I’ve always had a fantasy of being a stand-up comedian, so this conversation got personal fast. Lynn is the founder of GOLD Comedy, an online comedy school, professional network and content studio for women and non-binary creators, and the co-creator of Breakup Girl, the ’90s cartoon superhero advice columnist (acquired by Oxygen) and one of the internet’s earliest success stories. She’s an award-winning journalist and the author or co-author of six books, and her comedy and social justice campaigns have changed laws and conversations from Capitol Hill to NASCAR.

We talk about finding your voice, and why building confidence can only take you so far in rooms that weren’t built to listen to women. About the strange, wonderful social contract of stand-up: when you talk, they listen. And about how laughter creates belonging, because it’s not just about the comic finding their audience, it’s about the audience finding their audience.

Lynn also shares how she built a business out of decades of varied experience, what a creative career change really takes, and why experience counts as a credential. Whether you’re a stand-up beginner or just curious about women & non-binary creators in comedy, you’ll hear how GOLD’s online comedy classes work: stand-up, sketch, web series, pilot writing, editing, and light and sound. You don’t have to be on stage. And Lynn’s answer to my last question, what she’d tell her younger self, was one I needed to hear that day.

In this episode

• Why finding your voice matters, and why confidence alone can’t fix systemic barriers

• How the stand-up “social contract” makes people listen, and why laughter creates connection and belonging

• How Lynn moved from journalism to building GOLD Comedy, and why experience is its own credential

• How to choose your platforms and find “your people” instead of trying to reach everyone

• How Breakup Girl became one of the earliest multi-platform internet success stories

• Why asking gets easier as you get older

• The difference between discomfort and harm and why not to contort yourself

Now, I invite you to listen in (or watch along on YouTube) to my conversation with Alisha.

Share

LINKS

• GOLD Comedy: goldcomedy.com

• Instagram: @goldcomedy · @lynnharris

• Breakup Girl: breakupgirl.net

• GOLD’s podcast, Funny You Should Ask: thegoldmine.substack.com/podcast

• Lynn’s Substack, Interrupting Cow: thislynnharris.substack.com

All things Hella Rader:

Every link in one place: linktr.ee/hellarader

Listen now wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every other Wednesday.

On a break after Saturday lunch, I sat outside on a bench. In front of me, a beautiful tree covered in a spectrum of golden yellows. Below me, a broad, sloping meadow covered in a bed (or a blanket?) of leaves. At the bottom, it narrowed toward a labyrinth. The sun was bright. The air warm.

With my journal perched on my lap and a pen in my hand, I was determined to use my free time to be very, very serious. I had a list of some very deep thoughts to make.

Out of nowhere, a friend emerged from between the buildings behind me. I saw her approach out of the corner of my eye and waved to her. Receiving (correctly) my greeting as an invitation to join me, she walked toward me, set down her bag, and surveyed the scene. Then she turned to me and said, “Hey, do you want to roll down this hill with me?”

“Um, yes. I would love that!”

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After a little bit of coordination and only a general sense of our path, we plopped down, stretched out, and rolled our way down the hill. Twice.

Because the first time, someone heard us laughing so hard and so loudly as we rolled the whole way down, they came over to see what was going on. Once we got up (completely covered in leaves) and walked back up the hill, they asked if we wanted to do it again (and offered to film it). Of course, we said yes. I mean, it was so much fun the first time, why not laugh that hard a second time?

By the end, covered in even more leaves (I am still finding some in my suitcase), we were joined by another person who, after watching us on our second pass, decided they wanted to roll down the hill as well.

What started as an invitation by one fellow traveler morphed into a mini communal moment. And for the rest of the weekend, anytime either one of us saw each other in the hallway, dining room, or auditorium, we recognized each other and laughed. Hard.

One shared moment of unabashed joy lasted for days.

October held a different kind of recognition. For Domestic Violence Awareness Month, the Stories That Sparkle podcast featured two conversations to raise awareness. The first with Megan Sanchez-Warner, who shared her survivor story. As a survivor myself, I recognized her denial and her fear, both of which led her to keep what was happening in her home and her marriage a secret—from everyone, even herself. The second with Alisha Donovan, Executive Director of the Susan B. Anthony Project, who described some of the mechanics of how domestic violence works. It helped me recognize how isolated and siloed I was at key times in my marriage, and how that disconnection made it that much harder to break the denial, consider leaving, or tell anyone what was happening.

Both conversations were a reminder that survivors live in the shadows. From that place, a voice is hard to claim. Which is why local shelters and support services like the Susan B. Anthony Project are so critical. They provide a safe place to speak in whatever way a person can (including just asking questions) and know that they will be heard.

If you or someone you know needs support: the Susan B. Anthony Project hotline is 860-482-7133 (Connecticut). The National Domestic Violence Hotline is 1-800-799-7233, or text START to 88788.

Which brings me to this week’s episode and my conversation with Lynn Harris, founder of GOLD Comedy, a space she built for women and non-binary creators to grow their comedy careers, find community and make, well, comedy (in all its forms). We talk about how claiming your voice isn’t only on you. It takes people who will listen. For Lynn, comedy is a key way to make connections because laughter (at a joke being told) reflects self-recognition. Experienced collectively, it generates belonging for everyone in the room. It’s not just the comic finding an audience—it’s the audience finding their audience. Everyone, laughing, together.

Even though this conversation was recorded over the summer, it lands at the perfect time to pull the past month’s threads into a wider context: Isolation keeps a voice in the shadows. Belonging brings it out. And the rooms we need to be heard are built together.

To hear the full conversation (including Lynn’s assurance that it’s not too late for my stand-up comedy career fantasy), listen in tomorrow.

And as always, I would love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 11.3.26

How can I be the room where someone is heard?

Coming up:

On November 18th, I’ll release the first of four episodes in the new series, “Still Beginning,” four women on starting over again…and again. The final three episodes of that series will drop back-to-back starting in early December, so the series wraps before the holidays. I planned it that way on purpose, to leave room at the end of the year to record a year-end episode, get some more rest, and, well, enjoy a ton more good laughs.

Alisha began as a volunteer in 2003, joined the staff in 2004, and has worked as an advocate in the shelter, in the courts and in housing programs. She has also worked at the national level, providing training and technical assistance to programs across the country.

We talk about the whole range of services available, from a 24-hour hotline and court advocacy to medical accompaniment, shelter and prevention education in schools, workplaces and other touchpoints in the community. We talk about the complexitites of domestic violence, why most people who reach out may not be fleeing anywhere, and what to do when you’re worried about someone you love. And we talk about the quiet “uh-oh” feeling that something isn’t right, and why that, on its own, is more than reason enough to call.

Content note: this episode discusses domestic and sexual violence in general terms, without graphic detail.

Now, I invite you to listen in (or watch along on YouTube) to my conversation with Alisha.

Share

LINKS

If you are in an (emotionally, physically, sexually, financially, spiritually) abusive situation, please know: you are not alone.

Susan B. Anthony Project provides crisis and support services to victims and survivors of domestic and sexual violence in Northwest Connecticut.

All services are free, confidential, and available 24/7.

Susan B. Anthony Project website

Susan B. Anthony 24-hour hotline: 860-482-7133 (available to anyone regardless of where they are)

Susan B. Anthony Project on Instagram

Want to support the work? Donations on the SBA website can be designated for prevention, direct services or where needed most. Not in northwest Connecticut? Ask your local program how to help.

Additional Domestic Violence Resources:

National Domestic Violence Hotline: Visit: the hotline.org / Call: 800.799.SAFE (7233) / Text START to 88788

RAINN: Visit: rainn.org / Call: 800.656.HOPE / Text HOPE to 64673

And to learn ways to get in involved in ending domestic and sexual violence, reach out to NO MORE.

Additional Resources that I have compiled are available here.

All things Hella Rader:

Every link in one place: linktr.ee/hellarader

Listen now wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every other Wednesday.

Last week, I wrote my Tuesday Tidings at home in Virginia. This week I’m writing from New York. It is my first time back here in four months. I said I’d let this trip unfold. It did.

