Honest storytelling as a form of healing.

Author: Ellie Augustin

  • When life demands more: Lessons from Veronika

    I recently finished reading Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho, and it left me sitting with myself in a way very few books ever have. On the surface, it’s a story about a young woman who attempts to end her life, but beneath the pages, it’s about something far deeper  the raw, terrifying, exhilarating art of truly living.

    What struck me wasn’t Veronika’s decision to die it was what happened after. When she believed she had only days left, she stopped holding back.

    She did the things she never dared. She spoke the words she’d once swallowed. She allowed herself to feel deeply, unapologetically, even recklessly because in her mind, there was nothing left to lose. And in that space of nothing-to-lose, she discovered everything she had been missing.

    It made me ask myself a hard question: What would I do differently if I believed my time was short? Would I still silence myself for the comfort of others?

    Would I still chase people who never meet me halfway? Would I still cling to jobs, roles, or identities that no longer reflect who I am becoming?

    The truth is, I’ve already started answering that question without even realizing it. I’ve been releasing people I once clung to, refusing to keep calling and texting and chasing after one-sided connections.

    I’ve been quietly untangling myself from versions of me that were built to keep others comfortable. And as I do, something unexpected is happening  I feel lighter. I feel closer to myself than I have in years.

    There’s a kind of sacred power in choosing to step back not out of bitterness, but out of self-respect. And with each boundary I set, with each old tie I let go, I feel myself stepping into a new season of life where I’m no longer living to be liked. I’m living to be authentic.

    Of course, my story isn’t Veronika’s. I have responsibilities, roots, people I love deeply. I can’t drop everything and run away. But that doesn’t mean I can’t choose to live differently.

    I can stop giving my energy to what drains me. I can choose peace over people-pleasing. I can live like I have nothing to lose not because life is ending, but because it’s far too precious to waste.

    Maybe that’s what midlife is supposed to feel like  not a crisis, but an awakening. A point where you stop numbing and start noticing, where you stop surviving and start living. It’s messy and scary and beautifully uncertain, but it’s also deeply liberating.

    I don’t have all the answers yet but I do know this: I’m done existing on autopilot.

    I’m ready to live with intention, to take risks that scare me, to build a life that doesn’t require an escape plan. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the lesson of this book it was teaching us all along that the life we crave isn’t waiting somewhere far away.

    It’s waiting for us to choose it, right here, right now.

  • Access Denied

    Being true to myself means locking doors

    that once stood wide open 

    doors that let in anything disguised as concern,

    but were only vampires

    thirsting for my light.

    Access denied.

    I’m learning to change my face,

    to guard the sacred  me.

    They may search for the old version,

    but she’s gone.

    She gave until nothing was left.

    Now she lies in a coffin,

    and no resuscitation can revive her.

    A new seed has been planted 

    and it will be protected

    at all costs.

    Without that protection,

    my lifeline dies.

    Access denied.

    Access denied.

    I forgive myself

    for giving too much

    and receiving so little.

    I refuse to fill my days

    with emptiness and fillers.

    Only sincerity

    may walk this path with me now.

    Access denied.

    Access denied.

    I won’t mourn wasted time 

    I’ll face what’s left

    and pour into myself

    what I always needed.

    However much time remains,

    I will spend it wisely.

    Access denied.

    And now, I begin again 

    slowly, surely,

    tending to what is genuine

    and true.

  • Museums, Free Days & All the Art Magic This Season

    I don’t know about you, but I’m excited that it’s October with that so much fun is coming up.

    Lately, I’ve been keeping my eyes on what’s opening up in the city because honestly, the Fall into Winter stretch is one of the best times for museums.

    The tourists thin out, the weather cools down, and suddenly all the galleries roll out the shows that feel like conversations you didn’t even know you needed.

    So here’s what’s caught my attention because if I’m going, you might want to go too.

    First off, Rashid Johnson at the Guggenheim (through Jan 20). The name alone feels heavy, like you know you’re about to get pulled into something that demands you sit with it. The show’s called A Poem for Deep Thinkers, and just from the images, it looks like layers on layers of history, memory, and maybe even a little healing.

    Perfect place to seat with our thoughts

    Then there’s Man Ray at The Met (through Feb 1). Surrealism always plays with that dream/nightmare edge, and I’m curious to see how his work holds up in our world now. Photography, sculpture, film—he touched it all.

    Lorna Simpson also has a show at The Met (through Nov 2), and she’s one of those artists who knows how to make memory feel sharp, like it’s cutting into the present.

    Right after that, there’s Superfine: Tailoring Black Style (through Oct 26), which is all about fashion and identity—honestly, that one sounds like a whole mood.

    Over at the Whitney, Sixties Surreal opened September 24, and that decade is already wild enough without adding surrealism to the mix. I think it’s going to be one of those shows that makes you see old photos and stories in a completely new way.

