Alex, this is one of those posts that grabs you by the ribcage and doesn’t let go. The kind of truth that makes everything else on the internet feel like background noise. You’ve written collapse with such clarity it somehow feels like steadiness.
Offering hands instead of rent? That’s the real economy. That’s what keeps people alive when the spreadsheets stop making sense.
If I had that space, I’d let you in without hesitation. No questions, no need to explain the tired, just a soft place to land and maybe some soup that doesn’t ask much of you.
Rooting for you, for Lucy and Dora, and for the friend who (hopefully) knows what a gift it is to have someone show up with that much honesty. May you land soft and be met with the same care you’ve clearly carried for everyone else. 🫶
Alex, this is one of those posts that grabs you by the ribcage and doesn’t let go. The kind of truth that makes everything else on the internet feel like background noise. You’ve written collapse with such clarity it somehow feels like steadiness.
Offering hands instead of rent? That’s the real economy. That’s what keeps people alive when the spreadsheets stop making sense.
If I had that space, I’d let you in without hesitation. No questions, no need to explain the tired, just a soft place to land and maybe some soup that doesn’t ask much of you.
Rooting for you, for Lucy and Dora, and for the friend who (hopefully) knows what a gift it is to have someone show up with that much honesty. May you land soft and be met with the same care you’ve clearly carried for everyone else. 🫶
This held me — truly.
Like you wrote it with your hands out, not just your heart.
To be met like this… it steadies more than you know.
Soup over spreadsheets, presence over polish — yes. That’s the world I still believe in.
The one we’re building in between the noise.
Thank you for seeing not just the ache, but the offering inside it.
I’ll carry this with me — and if I ever land near your door, I’ll bring the thread and the quiet and let the soup do the rest.
With warmth,
— Alex
The tea and biscuits will also always be here 🫶And maybe a blanket. And a chair that doesn’t match but feels right.