On Thursday, I burned 14 lbs. of wedding pictures at my bestie’s house in Connecticut. The ones I pulled out of the basement in the summer as part of cleaning out and letting go of more of the past in order to create space for the future and really, for the now. It was more than enough to pull them out of the albums, sort through them and put them into a cardboard box in order to face the woman I was and embrace her with loving compassion. At the time, it left me with an emotional hangover.

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Which meant those pictures sat in a box in the trunk of my car for two months. I drove them all the way to Alabama and back. Then I brought them with me to Connecticut. And on my first morning waking up at her house, she had lit the fire pit as an invitation for me to burn them, a desire I had expressed to her the night before. It was quite a release.

From there, I went to my somatic training weekend. For the next three days, I opened myself to new possibilities. I expanded. I sang. Not in a voice I knew I had but in a voice that rose up from the depths of my soul. (Yes, that was a real thing that happened which surprised me because I am not a singer nor do I typically hold a tune). It was a reclamation of a part of me that I buried deep inside of a different kind of basement. Only this one did not need to be burned. This one needed to be let out into the air. (I know. That all sounds very conceptual and vague. And right now, it is for me too. My sense of it is still forming).

That’s the whole point of integration and re-entry. It takes time. And space. So, on Monday, except for my drive into New York, I took the day off. On purpose. I knew I needed to let all this settle enough before I wrote today’s post.

With much more to process, I’m moving gently and letting the work land before I add more to it. And after I hit “publish” on this post, I’m not sure I will do much more today.

Gentle, on purpose.

And I would love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 10.27.26

There is no set schedule for letting what I’ve learned land.

Coming up:

Tomorrow, my conversation with Alisha Donovan, Executive Director of the Susan B. Anthony Project, closes out Domestic Violence Awareness Month. After a month of disclosure, I’m looking forward to bringing her voice, resources, and care into the mix.

Next week: Lynn Harris, founder of Gold Comedy, on voice, audience, and laughter. Then I’m switching up the release rhythm for the remainder of November into December to make space for myself around the holidays, so the next episode after that is November 18^th, the first of four in a new series, “Still Beginning,” with the final three back to back starting in early December: four women on starting over again…and again.

Before I write anything else and before I get into what’s coming up next on the podcast, I want to celebrate that. Not just with myself. With all of you.

Many of you have been here from the start. Some of you have joined mid-stream. Either way, you’ve had a front-row seat to this whole process—including my switch from Monday Missives to Tuesday Tidings so Sundays could be a true day off…and look, I’m now at 50 of those. That’s 50 weeks of doing it differently in order to live lighter! And that’s just one of many pieces of what has changed.

Just the other day, I found the clips I posted in May 2025 for the launch of the podcast. Wow. I had no idea what I was doing. I remember googling on one screen, and editing short video clips (in landscape-mode no less) on the other screen. That’s how the whole launch week came together—I packed in a ton of things in a very short amount of time and built the pieces as I came up with them (based on a different google search result).

Today, I have new software. The clips are so much easier to make. I have reduced my editing time because, well, now I speak in (mostly) complete, coherent, and clear sentences when I record (video intros are my new mountain to climb). And even though I am busy, I build in a lot of down time. In other words, I keep my days (and my bags) light.

There is much more to say about all that, especially about all the things I learned to do by doing them. For now, and in the spirit of not packing in too much, it feels good to celebrate and to say thank you. Thank you for being here and thank you for being a part of this wild, fun, and slightly less terrifying ride. I am beyond grateful to you.

Ok, now on to the podcast (which btw, celebrated 60 episodes last week).

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Highlighting that on the podcast and other spaces is something I feel strongly about. On the one hand, because I’m a survivor. It’s very personal to me. On the other hand, because I want to do my part to ensure that anyone out there who feels alone, afraid, or stuck, knows where to turn and where to find the resources available to them. Maybe, just maybe, hearing someone else share their story, makes it a little bit easier to reach out and ask for help. Which is why I invited Megan Sanchez-Warner to share her story.

If you have not had a chance to listen to last week’s episode, “That’s Not Love: The Warning Signs,” I invite you to do so. Especially if someone you love is struggling in an abusive relationship. Megan does an incredible job describing how her denial worked, all the signs she missed from the start, and all the ways her mind kept overriding what, deep down, she knew about the true nature of the relationship she was in. Her story is a version of many survivor stories I have heard in various contexts (including my own).

(You can watch the full video episode on YouTube: youtube.com/@hellarader)

For me, it was a powerful reminder to offer myself and others more compassion, especially for all the times I stayed despite all the red flags I could see. My hope is also that someone who may not have the personal experience of being in this kind of relationship gets a better sense of the complicated layers involved. Maybe it will help them better know how to support someone they love. Maybe it will also allow them to find help for themselves.

The people around survivors need support, too.

This is something I talk about with Alisha Donovan, Executive Director of the Susan B. Anthony Project, in next week’s episode. She and I talk about the different resources available to survivors, and the people who love them. Because, as she points out, while friends and family members are concerned about those they love, they may struggle to know how to support them, or what to do with what being on the front lines brings up in them. They are often survivors themselves—and may not have realized it before.

Survivor stories, including when they appear in the news, can trigger a memory, make a connection, or raise questions in someone who never considered themselves a survivor. Even if they aren’t a survivor, it’s still a topic that can bring up any kind of trauma in someone. That is a very real consideration when we talk about domestic and sexual violence, and why I try, best I can, to provide content warnings and resources any time I discuss it. It is also why respect anyone who chooses to skip an episode, scroll past a post, or swipe left on a Reel.

The bottom line: Regardless of where on the spectrum of this issue we sit, whether we are consciously aware of it or not, we are all impacted by it. Together, in community, we can find the hope, the love and yes, the joy.

Ah, yes, joy. That can be the hard part when focusing on a topic like domestic violence is a hard topic. It’s heavy. And uncomfortable. That’s true for me too. Even with all the tools I have, even with how grounded I feel in today, some days, the energy of what can come at me—especially on social media—can feel overwhelming.

So, while it has been my hope to bring voice to domestic violence, and to shine a light on it so those impacted don’t feel they need to hide in the shadows, I have also tried to bring in the light touch I know I need.

Which is why I will continue to pepper in creative goofy non-sequiturs and offer myself days like this past Sunday. I began the day with an early morning walk with a bestie, brunched with another bestie, and joined a group of fellow travelers on Zoom in the evening. In between, I soaked up a gorgeous sunny day and took an “almost nap”—meaning, I got in bed, closed my eyes, and rested…in the middle of the day because, well, I can.

On that note, I will go back to packing my bags, and get ready to get on the road. Only this time, I will be traveling much, much lighter.

I would love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 10.20.26

When I carry with me only that which I need, there is more room for the fun of what I want.

Coming up:

Next Wednesday, October 28, my conversation with Alisha Donovan. And since I will be in training all weekend, next Tuesday’s Tidings (#51!!!) will (probably) be a short one written from my desk in New York.

Although, since I have no idea what might happen between now and then, or how I will feel after my training weekend, or what rando thought may pop into my head, I might be surprised by what next week’s post wants to be. I will allow it to unfold in front of me.

Now that I’m home, I made a short video to pull the name of “Back on the Road” raffle winner out of the disco ball planter on camera. And the winner is…well, you’ll need to watch the video to find out. 🪩

Which is good ‘cause I also share a few things I’m carrying into the rest of the year, what’s coming up to close out the year, and a June 2027 break (planning very far ahead!).

This month I’m focusing on Domestic Violence Awareness Month and sharing more of my own story in more, different ways and places. It’s not new. How I approach talking about it feels new. That part of the journey got visible here, on Substack, with my “Speak the Truth” post in April 2025. If you’ve been following along (especially on Instagram), thank you for holding space for that.

And finally, I will plan to have more bonus content coming here just for you before the end of the year (including, hopefully, a new memoir-style piece).

Thank you for being here and for …

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My guest is Megan Sanchez-Warner, a woman who has spent her career shaping other people’s stories as an executive producer and showrunner with more than 250 hours of nonfiction television behind her. She is an award-winning filmmaker. And she is a survivor.