    And then, Hilma af Klint at MoMA (through Sept 27). If you’ve never seen her work before, imagine paintings that feel like prayers in color—spiritual, abstract, and way ahead of their time.

    Now, if you’re like me, you love art but you also love a free day (because this city will take your money in a blink). Here’s where it gets good:

    • Monet at the Brooklyn Museum (opens Oct 11) → Free First Saturdays, 5–11 PM. That’s a whole evening to get lost in water lilies. I am most excited about seeing this for sure.

    • Ruth Asawa at MoMA (opens Oct 19) → Free Fridays, 5:30–8:30 PM, but only if you’re a New York State resident. Her wire sculptures are like poetry floating in air.

    • Robert Rauschenberg at the Guggenheim (opens Oct 10) → Pay-What-You-Wish Mondays and Saturdays, 4–5:30 PM. Not a huge window of time, but worth it.

    • Anish Kapoor at the Jewish Museum (opens Oct 24) → Free all day Saturdays.

    That’s a lot, I know. But think of it as a season-long treasure map. Pick one weekend a month and give yourself over to the art. Some of it will confuse you, some of it will stay with you forever, and all of it will remind you that New York is still one of the best places in the world to wander and wonder.

    So where are we going first? Monet’s water lilies? Rashid Johnson’s walls of red? Or Hilma af Klint’s spirals of spirit?

  • Return to Self

     I woke up before dawn with a thought I couldn’t shake how many parts of me I’ve silenced just to make someone else feel comfortable. 

    How many times I’ve swallowed my own light to be the version of “enough” someone else needed.

    The most important relationship you have is with yourself

    It’s heartbreaking to admit how easy it was to disappear piece by piece. And even harder to face the truth: none of it ever worked. Because the people I kept contorting myself for? 

    They still found me too much, or not enough, or somehow both at once.

    Now I’m doing something different. I’m calling those missing parts back.

    I’m asking myself for forgiveness for betraying my own heart while trying to keep others happy. 

    For neglecting the things that made me feel alive. For forgetting that the love I was searching for has been here, within me, all along.

    I’m relearning the things I once loved the joy of pen and paper, the ritual of capturing memories, the art of telling stories simply because they matter to me. 

    And every time I pick up a forgotten piece, I feel a little more like myself again.

    This return is tender. It’s clumsy. It feels a little like being reborn fragile and uncertain, but full of hope.

    Happiness shines from the inside

    And maybe that’s what healing is: coming home to yourself after a long absence and promising you’ll never leave again.

  • Trials and Tribulations

    Life is so full of ups and downs, and when we’re in the thick of it, it can feel like that’s it like we’ll never pull ourselves out of the darkness.

    There are moments when it feels as if that’s all we’ll ever know.

    We question everything the whys, the hows, the timing and our patience wears thin.

    We forget that clarity often comes only after the waiting.

    Our trials and tribulations are never for nothing.

    Each one carries a hidden message, a quiet lesson that shapes us, refines us, and prepares us for what’s next.

    Sometimes the waiting feels unbearable. Sometimes the lessons arrive wrapped in pain, confusion, or loss.

    But the beauty of it all is that nothing stays still forever. Seasons change. So do we.

    Our life truly is a heartbeat

    In time, what once broke us becomes what built us.

    The same pain that once felt endless becomes the very soil from which new strength grows.

    When the light returns and it always does we realize that we were never truly lost.

    We were being guided, molded, and taught to trust the process, even in the dark.

    So, if you’re in the middle of it right now breathe.

    Hold on. The dawn always follows the night.

  • October Journal Challenge: The First Three 

    The start of October feels like the perfect time to lean into reflection. I’ve been following my own journal challenge, where each day has a simple but powerful prompt.

    These first three days have already opened me up to truths I needed to face.

    October 1: Weather and Mood

    The day was cold, and everything about it felt heavy. I wasn’t the only one who noticed the energy seemed to press down on everyone around me. My daughter and son both said the day felt rough, which only confirmed the weight in the air.

    The weather mirrored my mood, leaving me sluggish and low. It reminded me how deeply the outside world can sink into my body and spirit.

    What is this season calling you to?

    October 2: A Habit to Change My Mornings

    When I thought about small habits, journaling stood out. I know that if I begin my mornings with even a few lines on paper, I can reset my mindset. Writing helps me see the bigger picture, and it connects me back to the dream I have of becoming a journal therapy specialist.

    I may not know the official name of that role yet, but I know what it means to me. This practice can shift my mornings from chaotic to intentional, from reactive to proactive.

