Mynx Writes

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from doing the hard things with no backup plan. From carrying everything on your own back while trying to build something that might carry you instead. And if you’ve been following along, you probably noticed—I haven’t blogged since July 3rd. Not because I didn’t care. Not because I ran out of things to say. But because it’s been one hell of a few weeks . It all came to a head when the pain finally demanded center stage— unignorable, consuming, constant . I had to dial everything back, even the things that mattered, just to stay afloat. And at the same time, I had to face the brutal truth: I still have to keep going , pain or not. Do you know how hard that is for someone already fighting depression and anxiety on a daily basis? It’s like trying to climb out of a pit with sandbags tied to your arms—only now the pit is also on fire. And then the roof started leaking . Literally. The final offense in a long, moldy, crum...

Of all the things I never expected to survive, it wasn’t a car crash or a cancer scare. It wasn’t heartbreak or hardship or the sharp, grinding ache of poverty. It was this . The slow, crumbling collapse of a nation that once dressed itself in glory. Not with fireworks and fanfare, but with muffled headlines and legal technicalities. With court decisions cloaked in rhetoric and backroom deals inked in blood. A republic doesn’t need to burn to fall—it just needs to forget its own mythology. And baby, we are deep in the forgetting. For those of us surviving in the in-between I live in the liminal—between broke and broken, between surviving and spiraling. I don’t have a safety net or a golden parachute woven from lobbyist silk. I have duct tape, recycled spells, and the unshakeable will of a witch who’s been on the brink too many times to flinch. So when today’s news broke, I didn’t gasp. I didn’t scream. I just exhaled—quiet and guttural. The kind of sound you make wh...

A Decade. A Bar. A Breakdown. A Beginning. At the end of June, a milestone passed. Ten years. Ten years of pouring pieces of myself into a dream that never quite took shape the way I’d hoped. Ten years of running a bar with my sister, fighting to make something sustainable, creative, and community-rooted in a system that rewards burnout and punishes softness. For most of those ten years, I was also in a relationship that drained me in quieter, more insidious ways. The kind of relationship where you wake up one day and realize you don’t recognize your voice anymore. That ended two years ago. But the echoes of it? The collateral damage? Still here. Still haunting the house I rented thinking it could become a home. 🏚️ The Haunted House I moved into this place with hope. It had space. It had charm. I thought, “Maybe this is where I rebuild.” Instead, it became a graveyard for all the things I tried to salvage: The relationship The business My sanity My self-wor...