How To Tell Your Story So That The Truth Can Find You
Welcome to the Glass House Portal.
This is not for performance. It’s for release.
Write like no one’s watching—because no one is.
You’re not here to explain. You’re here to empty.
What to Share
Write about the moments that changed you:
The break.
The build.
The numb in-between.
Use scenes, not timelines:
A betrayal.
A childhood ache.
A love that felt like safety.
A silence that still echoes.
We’re not collecting facts.
We’re listening for truth felt.
How to Share It
Be specific. Show us the moment.
Be honest. Don’t clean it up.
Be selfish. This is your healing.
Be messy. This isn’t art—it’s memory.
No rules. No format.
Just your voice—raw, poetic, awkward, quiet.
As long as it’s real.
✨ Wanna See a Sample First?
Curious what this actually looks like? Below is a real example — a submission.
Read it, feel it, and then begin your own.
CLICK TO VIEW SAMPLE
I don’t know when things started to unravel, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.
I followed the rules. I did everything the way I was supposed to — school, degree, job, marriage. I even made myself smaller when I needed to. Bit my tongue. Smiled when I didn’t want to.
I was the “good one.” The one who didn’t cause trouble. The one who didn’t ask for too much.
And somehow… I still ended up here.
Divorced. Tired. Resentful.
I don’t even think I’m angry at him anymore — I think I’m angry at myself. For giving up so much of me to keep something that clearly wasn’t mine.
I used to write. Paint. Dance in the kitchen.
Now I work, scroll, overthink, and sleep. And even the sleep doesn’t feel real.
Everyone thinks I’m okay because I show up well. But I feel hollow.
I think part of me believed that if I followed the formula, I’d be safe. That I’d be chosen.
And maybe I was. For a while. But I was chosen as a version of myself I don’t even recognize anymore.
I want more. But I’m scared to want. Because last time I wanted, I compromised.
I don’t trust myself to want well.
But I’m here. So I guess I’m trying.