Dear Diary #13
Saving Men, Seeing Ghosts – I need to meet Chelsea for a drink.
Dear Diary is my monthly love letter to the mess and magic of relationships — with others, and with myself. I don’t have answers (just lots of questions), but I believe in the magic of connecting through words. That’s why I keep writing.
Grab a coffee, relax for 4 minutes, and enjoy the read. 🌸 Here’s the White Lotus 3 Playlist
Where is my soul?
Can you see it through my eyes?
When Chelsea told Saxon he was soulless, I felt it. Not in me, but I got her and I felt I wanted to be like her in a way — I think Rick doesn’t deserve her, he doesn’t get that she’s interested in what’s human, authentic, deep. She can see people through, or at least this is how I fanfic her in my dreams. I also crave depth, long conversations that poke you in places you never felt before. I like feeling things and crafting good material for my therapy sessions.
I want to be Chelsea’s friend and tell her she doesn’t need to protect Rick — he can’t be saved from himself.
Sure, we’ll have to wait until the last episode to see if I’m right. But in real life? I’ve been there. Trying to heal the most poisonous guys — the ones who needed professional help — and all they got was my clumsy attempt, and what we got was a chaotic relationship.
The trauma from those experiences (yes — plural, unfortunately) still echoes sometimes. And I have to remind myself to forgive, to embrace who I was.
There, there. It’s not your fault, dear.
They told us it was our job to turn boys into good men. And ever since poor Eva (!), we’ve been blamed for biting the apple from the evil tree — for damaging Adam instead of enlightening him.
But that’s not how it should be.
The thing is, neither Eva nor Chelsea is responsible for male issues. Do men stay in problematic relationships trying to save a woman’s soul? Well, not in the stories I’ve heard — real or fictional. We’re always the martyrs, hurting ourselves over soulless men.
Okay, not always soulless. Sometimes just totally fucked up in their heads and ignoring us when we tell them to go to therapy.
And when we fail at a mission we were never supposed to be on in the first place, we still get blamed. Does it make sense to fail at something we shouldn’t even be doing?
No — especially when there are actual professionals who study mental health for a reason.
Does it make sense to fail at something we shouldn’t even be doing?
There’s a second topic I want to discuss with Chelsea — and everyone interested in spirits is invited!
Lately, I’ve been having these strange dreams where I’m lying in bed, seeing ghosts that look like funny little E.T.s — somewhere between Casper and and cartoon aliens. It made me feel terrified to use the bathroom — had to turn all the lights on and scan each corner to make sure no ghost was hiding. I prefer to see things clearly so as not to confuse my brain. Lost souls, in the dark, look a lot like towels hanging on the door.
Accordingly to me, so no research, the spirit and the soul are the same thing: an energy print we all have. But as long as our hearts keep pumping blood through our veins, that imprint stays with us — as if our living body carries a magnet that holds it in place. When we die, this magnet loses its power and our print flies away freely, or not so freely. Saxon doesn’t have a soul, he’s shallow as a plate and needs to be attached to what he can touch. It’s all he knows.
I think Chelsea understands how much gets imprinted on our souls — and how that imprint might shape the way our spirit moves, maybe even after we're gone. I’d love to dive into that conversation with her, just for the fantasy of it. To imagine this whimsical soul universe unfolding in some invisible layer of existence.
I’d love to hear Chelsea’s thoughts on that.
And yours, too.
P.S. If this got you thinking about how to untangle from the patriarchal strings that tell us to always be kind, chase, or care for men — I’d love to invite you to our Reading Club for Women Who Run with the Wolves.
It’s my favorite book for breaking free of those old, dusty scripts — and the tales inside are pure magic. 🐺🌸