In this conversation, Megan (pronounced MEE-gan) tells her own story, and she does it with a clarity that stopped me more than once. The warning signs were there for years and she walks us through them: the pattern, the escalation, the moment her young daughter and son saw what she couldn’t yet say out loud, and the day her body simply said, “Get out.” But she didn’t recognize any of those signs for what they were until afterward. Megan’s story is the story of so many survivors, especially the parts that are hard to understand looking from the outside in. For me personally, there is so much in Megan’s story that I relate to on a molecular level and so much of her experience that I share.

Megan is now a volunteer victims advocate and serves on the Voices Committee at the New York City Mayor’s Office to End Gender-Based Violence. She shares her story publicly so that other women can recognize the warning signs sooner. And she is working on a film of her story, River of Denial. I am so grateful Megan and I met and that she shared her story with me, and all of us, with such honesty and detail. I hope it will help someone out there see the signs sooner and find a way to safety.

Content Heads Up: Megan shares her story of domestic violence in detail, including strangulation and threats against her children. There is also discussion of suicide and suicidal ideation. Please take care of yourself. Pause, skip ahead, or come back to this another time if you need to. Resources are below.

Now, I invite you to listen in (or watch along on YouTube) to Megan’s story.

Share

LINKS

All things Megan Sanchez-Warner:

Linked In: megansanchezwarner

River of Denial film: riverofdenial.com

NYC Mayor’s Office to End Gender-Based Violence

Domestic Violence Resources:

If you are in an (emotionally, physically, sexually, financially, spiritually) abusive situation, please know: you are not alone.

For help, reach out 24/7 by phone, text or chat to:

National Domestic Violence Hotline: Visit: the hotline.org / Call: 800.799.SAFE (7233) / Text START to 88788

RAINN: Visit: rainn.org / Call: 800.656.HOPE / Text HOPE to 64673

And to learn ways to get in involved in ending domestic and sexual violence, reach out to NO MORE.

If you or someone you love is considering suicide, text 988 or go to: 988Lifeline.com

Additional Resources that I have compiled are available here.

All things Hella Rader:

Every link in one place: linktr.ee/hellarader

Listen now wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every other Wednesday.

In front of me, a pile of pillows looms large. Where am I? What is this place? I shift my upper body just a bit. A fierce pain shoots across my shoulder blade. My right shoulder blade.

I don’t move. Not because I am unsure. I don’t move because the pain is searing. It’s unbearable. And I’m more worried about what to do about that than to figure out exactly where I am.

For the next few minutes, or maybe it’s just a few seconds, I am completely immobilized. In my body. My brain however clicks at a rapid pace. It gathers the clues I can pick up in the still dark. Mirrored closet doors. Dresser drawer at the foot of the bed. Chunky pillows and a sateen duvet cover. Oh, right. Now I remember.

I’m in Alabama. Gulf Shores. I am here for 5-day writer’s retreat.

Now that I have worked out where I am, I am curious about why my right shoulder is on fire. Was it the way I slumped into the couch during the workshops yesterday? Or the way I twisted my upper body to see the screen mounted to the wall across the room? No. It is something else.

This pain is familiar. It is a sign that much more is up for me than how I sat or how little I moved.

It is my tell. It is a signal my body sends, loud and clear, whenever I’m in fear.

Two days later, I wake up in a different room. With different sheets. And different pillows. This time, I am on my left side but on the right side of the bed. Which is unusual for me. The window shades are drawn. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee hangs in the air. And my shoulder—well, it is still in pain. In fact, it is worse than before.

Now I worry about the long drive home. The one that begins in two days. The one that goes all the way from north Georgia back to the northern edge of Virginia, where I live. Where my bed is. Where my sheets, pillows and duvet cover are. If this pain, really, this locked up tension physically manifesting my fear does not ease, I have no idea how I will make the 9+ hour drive home. I mean, I can barely turn my head.

Gingerly I lift myself up, balance my upper body on my left arm, and slowly, very slowly, turn around. Well, I try. But it hurts too much. I lower back down, pull the covers over my head, and don’t go back to sleep. I rest.

I am happy to report that my shoulder did ease up in plenty of time before my very long drive home. There are a few reasons for that. Most of them form the basis of my key takeaways from the trip. The main one? Rest. Or, more precisely, be willing to rest. Even and especially when it seems inconvenient. Or makes things take longer. Or (the old thorn in my side) even when it means I will get a lot less done than I think I should.

That’s a big one for me (which is why I wrote about it in last week’s post). It is so big, I constantly get reminders to practice doing less, moving slower, and resting. I have gotten so good at doing that, it’s been a while since my shoulder locked up quite like this. Now I was curious about why it did.

So, I did what I know to do. I pulled out my journal and made a few notes to see what might come up.

• Six years ago, I was so far down the scale that doing any of what I do today was not even a thought, plan or dream…Today, I get to be at a writer’s retreat and navigate the feelings that come up after completing a book. I have already done the hardest part and the heaviest lift (for now) to show up in my life even when I’m uncomfortable. Ah, persepctive.

• When I don’t have anything to prove, I don’t need to chase. I chased a lot of people and things most of my life because I was running on “prove it” energy.

• Hanging back in the pause, in the quiet middle, is not silence. It’s patience. (Oh, that’s a huge reframe for me as someone who worked very hard to reclaim her voice. Finding my voice doesn’t mean I have to use it alll the time).

• When I got to my bestie’s house, I asked for help. I did not tough it out on my own. I relaxed and enjoyed. Which helped my shoulder release.

• What if it’s not a competition? With myself or anyone else. (That goes back to not having anything to prove).

• Just give it 36 hours and it will be different (a locked shoulder, a feeling, a fear…aka this too shall pass)

• Trust in the timing of what is already planned (The schedule I had meant I left Gulf Shores well before Hurricane Isaias arrived and was already home when the remnants reached Virginia on Sunday…so, while it’s good to be flexible, it’s also easier to do that when you start with a simple plan and don’t try to rethink it entirely when things don’t seem to go according to that plan)

• (Excessive) helpfulness is the sunny side of control. (Heard that from someone else and boy did it hit me hard in the best possible way). Reminds me that when I try to overdo for someone else I’m really trying to control—what they do or, more importantly, what they think about me

For paid subscribers, I have some more thoughts about the fear (including a short piece I wrote but did not share at the writer’s retreat) before I close in the usual way with a meditation and a look ahead to what’s coming up.

Not already a paid subscriber? Please consider upgrading which goes a long way to support my work getting women’s stories and voices out into the world.

Added bonus if you becom a paid subscriber today: you’re entered into the “Back on the Road” Raffle. Raffle? Yes! What could you win in this raffle? A collection of shop local items I picked up in North Carolina, Georgia and Alabama (pic of those items below). Winner’s name will be pulled from the list of paid subs on Wednesday, October 14th.

I would love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 10.13.26

When I want to count myself out, I can rest in what I know to be true about myself.

Coming up:

This Wednesday, October 14th, Megan Sanchez-Warner’s story as a survivor of domestic violence drops into the podcast feed. And on October 28th, I am joined by Alisha Donovan, Executive Director of the Susan B. Anthony Project, a domestic violence and sexual assault shelter in Torrington, CT, to offer resources and support to survivors and their loved ones.

In case you missed it, I was a guest on Where Do I Find You? hosted by Kelly Smith (who is so freaking awesome and her podcast is such a great listen). It was the third guest appearance I did over the summer and the most comfortable I have been as a guest. Great reminder to me to do the things I’m not good at—and keep doing them. Not to get perfect. To find what and how works for me. And then trust it. That is the greatest gift I have given myself over the last two years.

For anyone who may be new here, this truly is a miracle. Really, a full circle moment. Because “two years ago, OMG my job ended, now what do I do” me would never have let it be ok that today’s post was different. I would have stayed up mad late, forced something, and expected me to reach for a very high standard while doing it.

Curious where the circle began? I wrote about it and posted it on October 4, 2024, my first official Substack post. I did it with no real idea of what this space was or would be. All I knew is that I needed to do it. By writing about where I was, I could start to make sense of it. And by writing about here, in public, I could practice using my voice, my creative voice, out in the world.

