recovery community

The brain does weird things when you deprive it of food.

And I don’t mean just calorically. Even if you’re eating 2000, 3000 calories a day in recovery, if they’re all safe, you’re still going to be obsessed with food and what you “can’t” have.

(AKA a friendly reminder to challenge yourself today.)

Inspired Healing

A little bottle to focus on a general healing and well being of a person.


  • Sea Salt
  • Lavender
  • Rosemary
  • Sage
  • Bay
  • Mugwort
  • Cinnamon
  • Sandalwood Oil
  • Pink Candle

Salt for purification, to lay a clean foundation

Lavender to inspire peace from any pain or discomfort

Rosemary to bring a feeling of youth again

Sage for inspiring long life

Bay and Mugwort to give strength during the healing process

Cinnamon to encourage fast healing and recovery

Sandalwood oil for success and healing

Pink candle for wax seal to inspire healing and positive thoughts


The first incarnation of this bottle was a loose incense to burn on a charcoal disk. It originally just didn’t have salt. It was made for my father, who had a problem with his heart and was having trouble with day to day activities. 

You could forgo a seal and choose to burn the mixture on a charcoal disc, it’s up to you. 

I ended up using pink salt for aesthetic again at the top. A kind of bookend to the intention to purify the body. 

shoutout to ppl with unconventional trauma

who lived through tense situations where they were terrified, who’s fear was programmed into them by the people around them, who were mistreated, lied to, and manipulated, who lived in environments that made them feel unsafe, who had their food, safety, and support system messed with, who were overexposed to an unsafe world, who’s trauma was the result of other disorders.

your trauma is valid, even if you were never hit or assaulted. even if people deny you went through emotional abuse. even if you feel you have no place in the trauma recovery community because no one is like you. you matter.

Note to Self a Year Ago or Upon Waking up in the ER Post-Overdose, You Will Need Some New Wishes

                             There are years that ask questions
and years that answer.
                                                            —Zora Neale Hurston



It is possible to be addicted to wanting to die: this is your
diagnosis, more or less—not an alcoholic like half your family, not a
heroin addict or gambler like your uncles, but a death-wish addict.
Remember this: after you crushed and swallowed the bottle of Lamictal,
after the vomiting started, after you tried to stand and failed, you
screamed like a banshee against the numbness overtaking you. You
screamed for help, for life. There will always be a part of you that
wants to survive that is smarter than the part of you that doesn’t.
It’s okay to feel like a wreck today. To curse and bless the
world—your body—that has kept you. To argue with hospital staff
members who insist you stay in the psych ward. Say you can’t miss
work. Say you don’t have the money or time. Say you didn’t mean it,
that it was impulsive, a mistake. It’s okay to clutch the small
stuffed dog your best friend has brought harder than you’ve clutched
anything since childhood. Say your body feels like a thousand
hangovers. Say you can’t eat anything but the canned fruit and water.
Refuse to get out of bed for group therapy. Out of some weird magic of
the universe, you will have plenty of days to do the work you so
desperately need to do, to learn new answers to voice inside you that
says you are unworthy of life.

I have a story for you that you won’t believe: a year from now, the
sky will start to not wake up in time for your alarm clock and you
still won’t quite know if you want to be a professor or not and you
will be a little short for cash and you will break a kind man’s heart
and feel a little like a villain and you will live alone and there
will be a magnificent sweetness to the way you say yes to simple
things, a dinner date at Saigon Kitchen, pumpkin carving with friends
you haven’t even met yet, meetings with students about comma rules or
Virginia Woolf, a new neighbor who laughs with his whole body, a woman
you can’t stop kissing, eating nine kinds of pie. There
will be a morning drinking coffee on a lover’s porch where you’ll
think, This is happiness. There will be a night arguing kindly with
friends until 4 am about language politics over gin-and-tonics and
fried rice and you’ll think, This is happiness. And there will be
anxiety attacks before teaching. A man who follows you home from a bar
and frightens you out of your body for weeks. An ex-roommate who hurts
you in ways you didn’t know you could be hurt. There will be weeks
when you eat nothing but delivery, buy new underwear instead of doing
laundry, sleep in your day clothes, shower so many times a day that
your skin starts to peel. And there will be days (many) that you think
of killing yourself and don’t. What I am trying to say is that getting
over this suicide won’t be easy, but some days it might be beautiful.
What I am trying to say is that no matter how impossible recovery
seems, there’s a life that still wants you in it. What I’m trying to
say is stay here with me.

Love,

Stevie

We talk about psychology as a “soft” science. The stigma around going to therapy or taking medications persists. Let me tell you, I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for my therapist. They aren’t just some professional you see every week to torture you, they become your partner in crime. Running right beside you as you face your fears. I could not be more blessed.

This is your Sunday night reminder that you can handle what’s coming at you tomorrow morning and every morning after that.

This is your Sunday night reminder that what you can’t handle, you’re able to ask someone else to help you with and that none of us are in this alone.

This is your Sunday night reminder that you matter and that you’re more valuable than you could ever try to figure out.

“But this I call to my mind, and therefore I have hope.” - Lamentations 3:21 (ESV)