There is a workshop I have been building called Before It Happens.

The name says everything about what I wish someone had done for me.
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Before the money was gone.
Before I stopped trusting my own instincts.
Before I couldn't hear the people who loved me anymore.
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The idea is simple.
Reach people before the hard thing hits.
Give them something to hold onto before they need it.
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But the more I sit with it, the more I think the workshop is only part of the story.
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Because here is what I know now.
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The thing that might have saved me wasn't a seminar.
It was one person.
One person who knew me well enough to say something is wrong here.
And me being willing to hear it.
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I wasn't.
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Not because I was foolish.
Because I was isolated.
Carefully, quietly isolated.
By someone who needed me that way.

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He had convinced me that everyone else was the enemy.
So when the people who loved me tried to reach me, I couldn't let them in.
I didn't believe them.
I wasn't able to truly listen.

That is what I want people to understand before it happens to them.
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Not just the warning signs of a scam or a bad relationship.
But the importance of having one or two people in your life who know your insides.
Who you have let in close enough that when they say I am worried about you, you actually hear it.

That kind of friendship is rare.
And it is hard to build.
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I know because I have never been good at it.
I like control.
Control feels safer than closeness.
Letting someone see your fears and your doubts and your mess feels like risk.
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So we keep people at a comfortable distance.
We are friendly but not known.
We are surrounded but still alone.
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And then when something goes wrong, there is no one close enough to catch us.
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I am still learning this.
Still figuring out how to let people in.
Still understanding that being known by someone is not weakness.
It is the thing that keeps you safe.
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Before It Happens is about all of it.
The scam prevention piece.
The rebuilding piece.
The you are still worthy of a great life piece.
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Because it happens to more people than will ever admit it.
And most of them were alone when it did.
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I think about this a lot lately.
About the kind of love that doesn't require you to perform or protect yourself.
The kind where you are just allowed to be.
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I have that with Jaycee.
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I tell her every day how much I love her.
I kiss her and hug her without thinking about it.
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I don't think I have ever loved a human that freely.
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I am working on that.

With love,

P.S. This week in the Sunday Push, the reflection question is about friendship and vulnerability — who actually knows you, and what has kept you from letting them in. If this letter stirred something, that is exactly where to take it next. Your first month is free, then $6 a month.