There is nobody to tell
Write to me.
Not a contact form. Not a chatbot. You write, and I write back.
There is a particular kind of alone that comes with this.
Everyone has heard the headline. Your sister knows. Your friends know. And still there is nobody you can say the actual thing to — the 3 a.m. thing, the thing you would never say out loud because it sounds unhinged or ungrateful or too much.
You can say it here.
Tell me where you are. Tell me the part you haven't said to anyone. Ask me the question you're embarrassed to ask. There's no right way to write it and there's no minimum. One line is a letter.
What happens next
I read every letter myself. Nobody else sees it.
I write back — not a template, not an automated sequence. An actual reply from someone who has sat where you're sitting.
It usually takes me a few days. Sometimes a week, if a lot of women write at once. I'd rather be slow and mean it than fast and not.
What I can and can't do
I can tell you what is probably happening to you, whether what you're feeling is normal, what helped me, and what I'd be thinking about if I were where you are.
I am not your therapist and I cannot be. I am a certified Life Transition Coach. If what you need is clinical help or legal advice, I'll say so and point you toward it. That isn't me brushing you off — it's me being useful.
And if tonight is worse than that: if you're in crisis or thinking about harming yourself, please don't wait for my reply. Call or text 9-8-8 in Canada — the Suicide Crisis Helpline — any hour, any day. Nothing here is a substitute for that call.
I started this because there were things I did not know where to put either.
So if there is something you need to say...
say it.
It does not have to be polished.
It does not even to completely make sense yet.
I’ll read it.
That feels much closer to you than:
“Write now, badly, at 3 a.m., with no punctuation.”