Write the Hard Thing (Weekly Substack LIVE)
Ten minutes. One prompt. A nervous system-safe space to write the thing that scares you.
I want to start by saying this is not a class or a workshop.
It’s a practice. A ritual. A clearing.
Every week on Substack Live, I’ll hold space for you to write the hard thing, the one that’s been following you around for years, the one you haven’t quite known how to say. But don’t worry, we don’t dive in all at once. We ease in, gently, with care, for just ten minutes.
I’ll offer a prompt to use, or ignore. Sometimes prompts are doorways. Sometimes they’re mirrors. Either way, they offer an invitation into the places that are asking to be seen. You don’t have to write the Big Thing, the Scary Thing, not right away. Just start where you are. These sessions are about meeting the story sideways, at a slant, gently, safely.
When I first started writing my own story about growing up in a meth lab in the Mojave Desert with a mother in and out of prison, I didn’t know how to begin. I’d spent years avoiding it, rationalizing it, trying to tuck it away in a back corner of my brain like maybe it never happened. But here’s the thing, our bodies remember what our minds try to forget. And in the beginning, even thinking about certain memories made my whole body tighten. I didn’t know I was holding my breath. I didn’t know I was dissociating every time I tried to write. I thought I just lacked discipline or clarity, but really, my nervous system was trying to protect me.
What helped wasn’t powering through, it was slowing down. Making it safe. Finding tiny doorways in. Giving myself permission to tell just one small piece, then step back. Breathe. Regulate. Come back to the present.
That’s what this space is for.
We write for ten minutes. No editing or fixing or judging. No making it good. We let the words come however they need to. We release. And then we ground. Because sometimes writing the hard thing stirs stuff up. You might feel tender, tired, weepy, or numb. It’s all okay. That’s your body processing. We end every session with a brief, nervous-system-friendly breath or grounding exercise, so you can walk back into your day feeling supported.
Why just 10 minutes?
Because we’re gently retraining the body to believe this is safe.
Ten minutes, over and over again, becomes a practice. A pathway back to yourself. It’s long enough to begin but short enough to stay present. It’s doable, and over time, the body builds trust, which is the whole point. We’re creating a container (a safe, repeatable experience) where your nervous system can learn that it’s safe to tell the truth. We’re offering it new evidence, rewiring the way it relates to the stories we’ve been afraid to touch.
This is somatic storytelling.
We are reclaiming authorship not just on the page, but in the body. Because when we avoid the story, it grows louder. When we touch it, even for ten minutes, it loses some of its grip. You don’t need to write the whole story. Just start. One moment, one memory, one sentence at a time.
Sometimes what’s hard to write is grand and overwhelming, and other times, it's slippery and just out of reach. These prompts help you find entry points. They are simple and gentle and repeatable. You can write about the same story again and again from new angles or follow where your memory, your heart, your body wants to go. There are no rules here, only the rhythm of showing up and telling the truth.
Remember, we carry these stories in our bodies. Let them lead you. And if you feel tears, let them come. If you feel tired, that’s okay. Relax into it. If you feel a flood of sensation, pause, breathe, ground, but follow it.
This is how we reclaim our story. It’s how we reclaim our life.
The flow:
The first 5 minutes will be a brief welcome and grounding.
I’ll give the prompt (use it or follow your own thread).
We’ll write for 10 minutes, together. I’ll let you know when you have one minute left.
We’ll close with a short, regulating breath or body practice.
You can drop off quietly or stick around to ask a question in the chat.
Upcoming Live schedule for all subscribers:
Tuesday, June 24th at 12:00pm ET
Monday, June 30th at 12:00pm ET
Tuesday, July 8th at 12:00pm ET
I’m testing out dates/times that work best for people, so feel free to comment with the days and times that suit your schedule below.
Here’s the breakdown on the Live:
Free Live writing every week (20 min total: 10 min writing, plus short grounding practice before/after).
All subscribers receive a notification when I’m Live, and I’ll also send a reminder in the chat 12-48 hours beforehand.
Replay will be available for all subscribers (in case you need to write on your own time).
Show up as you are. Come late if you need. Even one minute of writing is a win. You never know what’s going to show up.
And remember, don’t overthink. Just write.
You’re creating a practice.
Try committing to three 10-minute grounded writing sessions a week.
Weekly (see schedule above): Join the free live writing session for all subscribers.
Sunday: I’ll drop a fresh prompt on Notes.
Thursday: Paid subscribers get a bonus prompt tied to each memoir chapter that I’m serializing here on Substack.