It was that post that I had on my mind when I wrote my weekly Sunday post on Instagram this weekend. (Initially, given that October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I was going to write something related to the Jane Doe/Cornell 7 case but decided against it. Not because I don’t have a lot of thoughts or words about that, but because, as a survivor, a woman, and a person who works to heal trauma in myself and in others, and given the complexities of just the parts of the story I know based on public records and some very good reporting by outlets like the NY Times, it was not something I felt I could tackle well in 2,200 characters or less right now. It was another full circle moment: I knew where my capacity was, not where I thought it should be, listened to that and let myself be ok with not saying something). Anyway, what I wrote about on Instagram was the short version of the story about why “1998 NYC-era” me decided to stop writing. It came up while I was immersed in the 5-day Writing Away Refuge writer’s retreat in Gulf Shores, AL. Gripped by some fear, I needed to remind myself of the time when I let fear dictate my choices. So, I wrote myself a pep talk and posted it. You can read it below:

Turns out that post is a kind of throwback to “five years ago” me. In November 2021, right after Thanksgiving, based on direction I was given by Barbara’s1 mentor, I had started to write. Nothing major. Just one little thing at the end of every day. But not long after I started, I made the case to myself for why I should stop. And I did. I caved to the fear and self-doubt. My voice was nowhere near close to being formed, never mind strong enough or loud enough, to talk back to the fear. Or to tell it to f*ck off. Nicely.

Here’s the case I made back then:

Today, at the end of five days with other writers, I celebrate how far I have come by not giving up. Not only did I start writing again in 2022 after a short break. Not only did that turn into writing a book which I finished in 2024. And not only did I start this Substack, and allow it to evolve, consistently, despite having no clue what I was doing. I also got real good at living as “today” me.

Today, I simply am. Therefore, I do.

I would love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 10.6.26

When I hold every version of me with care, I can see how each one made the me I am today.

Coming up:

Next week, on October 14th, Megan Sanchez-Warner, survivor of domestic violence, shares her story and offers a ton of great information about the warning signs of a potentially lethal situation. And on October 28th, I am joined by Alisha Donovan, Executive Director of the Susan B. Anthony Project, a DVSA shelter in Torrington, CT who will offer insight into the resources available to both survivors and their loved ones.

AND: on Friday, October 9, I am the guest on Where Do I Find You? podcast (out of Melbourne, Australia), hosted by Kelly Smith. Why listen? Well, Kelly is an awesome asker of questions who exudes great care and exemplifies gracious curiosity which is why I felt so at ease with her and included a key detail about my divorce that I have never shared publicly…yet. In other words, Kelly scooped me! You can find the show on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. Follow @wheredoifindyoupodcast on Instagram (or @hellarader) and see the episode release reel with a teaser clip.

To mark the one-year anniversay of the Discoball Tour, I am joined by my dear friend and guest host Laura Sweeney (writer, actor, and director of the documentary short Tiny Movements) who asked me how I turned a dream into a 30-day, nearly 5,000-mile journey to record 18 women’s stories in person. Totgether we explore the deeper stakes behind the project: fear, shame, anxiety, overwork, and the realization that I had become my own worst boss. And the complexity of reconnecting with my chosen family, and confronting a chapter of my life I once ran away from...all while I was editing, posting, and filming every day with no crew and no safety net.

NOTE: We discuss domestic violence, beginning around the 34-minute mark. Please take care of yourself, and skip or fast-forward if needed.

So grateful to Laura for taking the time to hold the space for me as a fellow creator and storyteller. Made it easy to dig into some of the harder parts of what came up for me not only while I was on the drive, but also when I got home. And today, a year later, those lessons help me take the next ride differently.

If you’ve ever wondered whether to wait until everything is perfect or to simply start now, this episode is for you.

Now, I invite you to get comfortable, sit back, and listen in (or watch along on YouTube).

Share

LINKS

All things Laura Sweeney:

Laura Sweeney on Instagram: @laura_m_sweeney

Tiny Movements film on Instagram: @tinymovementsfilm

To learn about upcoming screenings and how to support the film Tiny Movements, click this link: Tiny Movements

Domestic Violence Resource:

If you are in an (emotionally, physically, sexually, financially, spiritually) abusive situation, please know: you are not alone. For help and resources, reach out to the National Domestic Violence Hotline. They are available 24/7 by phone, text or chat.

All things Hella Rader:

Every link in one place: linktr.ee/hellarader

Listen now wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every other Wednesday.

I was forcing something instead of following the ease.

To clear my head, I stepped away from my desk. Just then, I got a text from my bestie.

“Wanna come over for dinner?”

Without hesitation, I replied, “yes, leaving here in 10 minutes.”

It was a no-brainer.

Over the last eight weeks, in a series of posts and four episodes of the podcast, I dug into shame, finished the Discoball Tour docuseries, and posted extra pieces for paid subscribers. At the same time, I cleaned out my house, wrapped up some loose ends of the past, and sat in the discomfort of this wide-open room I had made for myself.

That’s why, even though I had a post sitting on my desktop in various states of disarray, even though part of me said I should stay put, be a good girl and finish it right now, I walked away from the computer, away from the next revision, and toward something else.

In large part, that is thanks to the four women who joined me for the series The Quiet Part Out Loud. I am so grateful to each woman for sharing her experience and the wisdom she gained through it.

• Embrace It (Shawnna) — shame as part of a list of things to embrace, not push away or ignore, when going through a life transition

• Release It (Kayti) — shame as part of what I carry in my body and can release through movement, even if that takes years and happens over and over again, differently

• Name It (Callie) — shame as part of what I “should” not say and can name plainly, to give voice to where I actually am and not apologize for that

• Unbind It (Patricia) — shame as part of an internal warning system that tells me when something is important to me so that I can choose to unbind it from whatever (anxiety, people-pleasing, overworking) it has fused itself to

Those key takeaways (along with a few others) worked their way through and in me not only when those episodes were recorded, but also as I edited them and prepared them for release. It showed up in practice in my life, which translated into the meditations I put at the end of the Tuesday Tidings that ran alongside (starting with the release of the last installment of the Discoball Tour docuseries):

• One More Drive (Aug 4) — “Not every gift is something new. Sometimes the gift is finishing what I already started.”

• The Quiet Part Out Loud (Aug 11) — “I have enough. I give enough. I am enough.”

• Day Off (Aug 18) — “I don’t have to do something every day. Some days, I just get to notice.”

• Emotional Hangover (Aug 25) — “After all the doing, I will allow myself to feel the messy leftovers by not cleaning them up.”

• What’s Underneath (Sept 1) — “Today, I will embrace and release the weeds I can name so I can better see what’s growing underneath.”

• My Choice Was Gone (Sept 8) — “Healing can begin when I give my body a voice. Sometimes, that sounds like a scream, not a whisper.”

• Connection Lost (Sept 15) — “Transformation happens continuously over a lifetime. That is not a failing. It is written into the root code of existence.”

• Not Fully Baked (Sept 22) —“No need to turn up the heat or pull something out too early. Not fully baked is not the same as not okay.”

So, today, I will listen to my own voice. The one that encourages me to make room for the good. Instead of holding myself back, sitting at my desk and forcing something to be that is not there, I will make room for the good by being in a room in which I feel good.

No question. No prompt. Just room. Period.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 9.29.26

The good doesn’t ask to be earned. It only asks to be let into the room.

Coming up:

Tomorrow, Wednesday 9/30, the Discoball Tour Special Episode with co-host Laura Sweeney drops into the feed. You can watch the video episode and the completed docu-series on my YouTube channel: youtube.com/@hellarader.

And while you read this, I am on my way to Asheville, NC to visit with Jenn Wilenta (aka Jenn Green aka TinyKitchenDances) on my way south to Gulf Shores, AL and the Writing Away Refuge Writer’s Retreat. Which means, I have no idea what kind of Tuesday Tidings I’ll have for y’all next week.

I do know that in October, I will release two episodes in support of Domestic Violence Awareness Month—one is a survivor’s story and the other a conversation with a DVSA shelter executive director who will offer insight about the resources available to both survivors and their loved ones.

Subscribe for free today and never miss an episode.

In my words: Patricia is a bada$$.

