S.A. McCarthy

When you feel your dignity starting to slip,
your inner peace sinking,
like quicksand beneath your feet,
you may find yourself in a dark room,
trying to create distance from the choices that must be made.

Remember to be gentle,
to take a moment, dry your eyes,
and pick yourself up off the floor,

Because you must leave that dark room.

And when making those choices,
you must ask yourself “if not today, then when?”

Darling, please know,
once you decide today is that day,
you’re already on your way,
on your way back home to you.

— S.A. McCarthy // 05.26.2026

It began, like most things that end badly do, feeling like it meant something.
Slowly filling the spaces I never noticed were empty.
Like smoke weaving its way through your lungs,
engulfing them in soot and ash,
tar-black spreading through your insides,
latching onto each organ like a vulnerability.
Carving out hollow places in its wake,
making room for a different kind of suffering.
Spaces once filled with warmth and intrigue now rot in confusion and fear.
Aching for a peaceful breath.

Harsh words sewn into my insides as if they belonged to me.
Until they start to taste like they’re my own.
Mistakenly regurgitated as if I were a stranger to myself.
Absorbed so deeply, I’m left exposed,
my internal unraveling on display for faces I can’t even put a name to.

But there was always a hint of truth caught in my throat, suffocating me,
begging to be called out by name.

Deflection. Projection. Narcissism. Abuse.

Once stripped of its disguises, it no longer held any power.
Escaping my body through whatever means necessary: tears, rage, grief, art.
I feel the ash and soot leave my lungs,
replaced with light and love.
As I patiently unstitch each lie,
letter by letter,
until it knows me by name.

— S.A. McCarthy // 05.26.2026

I love complimenting people
Watching it bring light to their eyes
A genuine smile to their face,
I would say it’s something I do fairly often.
I have recently come to the realization that the only time I don’t compliment others
Is when I’m too busy focusing on the things I don’t like about myself
The things I am,
The things I am not.
What a silly waste of time
Not complimenting others
Not complimenting myself.

You ever have days,
Where you wish you weren’t you?
And you thought to yourself,
“If not me, then who?”

I could be anyone,
Maybe even you.
And you could be me,
But you, I am not,
As you can see.

So I will be me,
And you will be you,
And we’ll just have to live
Like people who are themselves do.

- S.A. McCarthy // 01.11.2023

And on days like today,
I grieve,
sinking deeper and deeper into myself
until there’s almost nothing.
A familiar tunnel vision.
Silence just within reach.
But she waits for me,
The Sadness.

In the quiet after a restless day,
eyes met with a cold, empty gaze.
An unwelcome voice.
Sometimes it has a name.
Heart-wrenching truths,
the kind that offer no relief.
Disappointment after hope persevered.
The unwavering sense of dread.

But there she is,
The Sadness,
welcoming me with open arms.
You see, I am no stranger to her comfort,
as she has been with me always
watching life unfurl,
catching me as I drift.

And though I sink,
I do not vanish.

- S.A. McCarthy // 06.14.2025

On days like today, I thank myself twice.
Once for making it this far,
And the second, for still finding the beauty in it all.

Lingering laughter after a harsh day,
A soft voice amidst the chaos,
Gentle eyes meeting, masks melting, unapologetic smiles exchanged.
Paws peeking from a passing window, sun-stricken and free.

A soul-settling sigh on a compassionate shoulder,
The kind of exhale only comfort knows.
Moths and mayflies, still and serene, just within eye’s reach,
Small yet sacred.

And then I thank the universe,
For life’s riches, infinite magic, and splendor.
For the chance to try again tomorrow,
The gentle promise that there’s more to come,
And the quiet truth that this is enough.

- S.A. McCarthy // 05.17.2025

I’ve started picking wildflowers again,
Building beautiful bouquets to feed my soul.
Inhaling their scent, lungs full of nature’s bliss.
It’s the best kind of suffocating.

I’ve been laughing until my stomach hurts,
Gasping for air until there’s nothing left but whispered giggles.
It’s the best kind of suffocating.

I’ve been singing again, and though I am no good,
I will convince myself otherwise,
Belting at the top of my lungs with every shred of emotion my body can muster.
It’s the best kind of suffocating.

I’m joking again, oversharing freely,
Unashamed, unrestrained.
I’m making new friends, and with them, discovering parts of myself.
Breathing love into every word, hoping they know how deeply they’re held.
It’s the best kind of suffocating.

I am stepping away
From the hurt and the pain.
And though moving forward and letting go fills me with overwhelming anxiety,
It’s the best kind of suffocating.

- S.A. McCarthy // 05.01.2025

A loser is defined as “a person who fails frequently or is generally unsuccessful in life.”

For a long time, I let the words of my ex sear into my brain as if they could be nothing less than factual. As if, because he said it, it had to be true. For a long time now, I’ve spent so much energy trying to convince myself that I’m not a loser. When in reality, the only loser in that scenario was him for wanting me to feel as if I was.

You’d think, where would this even stem from? Where are its roots? It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize they were rooted in him. I was nothing more than a mirror onto which he projected his insecurities.

Don’t get me wrong, I definitely have my flaws. But today, I can safely say that none of them equate to me being a loser. I may fail, but I get up and try again. Even on days where I want to do nothing but crawl into a hole and never face society again, I get up and I try again.

I show up when it counts. As my whole self, no matter if I’m anxious or tired. I put in the work and the effort. I love deeply and sometimes maybe even care a little more than I should. And last time I checked, those were never qualities that any loser I know possesses.