because apparently a woman’s highest calling is supporting a man who can’t even support himself. Spoiler alert: I’ve met a few of these in my lifetime – Dad included. Ex-husband included. And yes, it’s exactly as tragic and absurd as it sounds.
By THE HONED CRONEabout a year ago in Confessions
Love Beyond the Prison Walls
When Andrea fell in love with Alejo — a man serving 15 years behind bars — everyone called her foolish. But love doesn’t follow rules. It defies bars, silence, and judgment. This is a story of courage, forgiveness, and the power of believing in second chances.
By hamad khanabout a year ago in Confessions
8 Signs It’s More Than Love — It’s a Cosmic Connection
Love can be transformative, but some connections go far beyond ordinary romance. They feel magnetic, fated, and undeniably profound. When you meet someone who shifts your energy, challenges your growth, and awakens something ancient in your soul, you might be experiencing a cosmic connection. It’s more than chemistry, more than infatuation—it’s as if the universe itself conspired to bring you together.
By SATPOWERabout a year ago in Confessions
5 Signs the Universe Wants You and Someone to Be Together
There are moments in life when it feels like the universe is trying to tell you something — quietly nudging you in a direction, sending little signs that whisper, “Pay attention.” Sometimes, that message is about love. You meet someone, and despite distance, timing, or logic, something keeps pulling you back together.
By SATPOWERabout a year ago in Confessions
4 Signs You’ve Found Someone Your Soul Instantly Recognizes
There are moments in life that feel like destiny has quietly stepped into the room. You meet someone — maybe in the most unexpected place — and in an instant, something clicks. You can’t explain it logically. It’s not just attraction, not just admiration. It feels like recognition. Like your soul has just remembered someone it knew long before this lifetime.
By SATPOWERabout a year ago in Confessions
What if You’re the Reason Nothing is changing?
Fortunately or unfortunately, we as individuals always feel responsible for our success or failure. Society tends to push such an individualistic mindset where we have to believe that everything depends on us 100% even when we know this not to be the case. Certainly this helps in terms of accountability but also comes with the downside of us always relying on ourselves even when that is counterproductive. There are instances where relying just on your own strength and wisdom isn’t enough, you need others to chyme in else you have no winning chance. Yet even when we recognize this, we still find ourselves doing everything.
By real Jemaabout a year ago in Confessions
what i'll never get to say. Top Story - October 2025.
i never exaggerated. i have trauma about telling my truth and being called a liar so we're gonna start here. every. single. thing. i told you happened, happened. some happened this year, last year, earlier. i told you that, too. but it all happened the way i said it did.
By Maia Gadwall the metAlchemistabout a year ago in Confessions
confessions of a madwoman
for about three months, i forgot how to write. i couldn't draw or do much of anything creative but nothing terrified me on such an existential level as forgetting how to write. see, i had a condition called serotonin syndrome, an artificial build-up of the happiness chemical in my brain and it almost killed me. no joke, look it up. that particular side effect (of a cocktail of medications including a migraine preventative that was the last to be replaced) is a mortality risk and a half and i was grappling with the consequences of it at the same time as an identity crisis caused in part by the only viable solution to serotonin syndrome: serotonergic cessation. no serotonin aids for weeks. around that time i started having seizures whenever i tried to engage my imagination. it was hell. it still hurts a little to wrench the words from my subconscious to the surface and i'm twitching a bit because of it, but i'm afraid if i don't start writing again i'll never get back into the habit and this year has cost me so much already. i lost my mind, my career, my identity, my libido, possibly my marriage, definitely my sense of safety, and at least one extremely good friend whose loss i'm not allowed to grieve except at my therapist and buried in the lines of prose i scream into the void. i am profoundly alone and simultaneously surrounded by people who love me and it is the most surreal experience of my life. i'm in the middle of a full-blown PTSD resurgence, blending childhood and adult traumas together into a nightmarish hellscape that overlaps reality like a superimposed photograph all. the. time. and i'm having some kind of midlife crisis regarding my spirituality but lack of religious belief that led me to start a cult (which i will definitely be linking to when i finish writing this because shameless self promotion is the modus operandi). but in my defense the model is terribly unprofitable because the point is to crowd-source the epiphany to the masses, which means free access to all. the most important bits of the philosophy are completely free, from the playlist augury (which you can use to listen to the will of the universe once you tune it to your channel, so to speak) to the three mantras (which guide everyday decisions in the moment) to the twelve principles (which guide overall values and morals). they play off each other to create an implication of further values, but lack the strict methodical proscription of religious dogma. alchemy doesn't care how you get there, or even what you call it. all that matters is that you serve the equilibrium, the balance of the universe, the source of the energy, or your God by doing good things that adhere to the principles and live according to the mantras. if you don't want to use the playlist augury, you don't have to. be hyperpresent in your own body and do something that feels good while you think about who you are and what your place is in the world. mine is behind a screen, ranting like a crazy person (because I am a crazy person) about my nervous breakdown, my new cult, my impending bankruptcy, my new name, my rock bottom, my activist art that no one buys (but they should, since i don't even get a piece of some of them, so there will be another link here), my marriage, my mother... pretty much anything. so when i forgot how to write, i've never been so scared of anything in my life.
