Before I Hit Record...

Deep breath.

This story I’m about to tell—it matters.

Not just because someone out there might need to hear it…
but because I need to remember why I do this.
I need to remember that these stories—mine, theirs, ours—aren’t just narratives.

They’re lifelines.

Every episode of Mental Health Rewritten begins the same way.
Not with a mic check or a sound level adjustment—
but with a breath.

And I remember:

Someone out there is listening.

Maybe for the first time.
Maybe in the middle of their own private storm.
Maybe trying to survive something they’ve never said out loud.

And maybe—just maybe—this story becomes the moment they finally feel seen.

But I also speak for those already in recovery.
Because healing isn’t linear.
Progress is rarely loud.
And the story isn’t over just because we’ve made it to the next chapter.

So before I hit record, I remind myself:

Get it right.
Tell the truth—even when it’s complicated.
Especially when it’s complicated.

Because once, someone messaged me after an episode aired.
They said:
"I didn’t know anyone else had a father who disappeared after every argument.
I didn’t know that silence could be inherited."

These aren’t just podcast episodes.
They’re mirrors.
They’re bridges.
They’re hands reaching out in the dark.

And when I hold someone else’s story in my hands, I do it with care.
With accuracy.
With reverence.
With empathy.

Because misrepresenting someone’s pain?
That’s not just a mistake—it’s a betrayal.
And I won’t do that.

This podcast isn’t about drama.
It’s about dignity.

And if, in the span of one episode,
I can offer even a small bit of understanding,
even a single moment of connection—
then I’ve done the work I set out to do.

Let this be more than a story.
Let it be a shift.
A break in the silence.
An act of love.

Let’s save a life.

🖤