Flashes of the Aching Core Beneath

August stories you may have missed, and a call for September check-ins!

Aug 29, 2025

I don’t know, pals. Lately time feels broken. It’s the end of August, 2025. I sit on the floor in front of my computer. The past isn’t past. The future, unfortunately, is coming, is here. I try to do the next right thing. Maybe this is just the experience of getting older.

A handful of wonderful TSB stories you might have missed from the month that was are linked below. We have a Zoom recovery meeting today, all the info is here.

Also, it’s time for September Check-Ins! Tell us how you’re experiencing time (more normally, I hope)!

The perfect length is 150-300 words. Here’s a great one from last month.

For reasons I’m still trying to suss out, 2 nights ago I had 3 sips of my partner’s beer over the course of as many hours. Other than that, I’m 3.5 years alcohol free. My partner is a heavy drinker (does it professionally, in fact, in that he’s head brewer at a local craft brewery) and I’m resentful as hell. I feel like I’m always inventing problems for myself. He’s the rock and I’m the crazy one. I’m so fucking sick of this dynamic.

EMAIL US HERE: tsbcheckins@thesmallbow.com SUBJECT: SEPTEMBER CHECK-IN

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MOST POPULAR STORIES FROM AUGUST:

“You Have to Do This”

by Molly Johnson

“After I was plowed into by an F450 and almost bled out on a bridge, I started writing poetry. I’ve always been a writer, but it was all nonfiction prose before that. It’s become clear, as my poetry collection crystallized, that I processed my trauma through metaphor and juxtaposition. I made sense of one thing in relation to another. Poetry helped me tame the wild beast of near-death and try to answer the question, ‘What the hell just happened?’”

How to Survive

The Small Bow

Aug 22

Read full story

*****

Absurd, Filthy, Bathed in the Light of the Spirit

by The Small Bow Family Orchestra

“The defining quality I see in my beloved addicts is a deep, multi-colored pool of empathy, right at the core of their being. It’s startling to witness. The expansiveness of my partner showing grace to others catches me off guard. If I think about it for too long, I start to cry. When I consider what it must be like for him to feel that concern for other humans each day, I don’t have to wonder why it all became too much. Substance use seems like a forgone conclusion. To me, the hazards of loving an addict (and there are many) are a proper trade for a chance to see flashes of the beautiful, aching core beneath.”