HeyJaredPretty Messy
An act of resistance to a society that is hyperfixated on perfection, through imperfect writings, prose, songs, drawings, photos, and questions. An act of vulnerability, which is aching, tender truth, as a movement of love. It is all Pretty Messy.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 19, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 12, 2026
Latest issues
The Power Of Grieving Yourself Before Menopause (opens the original)
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I was recently with a friend who was looking back at pictures of herself when she was 16. She came across a photo that she had hidden away because it had always been too problematic for her. She studied the photo intensely and started crying. She shared that at that time in her life she had struggled with her body image, but that for the first time, from her now view at 49, she was finally seeing her beauty, her power, and also how brainwashed she was by the constructs of society to feel worthle
The Memory Of Being Human (opens the original)
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you sense when the veil is thin. when place, like a seed, cracks open. when stillness and effervescence dip just under the light to where shadow barely reaches. when suspended seconds elongate you as a horizon, like a tree is a horizon. root and soil, branch and sky- they all touch through perception. they all know the rain, and the sun. born with the memory of itself, even a tree knows how to form. it remembers itself into the future. when the distance isn’t in the distance, it is sensed inside
Send Me A Letter About What You Are Grieving (opens the original)
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Send me a letter, writing to me about your grief. I will receive your words and witness your story with care. So often, our grief needs a witness- especially as time passes, as people stop checking in, and the cards stop coming, and the meals stop being delivered, and life seems to move on for others while we are still moving through our grief. It can even feel like there is a perception that because time has passed, our pain must have passed, too. And grief isn’t always related to a death. It c
the rhythm of our heartbeat, pounding on the shore of ourself, in color waves (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="1092" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!x9vp!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe7d6a72d-787c-432d-8313-bcbf21dba26b_4032x3024.
I woke up gutted. I woke up alone. I woke up to everyone I am and to everything I had never given myself a chance to become. (opens the original)
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Where have I been?This reccuring question always bends time for me.It is a question of my deep past, of my current self, and of dreaming into the future. It is a question that I will ask myself in my many futures. It is a question I will ask in my next life.It is an active question about my current life and my path as it extends in all directions simultaneously.It’s a question of what made me decide to come to Earth in the first place. And right now, it is also a question I ask as I open my Subs
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