By Maia Gadwall the metAlchemistabout a year ago in Confessions
The Mask I Wore at Home
The Mask I Wore at Home By Abdul Muhammad On screen, I was the picture of happiness. “Good morning, everyone!” I’d chirp into the camera, hair tied neatly, kitchen bathed in sunlight. Behind me, breakfast sizzled and coffee steamed. My followers would flood the comments with hearts and praise — “Couple goals!”, “You’re glowing, girl!”, “Teach me how to be this happy!” And for a few seconds, I’d almost believe them. When the camera light turned red, I became someone else. The smile would slide off, my shoulders would drop, and silence would fill the room like smoke. My husband, Adam, never appeared in those videos. People thought it was because he was camera shy. I used to say, “He likes to stay behind the scenes.” What I didn’t say was that he barely looked at me anymore, let alone wanted to be seen beside me. It wasn’t always like this. When we first married, he was my world — attentive, funny, warm. We’d stay up late talking about silly things, like which cereal mascot was the most untrustworthy or what we’d name our future dog. He used to call me “Sunshine,” and every time he said it, I felt like I truly was. But over time, something shifted. Maybe it was the endless work stress, or maybe love simply got tired. Conversations grew shorter, smiles rarer. He began spending more time in his office, and I started spending more time trying to pretend everything was fine. That’s when I began filming. At first, the videos were just a distraction — little morning vlogs to fill the quiet. Then one of them went viral: “Morning Routines with Grace.” People loved the way I folded napkins into hearts, the way I kissed the air toward where Adam should’ve been sitting. They said I was “the wife everyone wanted to be.” I liked how that felt. For a few minutes each day, I wasn’t lonely. I was admired. Seen. But pretending is heavy work. Behind the edits and soft filters, I was unraveling. I’d sit in our spotless living room at night, surrounded by perfection — fresh flowers, glowing candles, everything color-coordinated — and feel utterly empty. Sometimes I’d scroll through my own feed and think, Who is she? That woman laughing in the sunshine — she’s not me. One night, after posting a video titled “Five Secrets to a Happy Marriage”, I sat on the kitchen floor and cried until my throat burned. The irony was too cruel. The video had already hit 10,000 views by morning. When I tried to talk to Adam about it, he just sighed. “Grace, you’re overthinking again. You’re making money from this, right? Isn’t that enough?” I nodded, but inside I was screaming. No, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t want applause from strangers. I wanted him — his attention, his warmth, his laughter. But our love had turned into a performance where only one of us was still acting. Weeks passed. The mask grew heavier. Then came the morning I couldn’t wear it anymore. I’d set up my tripod as usual, the sunlight soft and golden across the kitchen tiles. I pressed “record,” and my practiced smile appeared — automatic, empty. But as I began to speak, my voice broke. “Good morning,” I whispered, then stopped. The silence felt too honest. I stared into the lens — into the tiny glass eye that had watched every version of me — and something in me cracked. “I’m tired,” I said. “I don’t even know who I’m talking to anymore.” The words poured out — about the loneliness, the distance, the way pretending had become my prison. I talked for ten minutes straight, crying, confessing, breathing. When I finished, I didn’t edit or filter it. I didn’t even rewatch it. I just posted it. Then I turned off my phone. For hours, I sat by the window, terrified. I imagined the backlash — people unfollowing, mocking, telling me I was ungrateful or dramatic. But when I finally checked, something unexpected had happened. There were thousands of comments. Women writing, “I feel the same.” Others saying, “Thank you for saying it out loud.” Some just sent hearts or quiet messages of support. That day, my mask shattered — not just online, but inside me. When Adam came home that night, he looked uncomfortable. “You posted that?” he asked. “Everyone’s talking about it.” “Yes,” I said. “I did.” He rubbed his forehead. “You shouldn’t have aired private things.” “They weren’t private,” I said softly. “They were invisible.” He didn’t reply. For the first time, I didn’t rush to fill the silence. I let it stay between us — sharp, necessary, true. That night, I slept without makeup, without guilt, without pretending. For once, I wasn’t Sunshine or Grace-the-wife or the cheerful influencer. I was just me — messy, tired, real. The next morning, I woke up before dawn. I walked out to the porch with a blanket and a cup of tea. The sky was gray, streaked with pink. I watched the world wake up and felt something I hadn’t felt in years — peace. I still make videos now, but they’re different. Some days I talk about mental health, some days about silence, and some days I film the sunrise with no words at all. The followers stayed — not for the perfection, but for the honesty. Adam and I still share a house, but we’re learning to speak again — awkwardly, honestly. It’s not the fairy tale people imagined, but it’s real. And that’s enough. Sometimes I get messages from women saying, “You gave me courage to stop pretending.” I always reply, “You already had it. You just had to see yourself without the mask.” Because that’s what I learned, too. Happiness isn’t a smile for the camera. It’s the quiet, unfiltered moment when you look at yourself — tired, flawed, and still standing — and think, I’m enough. And for the first time in years, I truly believe it.
By Abdul Muhammad about a year ago in Confessions
