Too Late Was A Lie

The next version of you doesn’t appear on a clean slate. It forms while you’re still shaking. Start anyway, and let today be part of that entrance.

Healing Thoughts now speaks in sound.
Each new letter comes with a full audio version, scored with an original soundtrack.
Free readers receive the text as always.
Paid subscribers hear the words as they were written.
And for a limited time you can save 20% off all plans by using the link below.

Your support keeps this work alive. It lets me keep building something honest. A space where the words don’t just exist, they breathe.

---

I watched other men pass me.
Better jobs. Better houses.
I told myself I missed my window.

So I made coffee,
kept quiet, and called it wisdom.
Truth is, I was scared.

I named fear “timing”
so I could keep my hands clean.
No one stopped me
but a sentence in my head.

Turns out, the door never moved.
I just wouldn’t touch the handle.

“The idea that you’re too late, too old, and there’s no point in trying holds you back more than anything else ever could.”

I used to scan rooms for proof that I was late to my own life. I’d measure myself against people who never lived my days, never carried my history, never learned safety the way I did. That comparison felt logical. It wasn’t. It was avoidance dressed as realism. Underneath it sat an old survival response. Keep your head down so no one sees you fail. When you grow up managing chaos, momentum can feel unsafe. Stillness can feel like control. The body remembers that, even when the mind writes inspirational speeches over it.

If you’re reading this and your chest tightens at the idea of starting again, notice the pattern before you argue with it. Hypervigilance tells stories that sound responsible. It predicts shame and calls it planning. That voice has kept you alive. Respect it, then test it. Regulation doesn’t mean you feel brave. It means you can stay in the room long enough for the facts to change. Breathe slow. Name what’s in the way. Age isn’t the barrier. The nervous system is looking for exits because it still thinks the past runs the place.

I practice small starts. Ten minutes with the thing I’ve avoided. One honest text I’ve been putting off. A draft I won’t judge until tomorrow. These reps give my system new data. Starting didn’t kill me. Pausing didn’t erase me. Rest wasn’t failure. And effort still counts even when no one claps. Attachment to old identities loosens when the body experiences safety while moving. That’s the repair. Not a speech, not a vow, just repetition strong enough to rewire what “danger” means.

If you want permission, take mine. Begin where your hands are. Let accuracy guide you. Are you unsafe right now, or are you activated by the past? Different problems. Different interventions. One asks for a boundary. The other asks for breath, pacing, and a first step. You don’t have to feel ready to move. You only have to be willing to stay with yourself while you do.

I’ve poured everything into this. Healing Thoughts II: 33 Poems and Meditations for Emotional Renewal is up for order now. These pages carry the deepest, sharpest work I’ve done, and I can’t wait for them to be in your hands.

What fear are you labeling as “bad timing,” and what would change if you called it fear by its real name?

If you’re peeling back wounds like this one,
my 365-Day Shadow Work Journals were made for moments like these.
They speak the same language you do. Truth before comfort.
Explore the journals →

Sprinkles of Healing Confetti:

🕊 New messages drop most weekdays. Quiet, but not gentle.
🔥 Paid subscribers keep the wounds lit long enough to be named.
📚 When the pain overflows, it becomes a book.
🧢 Healing wears well when stitched into something real.
☕ This newsletter runs on coffee and confession.
🖤 Shadow Thoughts carries the pieces too jagged for here.

If this hit a nerve, you’re not alone. Healing Thoughts is where I say the quiet parts loudly. If you’re not subscribed yet, now’s the time. It’s only getting rawer from here.

“The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens.” — Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (1903)