I thought this week I had nothing to add by sending a newsletter. No problem. I’d skip it.

But then I asked AI for some writing prompts, and to my surprise and delight, what started as “myth + origin story” became “mouth + origin story.”

A simple misspelling took me somewhere surprisingly personal.

I come from a mouth (and a history) that taught two things at once, which can happen when your history involves walking the divide. In one place, my mouth was taught to speak the truth, no matter the consequences. In the other, it was taught to think before speaking—so I wouldn’t sound foolish or get things wrong.

I guess both have their merits.

Growing up, the mouth was also a tool for survival. I listened to my father tell stories that blurred the hard edges of reality. Physically, I inherited his crooked teeth, but I’d like to say I also inherited his smile.

He had the best smile.

As an adult, I still notice myself holding back my voice sometimes because I don’t want to get things wrong. Put me in a room full of professionals and I’m rarely the first person to offer my opinion—unless it’s a topic I know I’m an expert on.

And in dire circumstances, I can still tell stories that blur reality a little for survival.

Someday I’ll tell you one of those stories.

Maybe living in the divide had some merit after all.

Because the rad thing about growing up is realizing that while our histories shape us, we eventually get some choice about what we do with what we inherited.

The question I’ve always been obsessed with is, “Where did I come from?”

And the deeper I go into my personal history—past the family tree, past the names and titles given at birth—the bigger that question gets.

Sometimes I think about the night sky and the seemingly impossible number of stars and remember that before any of us had roles to play or expectations to live up to, we came from something ancient, vast, and wild.

And somehow, all of that history ends up here—in a body, in a voice, in a mouth deciding what to say and what to keep quiet.

I’m still learning to use mine.

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📝 Your Writing Bravely™ Prompt

Set a timer for 10 minutes and begin with:

What did your history teach you to do with your voice? What are you choosing to do with it now?

Hit reply and tell me. I read every response.

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A quick Life Cycles note:

In two weeks, I’ll be presenting with a colleague on therapist parts in Internal Family Systems (IFS)—including what happens when our own impatience, urgency, fixing, and other parts enter the therapy room. I’m especially interested in what changes when the same clinical intervention comes from Self versus from a part.

And as always, if you know someone looking for a therapist who works with trauma, clinical hypnosis, neurodivergence, or ketamine integration, referrals are always welcome.

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Want more writing prompts? Download a free sample of the Writing Through Grief and Loss Journal to get IFS journal prompts.

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With courage and a little metaphysics,

Adina

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