Living in the Middle

On Closing The Middle Series

There is something powerful about realizing that four very different books can still come from the exact same place.

Not just the same author.

The same season.
The same unraveling.
The same rebuilding.
The same middle.

What makes The Middle Series meaningful to me is that none of the books were written to repeat each other. Each one became its own voice, its own container, its own way of surviving and understanding what was happening while I was living through it.

But together, they tell a larger story.

Not a polished story.
Not a story that moves neatly from broken to healed.
A human story.

A story about what happens when life falls apart slowly enough that you can still hear yourself thinking while it happens.

And maybe even more importantly—
what happens after.

There is something strange about realizing you are no longer in the same place emotionally that you were when you began writing.

That’s where I find myself now.

With the release of Living in the Middle, the fourth and final book in The Middle Series, I can feel something shifting.

Not because everything is healed.
Not because I suddenly have all the answers.

But because I am no longer writing from pure survival.

And I think that matters.

Four Books. Four Voices.

From the Middle

From the Middle was the beginning.

The rawest book of the four.

It was written from the center of collapse and awakening at the same time. A book about grief, addiction, shame, identity, heartbreak, self-awareness, and learning how to sit honestly with myself for the first time in years.

That book did not come from clarity.

It came from finally telling the truth.

Not polished truth.
Not inspirational truth.
Just truth.

I think that’s why people connected with it.

Because so many of us are trying to survive while pretending we are fine.

Text from the Middle

If From the Middle was the emotional outpouring, Text from the Middle became something quieter.

Softer.
More grounded.
More companion than confession.

This book was deeply inspired by the text messages my grandmother would send me during difficult seasons of my life.

Not messages of judgment.
Not lectures.
Not attempts to “fix” me.

Just steady reminders that someone was still there.

Simple words of encouragement.
Moments of kindness.
Little pieces of light arriving in the middle of hard days.

Those messages mattered more than she probably ever realized.

Sometimes they arrived exactly when I needed them.
Sometimes I would reread them long after the conversation ended.
Sometimes they simply reminded me that I was not as alone as I felt.

And over time, I realized something important:

If those messages could help carry me through difficult moments, maybe they could do the same for someone else too.

That became the heart of Text from the Middle.

Not a book meant to preach.
Not a book pretending to have all the answers.

Just words meant to sit beside people.

To breathe with them.
To remind them to keep going.
To offer small moments of encouragement in a world that often feels loud, rushed, and lonely.

This book taught me that healing is not always dramatic.

Sometimes healing looks like a simple message arriving at the right moment.

A reminder to pause.
To breathe.
To begin where you are.

Again.
And again.
And again.

In the Middle of It

Then came In the Middle of It.

This book may be the most psychologically layered of the series.

It explored identity, projection, collapse, illusion, control, self-deception, relationships, trauma, and the versions of ourselves we become while trying to survive pain we do not fully understand yet.

The tarot structure inside the book was never about predicting the future.

It was about archetypes.
Patterns.
Human nature.
The emotional mirrors we encounter while trying to become ourselves again.

This book was written from the middle of confusion itself.

Not after.
During.

And I think readers can feel that.

Living in the Middle

And now—
Living in the Middle.

This book feels different.

Not because the struggles disappeared.
Not because grief stopped existing.
Not because life suddenly became easy.

But because something steadier has started to emerge underneath all of it.

This book is less about surviving collapse and more about learning how to live afterward.

How to rebuild trust with myself.
How to hold boundaries without apology.
How to stop abandoning myself in order to keep others comfortable.
How to exist without needing to perform healing perfectly.

This book feels quieter.

More grounded.
More intentional.
Less reactive.

Almost like the dust has finally begun to settle enough for me to see the room again.

The Close of the Middle

What I am realizing now is that The Middle Series was never really about arriving somewhere.

It was documentation.

A witness account of becoming.

These books captured the space between who I was and who I am becoming.

The middle between collapse and rebuilding.
The middle between shame and self-awareness.
The middle between survival and presence.
The middle between hiding and being seen.

And maybe that is why this series matters so much to me.

Because I did not wait until everything was resolved before speaking.

I wrote while living it.

I healed out loud.

What Comes Next

Closing The Middle Series does not mean the story ends.

It just means the season changes.

There are still stories left to tell.
Still poems left unwritten.
Still parts of myself I am learning to meet.

But I can feel that the next work will come from somewhere different.

Not from the center of collapse.

But from the slow process of rebuilding direction, identity, joy, and meaning afterward.

And honestly?

I think that may be the most hopeful thing I have written yet.

Because for a long time,
I wasn’t sure I would ever make it far enough to imagine an “after.”

But here I am.

Still unfinished.
Still learning.
Still becoming.

Just no longer entirely lost inside the middle.

Reflection Question

What part of your life still feels “in the middle” right now?

Not fully broken.
Not fully healed.
Not fully understood.

And what would it look like to stop demanding certainty from yourself while you are still becoming?

Begin Where You Are

You do not need to have everything figured out before your life becomes meaningful.

Healing rarely happens in straight lines.
Growth rarely arrives all at once.
And becoming yourself is often quieter than you expected it would be.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is simply remain present long enough to witness your own becoming.

Begin where you are.

Again.
And again.
And again.