Coffee in a War Zone (And Other Truths About Coming Back to Life)

Yesterday, I met a friend for coffee in Portland.

It was warm. Clear skies. A little breeze. I wore my favorite ring. We sat outside near 23rd Avenue, catching up on life. And still, as we hugged and ordered coffee, we knew:
We were doing this in a city the President just described as “burning down.”

He invoked federal powers meant for war and rebellion to send National Guard troops here. He claimed troops were “in place.”
They weren’t.

And so I joked:
“I’ve never had coffee in a war zone before.”

It’s not funny. And also—it is.
Because the absurdity of it all sits right beside the sweetness of catching up with someone who knows your soul. We laughed. We unpacked trauma. We told the truth. We reminded each other we’re still alive.

📉 The Fiction of Collapse — and What’s Real

There’s a false narrative circulating right now that Portland is in chaos.
That ICE protests have overwhelmed the city.
That the National Guard is urgently needed.
That we're at war.

But the real Portland?
It’s people raising babies, biking to brunch, visiting farmers markets, painting murals, making music, writing poetry.
It’s people protesting. And people living, loving, and breathing.
It’s me, sitting at a sidewalk café with someone I love, talking about what it means to build a life again after burning out.

It isn’t war.
It is life.
Heavy, complex, and exhausting at times — but still unfolding, still full of color.

The National Guard presence?
Not necessary.
What’s needed here — and everywhere — is presence of a different kind: listening, connection, rest, and truth-telling.

🔥 What the Summer Took

This summer nearly broke me.

Trying to hold Soul Ascension Studio afloat while raising daughters in motion, polishing a memoir, launching products, and still being present for everything else — it was too much.

I kept pouring from a well that had already run dry.
Not because I wasn’t strong enough.
But because I hadn’t learned how to let the medicine work for me too.

My friend said something that stayed with me:

“Your medicine now is your writing. It gives back. It nourishes you, not just others.”

She reminded me that it’s not my job to overextend anymore.
It’s my job to create.
To offer what’s sacred — when it’s also sustainable.
To give from a place of wholeness, not depletion.

And for me?
That means writing the truth — and letting the words heal in both directions.

📖 Where I Am Now

I’m slowly pitching my memoir All the Colors to agents.
I’ve submitted work to The Upper Room, The Sun, and The Atlantic.
My first piece will be published this month in No More Margins (October 19!)

I’ve stepped away from running the studio and am letting loving hands care for it.
I’m crafting a steady bridge between creativity and livelihood, using writing and content work to support my family and safeguard my art.

No big announcement. Just a deep, sacred breath.

🌱 A New Kind of Medicine

I’m not here to fix the world with my hands. Not anymore.

I’m here to tell stories.
To make things — sacred skin blends, quiet rituals, honest words.
To honor the pace that keeps me human.

This medicine doesn’t deplete me.
It gives back.
And I finally trust that’s enough.

Thank you for meeting me here again —
at the edge of the world,
with coffee in our hands,
and so much still worth saving.

With love,
Charlynn