This Is My Summer of Before...

A transition into graduate school, soft endings, and space-making for care

Late spring occupies an indescribable liminal space. It's strange; neither fully settled nor fully bursting. The trees are heavy with green, laden with fresh blossoms, but the air still holds that breath-before-summer tension. As if waiting for something—a breeze, a break, a sign—our bodies drift through these days. Even the plants seem confused. With the wildflowers already fading, the roses opening too early… It seems like the seasons are speeding up, or perhaps it is I who am slowing down.

I'm always thinking about the passage of time. Not neatly or academically. Although I enjoy productivity hacks and BuJo layouts, I'm referring to loss and return. Time resembles a circle, a weight, a river. I track time through sensations. I’ve measured it by my body’s recovery time from overstimulation, the delay in answering texts, or even the speed of the dusk light shifting during dog walks.

One of my favourite musicals of all time is RENT. Humming in the background of grief and movement, the specter of this Gen-X piece follows me. “Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,” the cast sings. “How do you measure, measure a year?” How do we measure it when linear progression seems to have disappeared? What happens when milestones are fragile or endings remain unspoken? My measurement of progress has involved dog walks and peer support sessions. Sometimes I measure time through boundaries held without guilt.

My internal rhythms are shifting this summer. In the fall, I’m beginning graduate school. I've been unsure about pursuing a career as a clinical therapist, although it is my goal! I have faced challenges in finding a sustainable career path, from considering medical school (too lengthy) to nursing school (physically demanding), before transitioning to therapy. Unthinkable as it once seemed, it has arrived. Ironically, I resisted many of these things when I was younger, stubbornly believing I could handle countless tasks simultaneously. I came to terms with my disability, and fate guided me to my rightful place. Although starting graduate school feels odd, I'm committed to creating sustainable space. My goal is to build a support system unlike any I've known, one that prioritizes disabled, queer, and neurodivergent individuals, celebrates imperfection, and values survival as creation.

This is the summer of before. This is my last chance to fully commit to peer support before classes resume; I can offer support that won't be workable once the semester begins. Before my school schedule, practicum, coursework, and other academic commitments take over my life, I have a small amount of open time remaining. Let's call that shift an invitation. This is the ideal moment to schedule a session, work together, or touch base.

“The seeds root, the flowers bloom, the children play. The stars gleam, the poets dream, the eagles fly. Without you, the earth turns, the sun burns. But I die, without you.” Like the end of a bittersweet ballad, I’ve been looping Without You in my head. Regardless of our feelings, the seasons still change. We attempt to love through it. And then we construct. Despite the instability, we remain close to one another. This is where I'm at right now. Between the past and the future. Stretching just like the season. I'm embracing a transformation, taking my time.

---

My limited-time offers (available until August)

🌀 Peer Support Sessions
Sliding scale. One-offs or short-term check-ins. For anyone navigating non-monogamy, chronic illness, boundaries, grief, community care, or transition.

🎤 Pride Variety Show & Open Mic
June 15 at Starr Bar (NYC)
Hosted by Bear & Fifi. I’ll be performing music and reading recent works—including excerpts from my Best American Essays-nominated piece. (Yeah, I know, I still can’t believe it either. Very flattered despite it being a long shot! Thanks to my editors at Vast Chasm for the nom!)

🌿 Polyamory for Introverts: A Workshop
Coming this November. For the soft-spoken, neurodivergent, or overstimulated. No small talk. All slow presence. Stay tuned.

💌 Writing & Substack
The essays will continue, but the pace will slow, and the process might be less organized, though always honest.

Consider booking a session, donating, or sharing this post to support my work.

Seasons turn. And so do we. Thank you for being here while this one still holds me.

All my love,

Christa x