How This Space Is Held
Letters is a free, open space by design.
It will always remain accessible, not because everything here is light or easy, but because reflection, wisdom, and meaningful conversation shouldn’t be locked behind hierarchy or labels.
Here, we engage as humans, not titles, professions, belief systems, or zip codes.
We speak with respect.
We listen with curiosity.
We allow room for difference without diminishing one another.
This isn’t a place for argument or performance. It’s a place for reflection, resonance, and thoughtful response. A space where presence matters more than volume.
On Conversation & Community
You’re invited to respond when something moves you.
That might look like sharing a reflection.
Offering a thoughtful comment.
Or sitting quietly with a letter and returning to it later.
Community here isn’t measured by how often we speak, but by how we show up. We learn from one another not by proving points, but by offering perspective, and by being willing to sit with what someone else sees differently.
This is a shared room. One that stays warm because of the care we bring into it together.
A Word From Me
Before I ever thought of writing as something formal, I was already doing it.
For as long as I can remember, I wrote everything. I doodled in the margins of notebooks, made up fantasy stories with griffins and unicorns, filled pages with poetry and teenage drama, and kept journals like they were sacred containers. In middle school, had a friend who wrote alongside me, we called ourselves Trouble and Meek. It was sweet, earnest, and serious in the way only young writers can be.
I sent letters in the mail to family and friends. Kept diaries like I was old enough to understand Dear John letters. Even before I had the emotional vocabulary, self-expression felt essential. I wrote from the heart, letting the words hold what I was still learning to understand. Making space for the heart to speak.
I wrote to the boyfriend I had when I went to basic training as if we were living out a long-distance romance from the 1930s. It was dope! I have always been a hopeful romantic and even if it wasn’t always sweet, it was always a teacher. There was something about human connection through writing, through letters that always stayed with me, the slowness of it, the intention, the way words could hold feeling across distance and time.
What you’re reading now is the long arc of that instinct, shaped by time, maturity, experience, observation, and living. Not a reinvention, but a return. A refocusing that finally feels aligned, honest, and settled into itself.
I write these letters from lived experience, ongoing curiosity, and a deep respect for the complexity of being human.
Some days I’m offering clarity.
Other days I’m offering a question.
Often, I’m offering both at once.
Letters pairs with my broader work and website, but it stands on its own. If the website is the formal living room, structured, informational, and grounded, this is where the shoes come off, the conversation softens, and people sit a little closer together. Alongside these letters, I also host a podcast, BTWN LVRS: The Heart & Soul Chronicles. The podcast holds space for deeper, more reflective conversations that don’t always mirror the ease or familiarity of these letters. Some topics are heavier. Some are more layered. Some ask you to sit with ideas that may not be immediately relatable, but feel important to explore.
The podcast is a different kind of room in the same house, one meant for listening closely, thinking slowly, and engaging with complexity without needing everything to resolve neatly. If and when you feel called to go there, it’s available to you.
It’s meant to feel like a fresh start. A breath. A quiet joy in having something to look forward to.
You’re welcome to stay awhile.
An Invitation
If something here resonates, you’re encouraged to engage with care, toward yourself and toward others.
Letters is a shared room.
A warm one.
Held with love, respect, and reverence for the many ways we learn, heal, and grow.
Thank you for being here.
— Tee
BTWN LVRS 