Kat, thank you for writing this, and for letting it sit exactly where it needs to.
What you’ve named here feels very honest: Not grief as something to that needs to be solved, but grief as a landscape you’re learning how to live inside.
And, that distinction really matters.
The longing you describe — for presence, weight, interruption — carries so much love in it, and you let that love remain unmet without trying to make it noble or tidy.
The line about surviving the telling stays with me long after reading.
There’s a quiet courage in acknowledging that the act of bringing something into the light can be as heavy as what’s being carried.
This doesn’t read as closure or resolution — it reads as witness, and that feels exactly right.
As someone who was deep in my own novel (so deep that I wrote all 87,000 words in two months) I miss it so much! I'm letting family and friends read it before doing the final edit before querying and it's taking them far longer to read it🤣 I just want to see my characters again!😭
I went through so much confusion that I started a Substack less than a month ago and have posted 52 articles. Still, that hole isn't filled, and I don't think it ever will be...
This is well-written, and very real. The feeling is something that I didn't think about before writing
Your journey with writing this book is truly moving and deeply personal. It’s evident how much of yourself you poured into it, and the emotional release it brought you. The transition from being immersed in the writing process to sharing it with the world is a significant milestone, and it’s touching to hear about the feedback that reconnected you with your work. Your reflections on loss, love, and the longing for what could have been are beautifully articulated and resonate with anyone who has experienced similar emotions. Thank you for sharing your story and allowing us to witness your strength and vulnerability.
This was a deeply heavy and moving piece. Thank you for sharing my dear 🙏🏼🫂
Have you checked out @ChuckPalahniuk? He’s got some great tips for getting into your darkness through metaphor, which gives you distance from the pain by allowing you to address it indirectly. Memoir is a way to take it head-on, but if you create the right world you can filter it through the fictional lens and get closer to the roots without the pain of baring your soul to strangers to critique. It can be *You* without being “you.” It’s the secret of good fiction. We lie to tell the hardest truths.
“We lie to tell the hardest truths” really stayed with me. That distance you’re talking about is part of how I was able to write any of this at all. Thank you for sharing that.
The last few lines really hit home for me! Especially the one about family. My family expected me to pick up the pieces to be the same, just still do the things I did every day without question and most importantly to the detriment of my own self. It’s a completely new life and a completely new world. Sometimes I do have a little grief and sadness for things that have passed, and the people who left because I was no longer a use to them. But I do know that I am a much better person now than I ever was. And I am incredibly happy with that.
Thank you — what you said about being expected to pick up the pieces and keep going the same really resonates. It truly is a new world after loss. I’m glad you’ve been able to find your way in that new world, even while carrying the grief. That means a lot to hear.
Kat, thank you for writing this, and for letting it sit exactly where it needs to.
What you’ve named here feels very honest: Not grief as something to that needs to be solved, but grief as a landscape you’re learning how to live inside.
And, that distinction really matters.
The longing you describe — for presence, weight, interruption — carries so much love in it, and you let that love remain unmet without trying to make it noble or tidy.
The line about surviving the telling stays with me long after reading.
There’s a quiet courage in acknowledging that the act of bringing something into the light can be as heavy as what’s being carried.
This doesn’t read as closure or resolution — it reads as witness, and that feels exactly right.
Thank you for sharing this with us 💛
As someone who was deep in my own novel (so deep that I wrote all 87,000 words in two months) I miss it so much! I'm letting family and friends read it before doing the final edit before querying and it's taking them far longer to read it🤣 I just want to see my characters again!😭
I went through so much confusion that I started a Substack less than a month ago and have posted 52 articles. Still, that hole isn't filled, and I don't think it ever will be...
This is well-written, and very real. The feeling is something that I didn't think about before writing
what a beautiful piece! i think we always chase what we can't have and this came across here.
Your journey with writing this book is truly moving and deeply personal. It’s evident how much of yourself you poured into it, and the emotional release it brought you. The transition from being immersed in the writing process to sharing it with the world is a significant milestone, and it’s touching to hear about the feedback that reconnected you with your work. Your reflections on loss, love, and the longing for what could have been are beautifully articulated and resonate with anyone who has experienced similar emotions. Thank you for sharing your story and allowing us to witness your strength and vulnerability.
This was a deeply heavy and moving piece. Thank you for sharing my dear 🙏🏼🫂
Have you checked out @ChuckPalahniuk? He’s got some great tips for getting into your darkness through metaphor, which gives you distance from the pain by allowing you to address it indirectly. Memoir is a way to take it head-on, but if you create the right world you can filter it through the fictional lens and get closer to the roots without the pain of baring your soul to strangers to critique. It can be *You* without being “you.” It’s the secret of good fiction. We lie to tell the hardest truths.
“We lie to tell the hardest truths” really stayed with me. That distance you’re talking about is part of how I was able to write any of this at all. Thank you for sharing that.
The restraint in this essay makes the ache really land. A grief that has made a home inside your bones and now sits reverently. Beautifully done. ❤️
This is the best thing I’ve read all day, I got so emotional reading it. Thank you for sharing
Loss feels hard in many ways. Thank you for describing it perfectly.
Now, I need to read the book. Have to.
DM me your email I'll send to you if you want to read it!
Writing that comes from the heart just lands differently. This was beautiful.
Reading this I ache for you and I ache for the world that should be, but isn't. Thank you so much for sharing this.
The last few lines really hit home for me! Especially the one about family. My family expected me to pick up the pieces to be the same, just still do the things I did every day without question and most importantly to the detriment of my own self. It’s a completely new life and a completely new world. Sometimes I do have a little grief and sadness for things that have passed, and the people who left because I was no longer a use to them. But I do know that I am a much better person now than I ever was. And I am incredibly happy with that.
Thank you — what you said about being expected to pick up the pieces and keep going the same really resonates. It truly is a new world after loss. I’m glad you’ve been able to find your way in that new world, even while carrying the grief. That means a lot to hear.
Thank you for writing such a wonderful resonating piece. It’s very nice to be seen