    October 3: Letting Go This Fall

    This fall, I am letting go of doubt. I am releasing the belief that my dreams are too big or out of reach. The truth is, the future is uncertain and that scares me. But I cannot carry fear and faith at the same time. If I want to grow,

    I have to choose courage. I want these last three months of the year to be proof that I can stay focused, keep showing up, and achieve what I set out to do.

    These first three days of October reminded me that reflection doesn’t have to be perfect or long. It just has to be honest.

    The weather, the habits, the letting go all of it adds up to small steps that shape the bigger picture.

    If you’re walking through your own season of change, maybe these prompts can open a door for you too.

  • Start Small, Show Up: A 30 Day Journaling (October)

    We love the romance of “I’ll write everyday” and then life laughs. Consistency is not about willpower, it’s about making the next tiny rep so easy you can’t skip it.

    Can you give yourself 15 mins a day to journal?

    Why consistency beats motivation

    • Motivation fluctuates. Systems carry you.
    • Five minutes daily beats one big sessions ” when I feel like it”
    • Your story becomes legible when you collect it in small, honest pieces.

    How to start journaling (simple and doable)

    • Pick a floor you can’t fail. Minimum = 5 minutes or half a page
    • Choose a trigger. Tie it to something you already do. after I make tea/when I sit on the train/ 7:00 am
    • Pick one container. Keep a single notebook and one pen visible. No perfection shopping.
    • Set your page skeleton. Date: 3 words for mood: 5 lines. Done.
    • Use a tiny prompt. “Weather and feeling”, “one thing I noticed,” “what I need today”
    • Close with a receipt. One line: What did I do well today?
    • Train the chain. Put a checkbox next to each day you show up. If you miss, you circle the day and move on. No punishment.
    30 days of Journaling. Document your story.

    Accountability that actually works

    • Public pledge:Leave a comment on this post with your time and place
    • Buddy check-ins: Text a photo of your page corner to a friend, no content,just proof
    • Weekly review ( 10 minutes): What helped? What got in the way? What’s one tweak?

    The October 30 Day Journaling Challenge

    We start tomorrow. I can’t wait to start this journey with you.

    Make sure to follow me on Instagram : Lines_between_living as we journal our next 30 days together.

  • Melody of Loss

    Grief can disguise itself as your shadow,

    walking besides you as if it belongs.

    It feels so familiar like a comforting sweater,

    a shield against the wind that cuts to the bone.

    It can feel like the only friend who stays,

    holding your hand, listening with the patience

    of the oldest and dearest companion.

    It speaks in melodies,

    like the sweetest chorus of our favorite songs,

    carrying the emotions we cannot say,

    woven into the strings and keys of memory.

    We run from it each day,

    measuring time minute by minute,

    through a single minute can stretch

    into weeks,months,years.

    Grief is heavy.

    It engulfs, it suffocates,

    as as if we lie in our coffin,

    gasping for breath that never comes.

    It hides in our eyes,

    sending silent SOS signals,

    prayers that someone will see

    the pain we’re tucked away

    and know how to ease it.

    Grief never leaves.

    Minutes turn into hours,

    hours into days,

    days into years

    still,lingers.

    We learn to carry it,

    but must never forget its power.

    For just when we believe

    we’re learned to live with it,

    it returns,

    knocking us to our knees,

    as if it were the very first day

    it entered our lives.

  • Searching for Identity

    As time passes, the veil falls away

    what I wanted to be and what was are two different rooms.

    I built a perfect scene out of hope and paper,

    a stage lit for someone who never walked on.

    In the backdrop I find no name for me,

    no introduction, no ceremony  only footsteps

    measured in stones that promised a path and stole my footing.

    There were flowers, yes, soft and bright at first;

    Being brave to bring the inside out.

    I stepped through them and watched them wilt beneath my soles.

    Memory blurs where longing crowded the light;

    the ache was haute couture, tailor-made illusion.

    Now the seams show. Now the truth is simple and blunt:

    I am not the audience, I am not the prize.

    I am the one who unties the curtain and walks out into my own.

  • Tell Me You Have ADHD

    Tell me you have ADHD

    without saying a word.

    It looks like three screens glowing at once

    phone, computer, Ipad

    all alive, all demanding

    all impossible to ignore.

    Notebooks Scattered

    pens uncapped

    pages scribbled with half born thoughts

    each one urgent

    each one waiting

    to be finished “later”

    But when is later

    What exactly have you begun

    and where does it end

    Your brain whispers this is fine

    this is how we work

    as chaos hums like background music

    Therapist nods, listens

    lets the words spill out

    and still you wonder

    if they will ever hand you

    the answer your mind

    has been chasing in circles

    Slowly, surely

    you try to stitch focus back together.

    But then comes the question

    if I tame this storm

    if I straighten the wires

    do I lose the spark that makes me, me

    So you sit, suspended

    between doing and dreaming

    between chaos and order

    asking the question

    that never lets go

    How am I supposed to be?