My "Why": The Reason I Created Healing Texts
I gripped my phone like it was a lifeline. Stared at the screen. Waited for a vibration, a message, a sign that someone, anyone, cared. Nothing. Just silence. It felt endless.
I can still see it. A cold Hamilton night. Wind smacking the car windows. That damp, city smell clinging to the air. I was parked in a rundown lot, the streetlights buzzing faintly overhead. My heart pounded. Tears threatened. It was the kind of hurt that sits heavy in your chest, refusing to leave.
Betrayal.
The kind you don’t see coming. The kind that shakes you. I was drowning in it, desperate for something—anything—to pull me out.
I gripped my phone like it was a lifeline. Stared at the screen. Waited for a vibration, a message, a sign that someone, anyone, cared. Nothing. Just silence. It felt endless. Like I was the last person left on Earth.
But then, a small voice inside me said: You’re not the only one.
At first, I ignored it. Brushed it off.
My pain felt too big, too specific. Nobody else could possibly understand.
But the thought lingered. Maybe I wasn’t the only one crying in parked cars, feeling forgotten, wondering if they even mattered. Maybe there were others out there, lost in their own storms, waiting for something—someone—to remind them they weren’t invisible.
So, I sent a text.
It was short. Simple. A few words about finding light in the dark. My thumb hovered over the send button. It felt cheesy. It felt stupid. But I hit send anyway. And for the first time that night, I felt a sliver of relief.
If this helps just one person, I thought, it’s worth it.
A few hours passed. Then, replies started coming in. Slowly. Quietly. Like tiny cracks of sunlight breaking through a storm.
People I’d never met shared pieces of themselves. Stories of heartbreak. Regret. Triumphs so small they’d never dared speak them out loud. And suddenly, it hit me: I wasn’t alone.
This pain wasn’t just mine.
That single text turned into a second. Then a third. Soon, it became a habit. A purpose. What started as a lifeline for myself became Healing Texts—a way to send scraps of hope to anyone who needed them.
Even now, when I wake up, I still feel the ache. The memory of those nights when it felt like I had no one in my corner. But instead of sitting with it, I use it. I channel it into these messages.
Every day, my phone buzzes with replies. Strangers tell me how a single text gave them courage to walk away from a toxic situation. Or how a late-night message stopped them from giving up entirely.
And every time, I’m reminded why I started.
Connection.
The Motivation: From My Rock Bottom to Your Hand
I never planned to be anyone’s guru. Definitely not a life coach.
All I wanted was to make sure no one felt the way I did on those Hamilton nights. Alone. Drenched in silence. Crushed by a weight I couldn’t name.
This daily practice is my way of saying, “I see you. I’ve been there. I know that darkness.”
It’s about taking my own pain and turning it into something useful. A bridge, maybe. A way for others to get from where they are to where they need to be.
The Vision: A World Where Hope Is Shared Freely
At first, I thought about charging a subscription fee. Makes sense, right? There are costs—tech platforms, time, emotional energy. But then it hit me: hope isn’t a luxury. It’s like sunlight. Abundant. Free. Not something you gatekeep.
In my darkest moments, I needed help—no strings, no conditions. So I made a decision: these texts would stay free.
But the dream is bigger than that.
I imagine ripples. A message landing in someone’s inbox, sparking a kind word to a coworker. A text to a friend who’s barely holding it together. Small gestures, spreading outward.
And maybe one day, those ripples grow. Workshops. Gatherings. A room full of people who once connected through a single text, now sharing their stories in person. Faces behind the words. Journeys colliding, growing, and intertwining.
The Mission: Build a Community of Consistent, Genuine Encouragement
People crave consistency. I’ve learned that much. Life is messy, unpredictable. Self-doubt doesn’t book appointments. It barges in uninvited.
That’s why a daily text matters. It’s like a friend who shows up, no questions asked. Even when you’re too drained, too anxious, too everything to ask for help.
And every message is personal. A fragment of me. Sometimes pulled from old journals, other times born in the quiet chaos of a 2 a.m. revelation.
I refuse to send anything that feels robotic. These texts are real. Whether I’m nudging you to face old scars or urging you to see your worth, it’s coming straight from my heart. Always.
The Ultimate Dream: A Global Network of Support
In my most out-there visions, Healing Texts isn’t just notifications lighting up phones. It’s something bigger. A network without walls. A world where distance and language don’t mean a thing.
Picture this: someone in Tokyo reading the same line of encouragement as someone in Toronto. Two strangers, one moment, both thinking the same thing: I’m not alone.
And it’s already starting. People message me, saying they share these texts with coworkers, relatives, even clients. One person reads them aloud to their therapy group. Another prints them out and tucks them into random library books—tiny surprises for strangers.
Those small gestures are the spark. They remind me that maybe, just maybe, Healing Texts is destined to grow beyond me. A ripple turning into a wave, carried by everyone who’s felt the weight of a single line and thought, This helped. Let me pass it on.
Reflections: Finding My Own Healing Through Yours
Ironically, in helping others heal, I’ve found cracks in my own heart starting to mend. The betrayal that once consumed me is still there, but it doesn’t own me anymore. It’s a bruise now, not a bleeding wound. Something I’ve learned from, something that’s taught me compassion instead of leaving me bitter.
And then there are the messages.
“Hey Ryan, your text today gave me the courage to leave a toxic situation.”
I’ll read it, smile, and think back to that night. Sitting in the car. Tears falling onto the steering wheel. Feeling like the world had folded in on itself.
But that moment is a teacher now. A reminder. Proof that one small act of kindness—a message, a word, a gesture—can ripple outward. Even if you’re just one person, sitting in the dark, wondering if anyone else is out there.
The Call: Join the Circle
Here I am. Still typing. Still sending messages every single day.
Want in? Subscribe via email. If you’re in the U.S. or Canada, I’ll send you info on how to text me directly. Not in those regions? No problem. The email list is here so no one gets left out.
Because this isn’t about me. It’s about us. About the invisible threads that connect us—resilience, hope, the quiet ache for something more. It’s about making sure no one sits alone in a parked car, drowning in the lie that nobody cares.
I believe this: one spark can change everything. It doesn’t take much. Sometimes, it’s as simple as a text message landing at the right moment.
—Ryan