I can't fully describe the feeling of being named in this. The depth of my gratitude is matched only by the joy I feel watching your growth here and the tears that burn hot in my eyes every time you speak to me without knowing you are speaking. There are few things in 2025 that I am even as thankful for as the gift of finding you. Thank you for every word you have written, and the way those words have opened me.
Knowing the words met you with that kind of force and tenderness stays with me. You’ve been part of the bloodstream of this work from early on, whether you knew it or not. Hearing how it opened you the way you describe means more than I can put into language right now. What I do know is this: what you experienced reads to me as a reflection of the quiet work you’ve been doing on yourself, and the way you continue to show up for it.
Thank you for trusting me with that truth. I’m holding it with care. 🤎
This articulates something I’ve been feeling but hadn’t yet named — that the work doesn’t end on the page because it was never meant to.
The idea of language being used rather than remembered feels exactly right: altered by bodies, decisions, refusals. What you write here about standing, cost, and visibility lands deeply.
Thank you for holding the work — and the people around it — with this kind of seriousness and care.
What you wrote feels like an extension of the work itself.
You met it from inside the same understanding. Knowing the work would live beyond the page, the way you named how language keeps moving through bodies, decisions, refusals, and the cost of standing felt like shared ground rather than discovery.
Your presence, and the way you unfold yourself, echoes that same movement. You witness language as it passes from one person to another. That kind of recognition is rare, and that care is what makes it unstoppable.
Thank you for naming it to us. That feels right. This never felt like a solo act, even when I was writing alone. I’m grateful to be standing in that shared ground with you. 🤎
I can't fully describe the feeling of being named in this. The depth of my gratitude is matched only by the joy I feel watching your growth here and the tears that burn hot in my eyes every time you speak to me without knowing you are speaking. There are few things in 2025 that I am even as thankful for as the gift of finding you. Thank you for every word you have written, and the way those words have opened me.
I’m sitting with what you wrote.
Knowing the words met you with that kind of force and tenderness stays with me. You’ve been part of the bloodstream of this work from early on, whether you knew it or not. Hearing how it opened you the way you describe means more than I can put into language right now. What I do know is this: what you experienced reads to me as a reflection of the quiet work you’ve been doing on yourself, and the way you continue to show up for it.
Thank you for trusting me with that truth. I’m holding it with care. 🤎
This articulates something I’ve been feeling but hadn’t yet named — that the work doesn’t end on the page because it was never meant to.
The idea of language being used rather than remembered feels exactly right: altered by bodies, decisions, refusals. What you write here about standing, cost, and visibility lands deeply.
Thank you for holding the work — and the people around it — with this kind of seriousness and care.
What you wrote feels like an extension of the work itself.
You met it from inside the same understanding. Knowing the work would live beyond the page, the way you named how language keeps moving through bodies, decisions, refusals, and the cost of standing felt like shared ground rather than discovery.
Your presence, and the way you unfold yourself, echoes that same movement. You witness language as it passes from one person to another. That kind of recognition is rare, and that care is what makes it unstoppable.
So thank you!
Bravo. Bravo to you, to me, to us. 💛💛💐
Thank you for naming it to us. That feels right. This never felt like a solo act, even when I was writing alone. I’m grateful to be standing in that shared ground with you. 🤎
This stayed with me for the same reason your essays use to do: your writing trusts presence over outcome. Thats rare and precious, Taylor.
Thank you for including me in this exchange,
and for holding what emerged with such care and accuracy.