Ashes in the Shape of a Flag

I used to really look forward to posting on social media for Independence Day. I had this whole collection of humorous and over-the-top graphics I liked to share as a way of reminding people to make room for fun at some point in their day. But this year? All I had was a Midjourney render I churned out last night, and:

"Can you still hear me?"

"Yes. Now rise."

As you can see by the date stamp on this post, it's July 4th, 2025. Trump's Big Pile of Fascist Bullshit Big Beautiful Bill passed yesterday, and (like a lot of people), I'm more than a little numb about it, so there's not much to celebrate today. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. 

I'm not proud of my country anymore. In fact, I'm genuinely embarrassed by what it's become over the years.

But we're going to take a half-day from work today, order some pizzas, and light the fire pit as planned tonight, regardless. Not because I believe in the flag or feel like celebrating America today. Certainly not because I feel safe or because I think this country is what it says it is. 

But because I need to remember I’m still here. Still me. Still watching. Still speaking. And maybe someone somewhere is still listening.

As my render for today very deliberately suggests, America, for a lot of us, feels hollow now and has for quite some time. What's left is the husk of something powerful, something once full of promise. But inside? Just wind and ghosts. 

I hope better days are coming eventually, but truth be told, I expect things to get a lot worse before they start getting better. In the meantime, all I can do is whatever I can to protect myself, protect the people I love, and be one of the ones who helps however I can.

Normal Is a Lie: Choose Yourself Instead

Life's taught me a lot of hard lessons over the years, but in my case, one of the most important ones was also one of the hardest to learn. It's that people are allowed to be disabled and to have limits. And they shouldn't feel the need to put themselves in the hospital trying to prove otherwise.

I spent an embarrassingly large chunk of my life gaslighting myself –– about my autism, my anxiety, my agoraphobia, my occasional run-ins with depression –– because that’s what I was taught to do growing up. My parents didn't "believe" in disability, especially anything mental. They thought the only thing worse than struggling with your internal wiring, brain chemistry, or mental health was admitting that you were. 

And the absolute queen mother of all cardinal sins? Expecting others to help you or otherwise reasonably accommodate you because of a disability, documented or otherwise. 

So, when I’d reach a breaking point — mentally, physically, emotionally — I didn’t rest. I didn’t ask for help. Instead, I doubled down and smiled harder. I forced myself to push through, assuring myself that everyone goes through this. Then I'd fall into a depression (sometimes complete with suicidal ideation) when I couldn’t “just get over it” or magically keep up with everyone else.

But the system applauded. Friends nodded approvingly, telling me I was “so strong” and so “inspiring.” And as long as none of the cracks were showing on the surface, making them look bad, my family approved, as well. Meanwhile, I was falling apart. Quietly, invisibly, and possibly even permanently.

And the worst part of it all was that I thought I was doing something noble –– the "right" thing. I thought keeping myself in a perpetual state of self-destruction was proof that I was tough and capable. That I had value. It took me way too long to understand what was truly happening to me underneath, and I don’t want that for you.

So let’s unpack a few things.

1. Disability isn't a character flaw

Disability — whether it’s physical, mental, neurological, or a complex cocktail of all three — isn’t a personality defect. It’s not a failure of willpower, a failure to try harder, or a sign you’re “less than.” It’s a condition, it's real, and it definitely shapes how you move through the world (sometimes drastically). Trying to pretend it doesn’t exist won’t make it disappear. If anything, it makes it worse, especially over time.

This world is built strictly for people who fit into a very specific box when it comes to functionality. If you don't fit comfortably inside that box, and you won't, the system doesn't adjust to make room for you. It tells you to contort yourself and force yourself to fit instead. It will demand that you hustle harder, be more positive, and “not let it hold you back.” 

It's up to you to advocate for and accommodate yourself however you can.

And accommodating yourself is not the same thing as giving up. It’s how you survive and stay upright while living within a system that was never designed with you in mind. And, in many cases, it’s the only way you’ll have enough energy left to actually live, instead of just perform.

The Grace of Being Unimportant

Once upon a time, I thought I wanted to be important (and simply assumed I would be one day). Not necessarily "red carpet important," but book deal important. Someone-mentions-you-in-an-essay important. 

I thought being seen meant being validated, and being validated would mean I'd finally feel real –– something I've struggled with my whole life.

Now I somehow find myself craving the opposite. The smallness, the obscurity, and the holy invisibility of a life lived just for you, maybe a few tomato plants, and a couple of dark-eyed juncos willing to bear witness without judgment. In fact, "unimportant" might be the most freeing, spiritual, and quietly powerful thing I’ve ever allowed myself to be.

So, if you’ve ever whispered a spell no one heard, made something beautiful that never left your hard drive, or planted something just to see it grow, you already know this. Welcome. You’re not alone.

The Pressure to Matter (Loudly)

Let’s be honest. These days, we live in a world where everyone’s supposed to be building a brand. Every last one of us is supposed to have (and want) an audience, a content strategy, and at least one platform where we’re semi-viral or absolutely killing ourselves trying. 

Even spiritual growth gets pulled into this vortex. Your tarot pull better be Instagram-worthy. Your altar had better be aesthetic. Your journal entries? Possibly one day publishable. Everything becomes potential content.

It’s exhausting. 

And worse, it makes you start to feel like even your private moments aren’t valuable unless someone claps for them. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but despite how it probably feels most of the time, you don’t need claps and likes. You need peace and presence. You need the moss that grows on your soul when you finally take a moment to be still.

What Obscurity Gave Me

Getting older has naturally meant slowing down quite a bit. It's also meant making better choices about where I spend my energy and realizing that the real currency in life is peace. Eventually, I realized I was no longer really interested in chasing importance anymore, and some really strange and beautiful things started happening.

