Welcome to the Porch
Do you need anything? Water? Wine? Weed? I’ve got anything you could want, just tell me what you need.
If you already know me from my poetry, welcome. If you have no idea who I am, welcome. This is a space separate from Lyrical Logic because while that air can feel a little heavy sometimes, this air will probably feel heavy a lot. Lyrical Logic started as something for me to throw out into the world and see if something stuck. It started as a therapy project. It started as just a 26 year old girl who needed to find space to breathe.
Now, here I am. 29 years old, a completely different human from the girl who was freshly divorced and being forced to write by her therapist. I have been wrestling with this for a while, how to create this space. I want it to be perfect. I want it to feel safe no matter who you are. Because this porch isn’t just any porch. It’s a space meant for the moments when all you can do is fall apart.
The Truth About Elizabeth
Before I launched this site, I genuinely wrestled with what name to use. If you know my poetry, you know Elizabeth isn’t my real name. It’s a pen name I chose because writing the type of things I write is hard. It’s hard because I’m telling my story. The story that people in my life don’t want to think is true. And it’s so much easier for me to write it from the safety of a pen name because of the family dynamics in which I live. I’m not trying to hide or be inauthentic. I’m trying to protect myself from people who will never understand how much their actions, or inactions, hurt me. I’ve tried to have those conversations, and I always come away feeling like I’m the problem. And if I’ve learned anything in therapy, it’s that I’m not the problem.
I carry many heavy things. cPTSD, depression, anxiety, childhood trauma, relationship trauma, sexual assault, and religious trauma. This doesn’t make me special. It makes me real. It makes me human. If I’m going to be honest and open about these things, the things that we don’t want to talk about because we feel like they are too heavy to burden anyone else with, I have to write in Elizabeth’s voice. Otherwise I’ll sanitize the words, and that’s not fair to any of us.
The Vision for This Space
Please don’t read this next part and immediately close your browser tab. I’m being honest with you, but I’m going to tell you explicitly what this space is not, and I need you to hear that. Okay? Just give me a chance.
I’ve been burned by religion in the past. Specifically, the United Methodist Church. I spent years of my life chasing a place in institutional ministry because I thought my story and my call had to fit into a box. I thought I had to be perfect. Instead, I found conditional love, judgment, and leaders who told me that who I was, the entire messy and quirky me, wasn’t good enough. I’ve heard church leaders and just members of the congregation tell me to “pray about it” and that “God wouldn’t give me more than I can handle.” It’s a slap in the face. And I see the judgment by some people every time this divorced woman walks into a church.
So let me be completely clear about what this porch is not:
We aren’t going to talk about Jesus. We aren’t going to pray, quote scripture, or ask you to participate in some weird forced altar call. This space? This is the least Jesusy space you can think of. Because that’s not what I have in mind for this space. And frankly, more often then not, I’m not on speaking terms with Jesus because he’s pissed me off. And even though I might run tech at my local church, and even though I believe and I know that Jesus died on that cross for me so that I might have everlasting life, none of that matters here. My faith is my own. It’s messy, it’s real, and it’s sure as hell complicated. But it’s not for me to shove down your throat, so I won’t.
This is a place for the hurting, the broken, the confused, the lost. It’s a space where I’ll light up a joint and hand it to you and ask you to tell me what is on your heart. It is a place where I will pour you a shot of tequila and tell you it’s bullshit that you can’t catch a break. I’ll listen while you yell or hold you while you cry.
Maybe this porch will be a place where you find the strength or the courage to reignite your own faith journey, whatever that might look like. And if that happens, great! If not, great! I’m so happy for you! Reigniting someone’s faith isn’t my reason for doing this. My reason for doing this is to make sure you don’t feel alone. Ever. Because the world is a better place with you in it.
So, pull up a seat. I don’t care what you look like, who you love, or what you believe. All are welcome here on my porch. Let’s just hold space together.
Here is my promise to all of you: you don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to sign up for a newsletter, tell me your name, or even comment or share anything until you’re ready. If you want to sit quietly and read, great. Check out my “Letters to Mama” page for the full list of letters. But if you’re carrying something heavy. Something you just need to tell someone about and vent about, you can do so anonymously over on the “Submit Your Letter” page. I will read every single one of them. And I will think about them, and I will respond so that we can all navigate them together.
Take a deep breath. In four, out four. Take a seat. You aren’t alone anymore.
Welcome to the porch.