I met her two years ago in my training at the Institute of Core Energetics and was immediately drawn to her. Patricia not only exudes unconditional care but also a fun-loving spirit. Which is why it was such a delight to record this conversation with her, to get to know her better, and to hear the ways she unbinds shame.

Beyond grateful that this episode, chock full of Patricia’s wisdom, experience and care, is the one to close out The Quiet Part Out Loud, my 4-part series on shame. Double, triple, quadruple grateful to count Patricia as a friend, and to be able to share her leadership with you…something y’all will hear for yourselves from the get go.

So, I invite you to get comfortable, sit back, and listen in.

LINKS

All things Patricia Dalen:

Instagram: @patriciadalen

Websites: Patrica Dalen and Listing on Psychology Today

All things Hella Rader:

Every link in one place: linktr.ee/hellarader

Wan to share your story? Open to submissions: hellarader.com/submissions

Follow me on Instagram, subscribe to my channel on YouTube.com/@hellarader and learn more about me on my Website.

Listen now wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every other Wednesday.

Which is why, the minute I saw her car pull into the driveway, I flung open the front door and popped down the walkway only to pause between the two, slightly unruly bushes at the end. As soon as she stepped out of her car, I opened my arms out wide and squeaked with delight. For what felt like an eternity, we stood together, in a big, warm embrace.

Until that moment, I am not sure I realized how much I needed that.

After a quick tour of my home (and a recap of all the remodeling I had done during COVID), we sat down in the sunroom. For the next, I don’t know, 5 or 6 hours, we chatted, caught up, and chatted some more. And in the spirit of keeping it real, I talked a lot. Mainly because it was the first time I told the full story of how and why my job ended in one go after sitting with it, quietly, with myself. It’s a story that really began in 2014 when I took the job. It’s a story with a lot of backstory, which, for someone with ADHD, means there’s lots of ways to meander to get to key points. And it’s a story with details I don’t share about much. Or with many people. Certainly not in this space or on my Instagram. There are a few reasons for that. Which is why in April, even though I felt the nudge, I decided it wasn’t time yet. For me, the story wasn’t fully baked. Really, I wasn’t fully baked.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be fully baked. In fact, I’m certain I won’t. Which is why it’s a good thing, I no longer think that’s even the point.

What feels more like the point is that now, almost effortlessly, I pause. I take stock. And I have conversations like the one I had on Sunday. In April, that was still more of a one-off, a happy accident, if you will. Today, I routinely put all three together in whatever sequence or configuration they appear. I gain clarity, feel connected, and broaden my perspective, not only on myself and my story but also all the interconnected stories of others.

My willingness to do that daily (sometimes multiple times daily) is the real measure of how I am doing. Which is helpful, because sometimes I end up having a “meh” kind of week (or, month). I used to think that was a problem or a sign of trouble, distress and possibly even despair. It can look and feel like that. And it’s not that. It’s just a sign of an inner realignment. (And, I would also say, comes with an element of grief…I may choose to not do what I have always done and feel good about that while at the same time mourn the loss of what I used to do, even if that did not feel good. Both can be true at the same time. It’s the complexity of that which proves to be the sneakily exhausting part).

But in those uncomfortable moments, when I know what I no longer want to do and I’m not quite sure yet what I do want to do, when the uncertainty tempts me with the allure of unhappiness as a kind of escape, it’s easy to forget what it took for me to rebuild—not just my life, my whole self. Not just over the last two years, but also over the past six years. Or that ten, sixteen, twenty years ago, I wouldn’t have even dreamed of doing that work. Or that many of the things I did dream about over my lifetime are now a reality. Yes, it would be easy to see only the empty spaces, and the missing pieces, the shortfalls and mistakes, to jump ahead, force a solution or, when all else fails, stomp my feet.

I mean, if you’ve been here with me for even just one post, you have heard some version of that (many times) before. In fact, just last week, I wrote a different version of today’s post—same general theme, different metaphor. Because, well, I’m not done. I am mid-stream. In the transformation. Waiting for the oven. Pick your metaphor and I’m good with the repeat. Not only is it okay, it’s how it works for me. Much in the same way I have been working all of this out, in real time, and mostly in full view, for at least two years. That kind of continuous circling around can be unnerving. Almost as much as the free fall into the unknown. Which is why some days, I do stomp. I do force. I even give up.

Hold on. Give up. Better yet: give it up.

Because it’s not that other people may not know what to do with me—I don’t know what to do with me.

And you know what? That’s okay.

Which brings me to something my guest, Patricia Dalen, LMHC, CCEP (psychotherapist and Certified Core Energetics Practitioner) says in tomorrow’s episode, “Unbind It” (and the final part of the series on shame, “The Quiet Part Out Loud”):

“It’s not about […] I have to eradicate this thing in me or make myself wrong for it... it just is and I can work with that.”

Yep. Not fully baked. Not fully resolved. Not free of grief. And choosing to work with all of it.

So, given all that, I’m not sure if that story (or any of the connected backstories) about my job ending will ever be fully baked. Even if it is, I’m not sure that it needs to be written, here or anywhere.

What I am sure about is that no matter how fully baked, half baked, or not baked some parts of my life may still be, I stand on solid ground. There’s plenty for me to do while I leave the oven alone.

And maybe, just maybe, come up with another metaphor. ‘Cause I might be in this place for a while.

Is there a story or a part of yourself you’re waitng to share because it doesn’t feel “fully baked”?

I’d love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 9.22.26

No need to turn up the heat or pull something out too early. Not fully baked is not the same as not okay.

Coming up:

Tomorrow, Wednesday 9/23, my guest Patricia Dalen closes out The Quiet Part Out Loud podcast series with “Unbind It.” And next week, the Discoball Tour bonus episode with guest host Laura Sweeney drops into the feed. Woohoo!

Subscribe for free today and never miss an episode.

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Oh, I should mention, I am not in any way shape or form a coder. Or IT professional. I am doing this because, well, there is no one else who can do it for me.

Just then, a text from a bestie pops up on my screen. “What’s been happening with you today? How are you doing?”

Before I can respond, I ask myself, “How am I doing?” Not great.

After a few more texts back and forth filled with laughing-so-hard-I’m-crying emojis meant to convey my sense of despair with a light-hearted flair, I go back to the work at hand.

Being this far into a technical problem I have no idea how to solve produces a doggedness in me. I am determined to figure this out and fix this problem. I kind of love the challenge of it, like working on a super hard puzzle. Alongside the enjoyment, however, sits a frustration no emoji can hold. It rises from somewhere deep in my body. I’m tired. I have been at this, on and off, since Wednesday. And I am mad. Along with everything else, I now also get to be the IT department administrator writing instructions to the computer while I learn the terms I need to use as I problem solve? Seriously? WTF. Oh right, there it is. Self-pity.

My mind narrows. My eyes shoot laser beams at the screen. And every muscle in my body is on fire. Now all I can think to do is to pound my fits on my desk or hurl the computer screen across the room—something I have not felt the urge to do in a very, very long time.

It is another kind of exclamation mark inside of a triangle. And for that, I do have an answer: to move.

So, at 7:32pm, with no resolution in sight, I get up. And walk away.

I would like to say that level of irritation, frustration, or sense of inner force pressing against my skin from within is new. Or a one off. It is not. It used to be a daily occurrence. But that’s been a while. In fact, it’s been such a long while, that it felt like a distant memory. After all, I worked hard to replace it with containment and methods of releasing that pent up force in a safe, appropriate and constructive space.

But recently, I would say over the last four weeks, it has re-emerged. It has popped up in seemingly random spaces. Usually ones which exist for exactly this purpose. Or when I am alone, by myself. In other words, the containment is there. It is intact. It remains a choice I can consciously make. That, in and of itself, is huge progress.

Which is why I can also recognize this moment as an indication that there is something going on in me that I have not yet expressed. Something deep inside the inner code, some command that is either disconnected from the server or that has been corrupted. My task is to find it and ask for help to rewrite it.

The trouble is that I don’t have the words for it. I can feel them at the tip of my tongue. I circle around the idea of something in my mind. I try to connect the disparate pieces of code, the dots and bytes, that I know hold the answer. It’s frustrating. Because if I could just express this, I could fix that, right? And yet, every attempt at articulation seems to fail.