I started enjoying my own company again. I remembered how much I love writing things just to see the words pour onto the page. I lit candles for spirits who never asked me to post about them. I grew a garden that I never really photographed, but walked through many mornings while listening to music. I created without pressure, and I made a connection to something larger than me without needing it to be capital-S Special.

Offerings to the World, Big and Small

As you may have gathered, I've kind of been having a rough go of things lately. A lot's been going on –– at home, at work, with my entire sense of self (for all sorts of reasons). I felt like I needed a reset today, and I thankfully had some time for one after dinner.

I recently scored a cute little set of oracle decks based on the Wheel of the Year, one for each of the seasonal sabbats, so I took a moment after dinner to go through them all. And since we just had Litha and are now officially moving toward Lammas, I spent a little extra time with the Lammas deck.

I also decided to pull a card (Community Service) and free-blog a bit about whatever it brought to mind. That's how I found myself thinking about some of the ways I've been trying to give back, put more out there, and be more generous lately. 

On the Offerings I've Already Made

I’ve always believed offerings come in many forms. A quietly written blog post. A pinch of salt in a glass of water. A meaningful moment of presence with someone you love. Even saying, “I’m still here,” when the world goes quiet and doesn't necessarily seem like it's listening. That’s an offering, too.

If you know me at all or are even somewhat familiar with my content, then you know what a private person I can be. Yes, I share, but only on my own terms and only in the quiet ways that make sense to me. But I've realized that not all service is loud. Not all community is wide or super-public. That doesn't make it count any less.

Some of the offerings on my mind right now:

• I've been working hard to write for myself more often and actually share what I produce. I've been especially focused on helping people figure things out and reminding them that they're not alone in anything they might be going through.
• I post a lot of my AI-assisted and digital images on social media these days. I'm never going to be the type of artist who likes to spell things out, but I put energy and meaning into everything I make regardless.
• I've been holding space for others when I can, especially for the people who mean the most. People like Seth. And people like me.
• I don't talk a ton about spirituality here, but I've been exploring all sorts of ways to connect with the universe more. I've also been communing with and adding to my spirit team, one set of feathery (or leathery) wings at a time.

Some of my offerings have been very public. Others, not so much. Quite a few have occupied some liminal space between the two. That will probably continue for quite some time to come.

Shifting My Attention Toward Lammas

Lammas (August 1st) is the first harvest, and with it comes a question. What do you have to give? Not in the way the world usually asks, and not measured in productivity or performance, either. It can be something as simple as the truth of what’s currently ripening in you, and whether you’re willing to share a slice or two.

Right now, I'm revisiting and revising some of the things I believe about myself. I'm asking myself why that label or this mindset. I'm taking long, hard looks at difficult truths that have been right in front of me my whole life and sitting with what I find. 

I'm already sharing little slices of some of these truths –– trying them out to see how they feel and how well they fit. I've also decided to start therapy after Friday's panic attack, so I have my first appointment with the first therapist I'll be vetting tomorrow afternoon. I'm nervous but excited, too.

Continuing to Explore the Concept of Community

I've been introverted my entire life. I'm a loner, and that's the way I like it. I am extremely selective as far as who I allow to get close to me, and it takes me a long time to get there with anyone in particular. And I've been away from my public writing life for a while, so there aren't exactly crowds waiting outside the gates for their next chance to connect with me right now.

But maybe that's perfect. It gives me a chance to keep growing some of these projects into creative trees that may actually bear fruit one day, without people paying too much attention when I fumble the ball. 

So, this season, I want to keep offering what I can. A story here. A card pull there. A moment of softness when I’m tempted to retreat. Some of it will be public. Some of it will be secret. All of it will be sacred.

When You Thought You Could Handle It (But Couldn't)

There are moments in life when you really think you’ve finally got it. You’re managing your obligations, you’ve built coping mechanisms that work for you, and you’ve certainly been through worse, so surely, you can handle this, too. 

Until something makes you realize you've just hit a point where you truly can't handle one more thing. 

It’s a deeply uncomfortable realization, especially for people who pride themselves on being resilient. But it's important to realize these moments don’t mean you’ve failed. They mean you’ve hit a hard limit that you should think twice about pushing past.

And I'm realizing limits aren't necessarily weaknesses, the way I was raised to think. They're information you can use to help yourself... if you choose to treat them that way.

The Moment Something Cracks

Sometimes the breaking point sneaks up on you. It’s not always the “big” crisis you expect. Sometimes it's something as mundane as an extra-tight deadline, a phone call, or some bad news you didn't expect.

For me, it was a jury summons. Something that would be a minor annoyance to most people.

I don't talk about it much, but I've suffered from anxiety and occasional panic attacks my entire life. I'm aware of some of my worst triggers and do my best to avoid or temper them. Others, I'm not as aware of, and they wind up sneaking up on me. Today, I found out the idea of having to show up and report for jury duty in person is apparently one of them.

I've received summonses before, but I've always been excused on check-in and never had to report in person. But this time was different. Instead of seeing that I was excused like usual, I saw that I'd be expected to report in person for the first time ever in my life by 9:30 Monday morning. 

I'd have to figure out how I'd get someplace half an hour away without private transportation. I'd have to spend my weekend front-loading my work week to prepare for the possibility of being seated on a jury. I'd have to basically not go to sleep Sunday night, because 9 AM for me is basically like 4 AM for someone else. And I'd have to do all this on the heels of a solid two months of non-stop stressful events and work overload instead of enjoying a badly needed rest.

And that's when it started happening.