about
I’m Stacy. I sit with the ones who’ve made coherence out of chaos and connection out of caretaking. Who translate themselves before they’re even asked. Not because they’re afraid of the truth. But because there was never a place to live inside it.
cost
it
I spent years perfecting the art of being known just enough to be left alone. You get good at it, really. Saying just enough, nodding in the right places, offering presence that makes people feel heard while keeping yourself out of reach. It’s a quiet kind of loneliness. Familiar. The kind that makes you wonder if you’re truly invisible or if you’ve just made yourself that way. And I learned the hard way; you can’t outthink emptiness. You can only turn toward it.
Unseen Grace
We meet in the rubble, where the scaffolding of your survival finally gives. Where you’re not quite who you were, but not yet who you’ll be. We don’t excavate for catharsis. We retrieve what you abandoned just to keep going. Together, we walk through the wreckage: the false calm that kept you praised, the control you mistook for clarity, the loneliness you called strength. Not because you’re broken. But because some part of you is still buried…intact, waiting. This isn’t passive work. The remember comes with choosing. Again + again. This is where you remember your soul and carry it forward.
Becoming What You Once Buried
Disappearing isn’t the same as being safe. You’ve made a life of being watchable, never needy, never too much. People like you. They just don’t know you. And somewhere along the way, you stopped asking for more. You stopped thinking you could.
Even your silence performed
silence
Losing yourself doesn’t happen all at once. It’s the slow fade. Balance turns into erasure. Quiet concessions. Swallowed words. Until one day, you don’t recognize the life you built. You call it tired. But it’s ache. The kind that sleep can’t fix, presence doesn’t soothe. You’re still here…but barely. And you don’t know when you start slipping.
Held, Finally…By you.
Some of us learned early how to be easy to carry: weightless, silent, adaptable. We became the kind who never need saving, because we never slip far enough to be caught. I know, because I was one of them. I walked around with the buried bones of a self I never got to be, bones that still held the blueprint of someone who wanted more. But listen: this doesn’t have to be the end. Nor does it have to be a solo effort. Unless you let it be.
Not every ache gets a name. Not every moment offers a mirror. But this one does, especially the part you can’t unhear anymore. If you’re still here, it’s not hesitation. It’s recognition. You could wait another year. Keep performing. But what if this is the moment that doesn’t circle back? So take the next step. Let this be the move life didn’t have to make for you.
Living on the edges of your own damn life?