Look out for prompts at the end of my weekly essays and also in my monthly wrap-ups.
This isn’t about writing something polished or shareable. It’s not even about making sense of it all. It’s about showing up, even for one minute, and letting something move. Letting something out. It’s about building muscle memory. And it’s about giving your body the message: you’re safe to tell the truth now.
The stories we carry can feel massive, unreachable, too tangled to begin, but prompts help us find a way in. And once we’re in, the subconscious does what it’s so good at, pulling things up and out that were just waiting to be released.
Don’t worry about getting it right. Don’t go back and edit while you’re in it. Just write, however it wants to come out, even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy. And if you arrive late, come anyway. Start where you are. You might be surprised what shows up even in a single minute of presence.
This is a practice. A beginning. A way to meet your story, and your body, with a renewed sense of safety to keep going.
A monthly circle:
Once a month, I’ll host a longer community session—a live circle (probably on Zoom) where we gather not just to write, but to reflect on the process. To share what’s come up (if we feel called), to ask questions, to name the blocks and the breakthroughs. It’s a space to be witnessed and to be held and to be reminded that you’re not alone in doing the hard work of telling the truth.
We’re not fixing or solving or offering advice. We’re just showing up with presence and curiosity, a deep listening. We’re honoring the power of being seen by others who are walking this same wild and courageous path of reclaiming their story.
These sessions will begin in August, and I can’t wait to sit in that circle with you. Whether you share or simply listen, your presence matters. This will be a space for integration, connection, and collective exhale.
Writing our truths can be terrifying. But also liberating. I’ve found that when I share my most vulnerable stories, the ones I thought might break me, other people exhale. They feel less alone. They find the courage to tell their own truths.
That’s the kind of space I want to hold here. One where your body feels safe enough to tell the truth, where your story gets to exist, and where you don’t have to do it alone.
This is how we begin.
*This weekly 10-minute Substack Live was inspired in part by the beautiful micro sessions created and hosted by writer
. Her prompts are designed to support a consistent creative practice and build publication credits for micro prose. Her offering reminded me just how powerful short, structured writing sessions can be and sparked the idea to create a space specifically for writing the hard things, with nervous system care at the center. I’m grateful for the inspiration and encourage you to check out her work at if you’re looking to not only deepen your writing practice, but also work toward publication.Now, here’s a simple, but potent prompt to get you started:
Start with a smell you remember from childhood. What story does it lead you to?
Scent is one of the most powerful access points to memory. A single smell—gasoline, Windex, your grandmother’s perfume—can open the floodgates to a whole world, a room, a season, a mood, a moment long buried.
Our olfactory system is directly linked to the limbic brain, where memory and emotion live. That means smell can bypass logic and drop us right into the body, into the truth, into the story.
Let the scent be your doorway. Let it guide you.
And remember, this doesn’t have to be the hard story. It doesn’t have to be the darkest chapter. Just write what shows up. Sometimes we need to circle the pain before we go into it. Sometimes the soft, strange, sensory memories hold just as much weight.
The only rule is this: tell the truth as you remember it.
That’s where the magic is.
That’s where the reclamation begins.
Before you start, take a moment to land in your body.
Place both feet flat on the floor.
Drop your shoulders away from your ears.
Take one slow, deep breath in through the nose into your belly, out through the mouth.
Gently press your fingertips together, or place a hand over your heart.
Say to yourself:
“I’m here. I don’t have to tell the whole story. I just have to begin.”
Then, set the timer for ten minutes, and write. Don’t overthink it. I can’t stress this enough. This is about getting out of your own way.
Once the timer goes off, take a minute to re-ground (especially if something tender came up).
Sit up tall and rub your hands together quickly until you feel heat. Then place them gently over your eyes or the back of your neck.
Then roll your shoulders. Wiggle your fingers and toes.
Take one more deep breath, longer on the exhale than the inhale.
Look around your space. Reorient yourself. Name 3 things you see, 2 things you hear, and 1 thing you can touch.
Let your body know:
“I’m here. I’m safe. That part of the story is done for today.”
You did brave work today, whether a few words or a flood came out, it counts.
If you feel like sharing, I’d love to hear what came up for you. You can leave a comment below. There’s never any pressure. But know that I read every single one. I’m here for your hard stories. I’m here to offer a witness. To see you.
We’re not meant to carry it all alone.
Well this sounds like a fantabulous offering, perfect for me in this season 🧡
Thank you for the kind words, Jessy!