I am sure it is no coincidence that this summer has been all about cleaning out, letting go, and opening up. Literally and figuratively. I have written about it here on a few different occasions from various angles. But what I did not fully realize, is that in the process of that clean out, some of the files in my cache have been removed, deleted or relocated. While not quite a hard reset, the default settings have been upended. My morning routine feels stagnant. My workflow is disjointed. And my many questions about what’s next feel no closer to an answer than when I first asked them two years ago. I am back at square one. Only, I’m not. Not really.

I am in the process of a transformation.

I know because I have learned the cues, the snippet of code that shows up as a series of queries. Do I continue down this path? Do I change course? Do I simply stop? And if so, for how long? Forever? Then come the questions from outside, a kind of help desk. Sometimes they open up new avenues of curiosity, sometimes they only cause more confusion. I begin to troubleshoot. Except that doesn’t help much. The response to my inputs is often a long, garbled strand of incomprehensible commands that I cannot process in real time. Maybe that’s because pieces of corrupt code have been removed but not yet replaced with a patch or an update. Maybe that’s because there is one, clear root cause embedded so far down, it is imperceptible to me. Either way, it can all feel like a lot. It can be…demoralizing.

Which is when the inner engine revs up. It intends to help and protect me, but, in reality, it functions more like malware. It urges me to pick up my marbles and go home or better yet (and certainly more dramatically), to bulldoze the entire playing field.

That’s when the alarm bells go off. I installed them when I did the foundational work to rebuild the underlying operating system. It took a long time, something I can only appreciate now as I look back—not just over the last six years but all the years since the day I was born. The change is visible in 53 years of pictures (and variable hairstyles and more recently, glasses), writings (held in journals, sketch books and pieces of scrap paper), and prayers (that sometimes read more like pleas). All that documentation is now up to date.

Which is why, unlike in the past, the power of the engine has been decentralized. It does not overtake me. And I don’t need to shut it down. I let it simmer.

The next morning, at 10:36am on Friday (less than 24-hours, not years, later), I send a text to my bestie. It is an update on my email server connectivity issue. “A festivus miracle: the email issue is resolved…whatever I did yesterday did the trick—just needed some time to take effect. I’m sure there’s some kind of life lesson in that. ☺️”

Not only am I sure there is. I am sitting in it right now as I type. In the slow simmer of transformation which requires no new code. It only takes time.

Where in your life do you feel you have lost connection? And what does troubleshooting look like for you right now?

I’d love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 9.15.26

Transformation happens continuously over a lifetime. That is not a failing. It is written into the root code of existence.

Coming up:

OMG, next week, The Quiet Part Out Loud, my 4-part series on shame, concludes with Patrica Dalen (somatic practitioner and therapist). Patricia shares her personal experience with chronic shame and what led her to do a professional deep dive on it.

Subscribe for free today and never miss an episode.

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My guest today is Callie Greenberg. Her pain started at thirteen. She did not receive a diagnosis until she was 37.

For decades, despite countless doctor visits and emergency room trips, she endured the pain and sat with questions that deserved answers. It was crazy-making. Because when you’re dismissed long enough, when you’re told by enough people that nothing is wrong with you, you start to believe you’re the crazy one.

Finally, after one more trip to the emergency room, and a years of watching other women be dismissed while she woreked in operating rooms as a medical device sales rep, Callie got her diagnosis: endometriosis. Now, her pain had a name. But that was just a start, What followed was more pain: excision surgery, failed IVF treatments, a hysterectomy, and menopause.

This conversation is about more than medical trauma. Or the shame and grief. It’s about self-advocacy and the small steps that go into rebuilding a life. And it is about the power of what one woman can do when she starts with naming it all—not just for herself, but also for others.

Callie now co-hosts the podcast Girls Room After Dark. She started The Girls Room Project with Jaime Silva. She works with other women one-on-one as a coach. And she shares her story as a keynote speaker. Because Callie decided to turn what she went through into advocacy. She wanted to make sure that other women and girls have the words for what they are experiencing in their bodies—and to find solutions and information that can help.

Thrilled to have Callie join me for Part 3 of “The Quiet Part Out Loud” (four women, four kinds of shame, four ways of working through it). And grateful for the network of women that surrounds the Stories That Sparkle podcast, specifically Katya Eckert at A Domani Sleep (use this link and get 20% off first order) who introduced me to Callie because she knew we would have much to talk about—and boy, was she right. Callie is a straight shooter, something I appreciate, who is willing to say it the way she sees it.

Now, I invite you to get comfortable, sit back, and listen in.

LINKS

All things Callie Greenberg:

Instagram: @Callie_Greenberg and @girlsroomafterdark

Websites: Callie Greenberg and The Girls Room Project

All things Hella Rader:

Every link in one place: linktr.ee/hellarader

Wan to share your story? Open to submissions: hellarader.com/submissions

Follow me on Instagram, subscribe to my channel on YouTube.com/@hellarader and learn more about me on my Website.

Listen now wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every other Wednesday.

The following is part of that story.

My abdomen ached. I ran my hands over the scars—four dots elongated in a semi-circle near my bellybutton.

It started in my heart. A tug. A pull. A deep discomfort and tension. It felt like an eruption and an implosion all at once. Then came the ache. A sore muscle ache. My eyes filled with water. First, one tear trickled out of the corner of my right eye. When my entire face got warm and flush, the tears rolled out of both eyes, blended together into a stream and my nose flared at the nostrils. My vision blurred. All I could taste was salt as the tears ran across my lips and into my mouth. It felt unbearable. And I was completely silent.

To make it stop, I pressed my eyelids closed tight. But that did not dam up the water, and an endless stream of tears pushed out and rolled down. My breath got hard and fast. Then a sound came out of my mouth. It originated at the very back of my throat and had an odd pitch. My body vibrated. It was a ripple that started in my chest and consumed my shoulders. I shook and trembled. My belly hurt.

My whole adult life, I robbed myself of pleasure, really, of a full life, because I was too afraid to talk about my body and the pain I suffered. Because I did not ask questions or let others know I needed help, I did not know I had a treatable medical condition. Instead, I gave up on myself, blamed myself and my body for my barren brokenness, until finally, everyone and everything was to blame. Then I settled into shame and made it a part of me.

The scars from the incisions got hot. They marked the spot of a vast emptiness just below where I was now hollowed out. Being kid-free was always my choice, a choice I made in part because I knew this world was not safe. I did not want the trauma I had inherited, or the new trauma I had experienced, to pass on to another generation. It would end with me.

Now each tear rolling down my face had a name and a loss or a hurt to go with it. My childhood. My joy. My humor. My voice. My shame. My mom. My dad. My marriage. My brothers. My birth. My body. Love. Safety. Security. My pleasure. Pleasure, I have never known.

The well was deep and never ending. The tears flowed and pooled together with the snot collecting under my nose. It was messy and I let it roll without wiping my face. The more it flowed, the more the rage built up until finally, my hands balled up into fists, and my elbows pressed against my side, I pounded the bed. Over and over and over again.

Slowly, my mouth opened wider and wider. And from the very back of my throat, a scream rose up over my vocal cords.

AHHHHHHHHH!!!

I put my whole body into it. Just threw myself into it with all I had.

The scars and the tissue stretched and groaned. Pain. I did not care. The pain felt good. Tears streamed down my face. My eyes felt sore. My throat felt sore. My entire body hurt, and every muscle pushed up against my skin. I wanted out. Out of this body. This body that had betrayed me. This body I had set aside, ignored, dismissed. I raged at myself. I sobbed for myself.

Who was I now? I had no idea. My creative seat had been pulled out and thrown into a medical waste biohazard bin. Getting pregnant would never happen, not even with IVF. It did not matter that I never wanted to be pregnant. It’s that I never could be. My choice was gone. I could never change my mind. Ever.

The tears flowed like the ocean. What if the current swept me off so far that I would not find my way back? Some part of me did not care. Some part of me welcomed it as a way out. My heart bumped repeatedly against my ribcage. It was not breaking. It was stretching. It was softening.

