Friendship after Survival: The courage to trust again.

Letter to Laurie

Thank you for being my friend… despite everything.

Despite the ways I sometimes pull back when things feel too close.

Despite the moments I go quiet, not because I don’t care, but because something in me remembers a time when it wasn’t safe to be seen.

Despite the parts of me that still expect things to fall apart.

Thank you for being brave enough to stay.

You and I didn’t come from simple beginnings. We didn’t learn connection in safe, steady ways. We learned to read the room. To hide what was really going on. To keep the peace. To survive.

And now here we are - with the aftermath still echoing through our lives.

In the relationships that didn’t hold. In the divorces we never planned. In the children who carry pieces of our nervous systems in their own small bodies.

In the quiet ache of “I tried my best… and it still didn’t work.”

It’s written in the way we sometimes disappear.

Or hold back. Or second-guess a kind word.

It’s there in the fear of betrayal, of being misunderstood, of being left.

It lives in our nervous systems. And yet… here we are.

Still showing up. Still trying. Still choosing connection - even when it feels like the bravest thing we’ve ever done. Shaking with nervousness when we meet for coffee.

We are not careless with people. If anything, we are too careful. Too aware of what it feels like to be hurt, to be unseen, to be replaced or forgotten.

And so we build differently. We build slowly. We build with intention. We build businesses, spaces, and conversations that feel safe - not just for others, but for ourselves too.

Here we are, healing… and creating at the same time.

And I want you to know - I see you. I see how much courage it takes for you to trust again. To open up.

To let someone witness your life.

I see the restraint it takes not to run. The strength it takes to stay. Even for a coffee.

Thank you for being patient with me…

When I take things personally. When I don’t share my wins because a part of me fears your judgement -

or worse, that you might leave if I shine too brightly.

Thank you for not turning away from the parts of me that still feel messy, unsure, or guarded.

I’m sorry for the ways my past sometimes shows up between us. For the old tracks and triggers that still live in my body. For the moments where my nervous system speaks louder than my heart.

And thank you… for seeing past it.

Because you understand. Because you get it.

Because you’ve walked a road that looks a lot like mine.

This kind of friendship - the kind built not on perfection, but on understanding - is rare, sacred.

So here we are… two people who didn’t learn connection the easy way, learning it now - slowly, imperfectly, but truthfully.

And I am so grateful that I get to do that with you.

With love, me.