(underneath the sass, the chaos, the resonance)

Warning: Not edited for clarity. Written mid-migraine and still more true than half the stuff I’ve ever written and never published or occasionally have published.

I was asked “In 5 words, what is your Substack really about?”

Challenge, accepted, sort of .

I had to write all of this, then distill it into five words, so I thought I’d share it here (in case you were wondering too).

I tried to answer it straight. (I have to think, ponder, write, spiral, take scenic routes - quick comebacks or quick answers is not how I operate).

Then I started writing… then I spiraled then I snapped at the question (at least in my mind) then I circled back to the truth (but only after trying to sound clever—whatever that means on four hours of sleep and a migraine hangover (those are such a bitch))

It’s not a niche (I've tried "niche-ing, I'm not capable of just ONE area of curiosity).

It’s not a brand. (I'm not a brand ... I'm … It’s not… f*ck,

it’s not self-help. There’s no checklist here. No ten steps to clarity. Just a woman with too many tabs open, too many truths unspoken, and a keyboard that knows what I mean even when I don’t..

(It tried to be, once. It looked cute. It died of boredom. I don’t even know where it is now…. lost in the ever growing pile of “things” I’ve tried"…)

It’s not where I come to ...

to stop pretending I lost me in the first place.

(I wasn’t ever lost, maybe just hidden in plain sight…)

I had a conversation with a co-worker the other day that got unexpectedly deep. We were talking about everything and nothing (trauma, identity, instinct, why we hold back) and out of nowhere I said, “I’m deeper than most people ever glimpse or suspect.”

And the moment I said it, I felt it land.

The writing here? It’s not tidy. Some of it’s scribbled in the margin of a day I barely survived. Some of it showed up mid-argument with myself (yes, I argue with myself - insert eye roll here)

Hell, some of it was written through gritted teeth, edited in tears (of anger, pain, or frustration or some combination, thereof (this obviously, isn’t edited other than to add a little bit of clarity), I posted it anyway (or at least saved it .... somewhere on my hard drive, that I may accidentally find again in 3 days, 2 years, or never).

I’m a woman with scars (physical and emotional, they're the topography of my life ... lived). Some still changing. Some permanent. Some I poke just to remember I made it through.

It’s not about “healing”. I don’t "need to heal" ... heal from what exactly? (who I am because of what the past was or in spite of it? Why? Those things helped form who I am in this moment).

I'm making choices - not delving into well whatever, not holding my past mistakes, injuries, injustices …. whatever …. against who I am now

It’s about letting the chaos stay chaotic without losing the thread of who I am inside it. It’s about LIVING, on my terms now

not as some badass, bootstrapped narrative with a comeback quote, but as a part of me that sometimes looks like crying in my car and still writing, still dreaming, still living, evolving, transforming … (not for anyone, except for myself)

and still whispering and still showing up and sometimes laughing so hard I snort even when the "thing" isn’t gone yet.

It’s voice sometimes whispered, sometimes sassy (mostly internally sassy, but still sassy).

It’s ink (metaphorical, literal, and symbolically). It’s reclamation without a filter. And it’s messy as hell. I wish that felt more poetic but honestly? This is the cleanest it’s ever been.

Five words? Screw five.

Try this: Scars. Sass. Scribbles. Sovereignty. Survival. (...and maybe Whisper. Always whisper.) it took all of this and more to stumble on

"emotional sovereignty through creative expression"

This is a tiny piece of why Inked Whispers & Sass … evolved? formed? came into being? exists?

I love words, the depth, the creativity, the nuances of them, the absolute POWER of them

recognizing how I talk to myself, and how much kinder, gentler, more generous I tend to be with everyone else… and realizing that I, alone, have the power to choose to change that.

that I could

with a little bit of recognition (and sometimes a gentle nudge from others)—
I could…

well.
I could change my whole world.
reframe it.
embrace all the beautiful, chaotic pieces of me.

so Inked Whispers & Sass exists to “speak” with (not at) women who are just trying to live their lives their way, embrace their truths, shed the expectations of others, and want to learn to “listen” to all those inner voices with compassion, attention, and love while removing those defeating, crippling, critical ones.

Emberly: It’s where the mess doesn’t need a moral. The rage gets its own damn coffee mug (or t-shirt).

And the healing arc? Cute.

Try recognition.

Try I’m not broken—I’m built from aftermath.

Oh, and sass. You need sass. You need to glare at the void like, not today, bitch.