And that’s when I pulled myself in. I shut my mouth, dammed up my tears, and put my arms back under the covers. Then I lowered the bed, sunk down into the pillows, and closed my eyes. I went back to sleep.

Tomorrow’s episode of the Stories That Sparkle podcast is a conversation with Callie Greenberg, who shares about her experience with endometriosis, her hysterectomy, and her grief around infertility (Part 3 of The Quiet Part Out Loud). I am inspired by how she chose to turn more than two decades of being dismissed and undiagnosed into becoming a founder, keynote speaker, and patient advocate. So much of her story, including our quiet suffering over decades, is similar to mine andso many women’s stories. And it makes clear to me that healing doesn’t always happen in doctor’s offices. It doesn’t usually come even when we get a diagnosis. And it is generally not found in a neat, tidy container.

More often, healing happens in fits and starts. It begins slowly when you finally let yourself feel what you’d been avoiding for years. Sometimes it rises up, unexpected, when you are alone with yourself in the silence. When it does, it can be messy. And loud.

What is your body still waiting for you to feel? And how does it want to express it?

I’d love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 9.8.26

Healing can begin when I give my body a voice. Sometimes, that sounds like a scream, not a whisper.

Coming up:

In two weeks, The Quiet Part Out Loud concludes with my guest, Patrica Dalen (somatic practitioner and therapist). Together, we dig into chronic shame and the ways we can unbind it. Really excited for this one.

Subscribe for free today and never miss an episode.

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The real big task however is thinning out the patch of flowering onions. They have grown so big and spread so wide, they now crowd out the two lily plants. While they are beautiful and a fan favorite of the myriad pollinators, they are also inhibiting the growth of what sits next to them. Maybe even something that wants to emerge from below them.

So, with my little shovel, I dig down, uproot and remove one aromatic clump at a time.

It is a catharsis.

Which brings up some of my takeaways from the episodes I have released as part of The Quiet Part Out Loud, the four-part Stories That Sparkle podcast series on shame. Officially at the half-way mark, it feels like a good time to take a quick look back and another one ahead.

Embrace It (Shawnna’s Story)

The focus of my conversation with Shawnna Journagan was not overtly about shame. It was really more about the many losses she experienced in a very short amount of time, and the way she embraced all of that through long walks and a return to painting—in a new way for her. It was more about major life transitions, and how she processed the grief that came with them.

And yet, when I listened in closely, I could hear shame’s subtle presence underneath. It sat in all the quiet places, the small things said about what or how she did (or had done) things. The hints of “I’m wrong.” Or “bad.”

Before and right after that episode released, not coincidentally I’m sure, I was navigating a transition. I went from wrapping up a big part of my old life to preparing for the next part of my current life. While I was acutely aware of the shame I still carried, I was less aware of the grief. Or maybe more surprised by the grief. I mean, on the surface, I was thrilled about moving on. It was like an inverse of my conversation with Shawnna. While her grief sat on the surface and obscured the shame, my shame covered up the grief underneath.

Which makes for an interesting link between grief and shame, one I had not seen before. I may be aware of my shame (around the opportunities I lost, didn’t risk or denied due to my sense of unworthiness), but not as clear about my grief that came with all that. In other words, shame isn’t always visible and neither is grief. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Release It (Kayti’s Story)

My desire to record with Kayti sprang from her joy. It was so apparent from the minute I met her. It was contagious. And it made me curious. I knew, deep down (based on my own life’s story), that there was a story behind it. Because that kind of effervescent joy is often the result of commensurately deep sorrow (oh, more opposites working together).

Little did I know how true that was. Kayti’s story about joy begins in great part when she was seventeen and discovered she was pregnant. The shame she felt in that moment made clear the shame that was already there. It lived in her body long before she was pregnant.

Even though I have never been pregnant myself, I really connected with Kayti’s story and her journey to inhabit and love her body. Much like her, I felt a great deal of shame about my body, about sex, about being a “bad girl.” The root cause for me was about being a survivor of assault, and in a similar way, it was through movement (yoga, dance, music) that I was able to reach the parts of myself that have been hidden behind the wall (I mean, I wrote a whole book about that).

Once again, and as has so often been the case, a specific, unique story of one woman’s experience conveyed underlying feelings that are shared between the two of us. That principle is the key reason why I launched this podcast in the first place. It reminds me over and over again, that I am not alone in whatever I am going through and neither is anyone else.

Which brings me to the second half of the series.

Next week I release part 3 of The Quiet Part Out Loud, a conversation with Callie Greenberg—coach, advocate and speaker (and co-founder of the Girls Room Project where her advocacy becomes education). It marks a shift in the energy of the series. Not because of what Callie does, but because of who she is. Not because of her shame, but because of her response to it.

Similar but very different to Shawnna and Kayti, Callie’s shame is tied to loss and grief (marriage, career, motherhood) and the body (decades-long undiagnosed endometriosis and medical hysterectomy). For her, shame and grief are very much on the surface. Both are palpable in her straight-forward, almost defiant (in a good way) insistence on naming it, all of it, out loud. For her, acknowledging the shame brings the healing—not as a destination but as a result of the often small, yet substantial daily choices she makes in response to the shame.

“Name It (Callie’s Story)” is a lively discussion with a woman who is no longer willing to hide who she is.

And that has been the greatest gift of this series for me.

Recording and then listening back to these episodes reminds me that I even when I focus on the weeds that want to crowd my mind and cover my heart, I may not get to all of them. Some of them I may choose to keep because they look nice or still nourish some part of me. Some of the ones I discard are sure to grow back on their own.

Either way, even though I can still smell the onions on my hand despite wearing gloves, I can now see more of the beauty that’s there, just underneath.

Before Callie’s story lands in the feed, I would love to hear from you.

How have you experienced the series so far? What new (or not so new) insights have you gained about how shame makes an appearance (or not) in your life?

Hit reply or leave a comment.

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 9.1.26

Today, I will embrace and release the weeds I can name so I can better see what’s growing underneath.

Coming up:

Next Wednesday, The Quiet Part Out Loud continues with “Name It (Callie’s Story).” And in two weeks, the series concludes with licensed psychotherapist and Core Energetics practitioner Patricia Dalen, who shares how her own experience with and research into shame informs how she helps others unbind it.

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Today’s episode continues the four-part podcast series “The Quiet Part Out Loud” (four women, four kinds of shame, four ways of working through it) with one of the most joyful women I have ever met—Kayti Grubstein. It was her joy that drew me to her the first time I met her when I took her Monday morning Core Power Fusion class at Queens Community Yoga in late 2025. Little did I know then what a journey it has been for Kayti to not only have that joy, but to inhabit her body the way she does today.

In Kayti’s story, shame takes over, when, at age seventeen, she becomes pregnant. But it was already there before that moment and impacted her in many different ways for a long, long time. When we sat down to record this conversation, Kayti shared how she continues to grapple with shame right now, today. Her story takes us deeper into the ways shame builds walls, impacts how we feel in our bodies, and wreaks havoc on how see ourselves. Grateful to Kayti for sharing how she practices releasing that shame—through movement, in her body, with music.

I love being with Kayti, not just in class…whether we’re haning out in person or virtually. Her joy is an ongoing inspiration to me. Just this past weekend, when I was tempted by the rabbit hole of shame, I thought of her words in this episode and danced it out. Could not think of a better person with whom to go deeper into this discussion around shame.

So now, I invite you to get comfortable, sit back, and listen in.

LINKS

All things Kayti Grubstein:

Instagram: @yure_yoga

Kayti’s Current Class Schedule (check in for any changes or updates):

Mondays 9:30am-10:30am Core Power Fusion (Queens Community Yoga)*

Mondays 5:30pm-6:15pm Core Fusion (Suryaside Yoga)

Fridays 9am-10am Power Flow (Queens Community Yoga)*

*Classes at Queens Community Yoga available in person or virtual

All things Hella Rader:

Every link in one place: linktr.ee/hellarader

Wan to share your story? Open to submissions: hellarader.com/submissions

Follow me on Instagram, subscribe to my channel on YouTube.com/@hellarader and learn more about me on my Website.

