Someone left a comment on an old post, saying Mike had “rescued” me.
And I sat with that word. Rescue.
The mind paints a picture straight away — a white knight in shining armour, galloping in, lifting me to safety. That’s the story we’re told. But my truth was different.
When Mike and I met, we were both standing in the same desolate place called rock bottom. My candle had gone out. His was still burning. And instead of riding in to save me, he simply held out his flame and shared his light. If you're new here, I've shared how we met HERE.
It wasn’t rescuing. It wasn’t saving in the fairy-tale sense. It was something in between, a quiet healing and soul saving. A reminder that broken doesn’t mean finished.
Others, too, held out their candles along the way. And together those small lights became a glow strong enough to lead me forward. It makes me think of Rumi’s words: “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” No one recognises the gift of light more than the one who has lived without it. Let the light in. Forcing yourself to stay without light is no different than tying yourself up with chains.
The last few weeks have pulled me into reflection. Preparing for print. Reading messages from people saying how the magazine has reached them, touched them. It humbles me more than I can put into words.
The other day, I laid out every issue since April. One by one, side by side. And I thought, when did this happen? How did all of these pieces become a body of work? Yet here it is. Real. Alive.
From September 2024 to March 2025, I gave at least sixteen hours a day to this vision. Tears. Exhaustion. The sting of rejection. And still, the push to keep going. And then, almost quietly, things began to work.
If I could name what I feel now, it is this: my soul is singing. And it is singing because you are here with us. Because you have lent your own light to this journey.
Thank you for walking beside us. For singing with us.
And just a little note — September has five Tuesdays, but we’ll only be publishing for four of them.
Until the next issue,
Love and light.
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