Some shows don’t just entertain you — they reach out, tap you on the shoulder, and say quietly, I know what you’re carrying.
That’s what happened when Michael and I started watching “The Beast in Me” on Netflix.

I didn’t expect to see myself in the author’s character. But there she was — moving through her world gently disconnected, living at a distance from the people around her. Not because she didn’t care. Not because she didn’t want connection. But because a piece of her heart was missing, and she was trying to survive the rest of her life without it.

Her grief wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was quiet… familiar.
And it hit me in a way I didn’t see coming.

Because I know that feeling too well — the ache of a child who simply walked out of your life. No argument. No explanation. No attempt to repair or reconnect. Just a slow, painful fade into silence.
It’s the kind of loss that doesn’t come with condolences or casseroles.
There’s no funeral for a relationship that ends without a goodbye.

There’s just the empty chair at the table and the part of your heart that’s missing in action.

If I didn’t have Michael…
If I didn’t have my son who’s still at home…
I would retreat from the world, too.
I would hide in the quiet.
I would let myself disappear into a life of soft seclusion.
Not because I want to give up — but because grief makes everything heavier than it looks.

But I don’t have that option.
So I show up.
I keep moving.
I try to live in a world that sometimes feels too loud for the tenderness I’m carrying.

And then there was this moment in the show — this tiny, perfect moment — where “Wave of Mutilation” by the Pixies started playing in the background.
A song I used to simply like.
But now?
I feel it.
Deep in the hollow part of my chest where the unspoken things live.

It’s strange how a song can shift from nostalgia to recognition.
How grief can change the way a melody lands.
How a single line can suddenly name what you’ve been trying to swallow for months.

This episode is about that.
About the grief that doesn’t get talked about.
About the feelings people expect you to “move on” from when you’re still trying to stand upright.
About the kind of heartbreak that rearranges you quietly, without anyone noticing.

In this conversation, I talk about:

• What estrangement truly feels like — the grief with no rituals
• Why certain stories hit hard when you’re carrying invisible pain
• The honest desire to disappear when life feels too heavy
• The difference between withdrawing to heal and giving up entirely
• How music can activate the ache you thought you buried
• The quiet resilience of showing up for the people who remain
• The lonely, unseen side of loving a child who no longer chooses you

This episode is soft.
It’s honest.
It’s not here to shock or dramatize — just to tell the truth in the way grief deserves to be told.

If you’ve ever been erased from someone’s life… if you’ve ever carried a sorrow you couldn’t explain… if you’ve ever seen a character on a screen and thought that’s me — this one is for you.

You’re not alone in the quiet places of your heart.
And you’re not the only one learning to live with a love that still has nowhere to go.