Listen now wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every other Wednesday.

While I welcomed the lower temperatures, they also brought with them a sense of urgency. A rabbit hole of frantic thoughts about what I need to do about all the things that still feel unresolved, opened up in front of me. And just as I decided to launch myself headlong into that vortex, my phone vibrated. It was a text from my bestie.

“Can you go for a walk?”

“Yep!” My immediate response.

Within half an hour, my bestie was at my doorstep. After a quick tour of all the things I had cleaned up and re-arranged on the inside (of my house but really, also of me) over the last four weeks, we drove to the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley, got onto the trails, and walked. And walked. And walked.

We took a variety of routes. We climbed up hills into wide-open meadows, descended through the woods, and circled around a pond. All the while, we talked. Well, mostly she talked. I listened.

Two hours later, we pulled into my driveway. The second she put her car into park, my anxiety, all the thoughts I had woken up with, all the worries I mulled over out on the front porch before I got her text, popped back into my head.

The rabbit hole opened up. My shoulders inched upward. And my breath grew shallow.

But before I could reach for the door handle, I blurted out, “I’m not ok.”

Instantly, my shoulders dropped, my breath deepened, and my feet planted firmly in front of me.

“Oh, honey, what’s up?”

For the next few minutes, I shared with her about the fear, worry and self-doubt—in other words, all the usual suspects that had bedeviled me earlier. The ones that popped up and out, seemingly out of nowhere.

But they were not coming from nowhere.

Over the past month, I got rid of piles and piles of old things, donated mountains of stuff (including dishes I got for my wedding), organized endless reams of paper, and sifted through family pictures. Most recently, I boxed up 13.5 (physical) lbs. of wedding day pictures.

I had been driven, almost hellbent, to get through all of it so I could get rid of most of it. It was time and I was ready. It was a healthy impulse of both expansion and contraction all at once. At times, I felt such freedom and cohesion—within myself. It was the encouragement I needed to keep going and get through it.

But once the bulk of it was done, and the energy of all that motion (outward and inward) subsided, I woke up this weekend in the silence of being still.

It was an emotional hangover.

Still sitting outside of my house in her car, I continued to share about all of that. And a few other things. Like the text from an estranged family member. The dream I had about my mom (who passed away eleven years ago). That’s when I realized that in all that motion of sifting, repacking, and throwing away, in all the retreading of my past, I had not left enough space for my feelings. Hence, the hangover.

It would be easy for me to nurse that hangover by not saying anything to anyone. Yes, it would be easier to do that. But not more comfortable. From years of staying silent, I already know that all that unspoken stuff, all the feelings left unaddressed, would end up dragging me down. For much longer than is required. Or necessary.

Instead, I can choose to share about it and find my way back to the joy that lives side-by-side with the sorrow. I can hold them both, without being overtaken or taken out.

Which brings me to Kayti, this week’s guest on the Stories That Sparkle podcast. Kayti talks about the shame she felt around her body — not just in the past, but also recently, and describes her ever-evolving, on-going journey to release it. Not once. Not then. Continuously. Today. Through movement.

So, after my bestie pulled out of the driveway, I marched upstairs, put on a fun song (at high volume), and danced the emotional hangover out of me.

Just for today.

What’s the version of “I’m not ok” you haven’t said out loud yet?

I would love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Because August is my birthday month, I’m offering a 20% discount (use this link) for anyone considering becoming a paid subscriber (and have access to more, longer form writing in “From the Vault” and “Behind the Scenes” from my life as a one-woman audio-visual department).

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 8.25.26

After all the doing, I will allow myself to feel the messy leftovers by not cleaning them up.

Coming up:

Tomorrow, Wednesday, 8.26.26, the four-part series, The Quiet Part Out Loud, continues with part two, Kayti’s story, “Release It.” I first met Kayti at the end of 2025, when I took her Core Fusion class at Queens Community Yoga (FYI—you can take classes there virtually or in person). I was immediately struck by her immense joy. So, it was a real delight to discover the journey underneath that joy, her passion for music, and her willingness to move with her shame as a way to release it. And given what she reveals in her story, her joy is even more impressive.

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And, if you have a story you want to share, either as a written piece or as a guest on the podcast, this space is very much open to submissions.

Very early on Sunday morning, I recline into the lounger on the front porch. Next to me on the small white table is a fresh-brewed cup of coffee. I pick it up, take a sip, and stare off into the low-hanging canopy of branches. The big, green leaves weave together into a drape. They shroud the front porch in mystery. Nobody who passes by, whether in their car or on foot walking their dog, can see me. Not really. It is my new favorite spot to sit and do…nothing.

After few minutes of quiet contemplation, I look to my left. And there, past the maple tree, in the front flower bed, underneath the red bud tree, is a deer. It looks right at me.

Time stands still. The only sound is the patter of raindrops on the leaves above. For a few seconds, maybe as long as a minute, we stare at each other.

Impulsively, I look down, and fumble around on the chair for my phone. I have never seen a deer that close to me (unless there was a window separating us) and I want to capture this moment.

But as soon as I look up, just a split second later, the deer slowly steps away, onto the driveway, and continues, very slowly, across the street. Like it had all the time in the world. Which, unlike me in that moment, it did.

Without hesitation, I get up, go inside, pull out my to do list, and make a new addition: DAY OFF. In red.

Because if there’s one thing I have learned (often): when a deer (or butterfly or other animal) shows up like that, pay close attention. And take the next right action.

So, with my Sunday post already scheduled, and a dance in the rain easy to cross off, I took the rest of the day off. I did not make, write or edit anything else.

Instead, I had a luxuriously extended chat with a friend, went to brunch with a bestie, ran into another bestie, and extended the visit post-brunch with both of them. The best part? I did not feel any anxiety about it. I let myself do whatever, however, I felt like doing. Or not.

That has not always been the case. It is something I talk about in a special bonus episode of the Stories That Sparkle podcast I recorded—a conversation with my friend Laura Sweeney about the Discoball Tour. Laura interviewed me about, among other things, my experience documenting the journey, and turning all that footage into a docu-series (more about the release of that episode below).

Putting that episode together had been on my to-do list for a while, and it came about last week because I was in a creative flow—something I came to understand while writing my book. I’ve learned to ride it without letting it take over, to expect it to slow to a trickle (which it always does), and, when it does, not to force an extended piece out of myself when I have nothing much else to say.

And that is why I decided to extend my day off into a second day. Monday. The day when “Write Tuesday Tidings” is at the top of my to-do list.

Before I sat down at my computer, I spent time in the back yard and tended to the sunflowers. I had set up the supports before they needed them—long before they got tall or heavy enough to lean on anything. But they had gotten a little unruly and needed a little assist—some help to lean on the support already available to them. In the same way, I lean into the minimal, quiet work today so that later, when there’s something for me to hold up, the support I will need is already there.

And while I kept my commitment to write today’s post, I also had no real pull to say much more. So, I won’t. Except:

Sunday was a day to notice a deer and let it walk away. Monday was a day to not prop something up. And today…well, who knows. Which is the whole point.

What would happen if, just for today, you let something walk away without reaching for the phone, forcing something in or adding a new task?

I would love to hear from you. Hit reply or leave a comment.

Because August is my birthday month, I’m offering a 20% discount (use this link) for anyone considering becoming a paid subscriber (and have access to more, longer form writing in “From the Vault” and “Behind the Scenes” from my life as a one-woman audio-visual department).

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 8.18.26

I don’t have to do something every day. Some days, I just get to notice.

Coming up:

Last week I mentioned that I would release my conversation with Laura about the as a special bonus episode of the Stories That Sparkle podcast this week. The episode is ready. But releasing it now would mean interrupting the 4-part series The Quiet Part Out Loud right in the middle of its arc. Doing that would mean forcing something in just because it happens to be ready. More important, doing that would be a disservice to the women who joined me to share about how they experience shame and what they do to get through it. So, the Discoball Tour interview episode is moving to October, during a time when I already know now that I’ll need something ready-made. Which feels like exactly the kind of thing this whole post has been about.

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And, if you have a story you want to share, either as a written piece or as a guest on the podcast, this space is very much open to submissions.