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A heavy, suffocating guilt weighed on me for days. I had done something I had never done before, and the shame sat like a stone in my chest. It wasn’t like me. I didn’t...

Something struck me as odd during the Christmas break — or the festive season, as others call it.

Being a writer, I worked through it. Don’t feel sorry for me; I enjoyed it...

On fathers, ghosts, forgiveness, and finally letting go.

Every single year, around the same time, I would take a pen and paper and write a letter to Santa.

It always said the same...

During this time of year — around Christmas — something in people changes.

Maybe it’s the long-awaited break. The moment when we finally turn computers off, stop the machinery,...

Many years ago, I gave up religion entirely.
Faith, however, is another matter.

There is, in my mind, a fundamental difference between the two. Religion is collective — a flock,...

This one goes out to the day angel and the night angel.

This thank you is long overdue, and in all honesty, I feel guilty—very guilty—for not having written it earlier.

Many...

The worst times in your life may secretly be the best, and the best times may turn out to be the worst.

No, your eyes aren’t deceiving you — and yes, that sentence bends the...

For most of my life, my self-esteem wasn’t just low — it was subterranean. People walked over me like I was a welcome mat, and I let them. Because I was good with IT, I became...

One of the hardest decisions I have ever faced stared me directly in the eyes not long ago.

Once again, I found myself walking the quiet corridors of the mental health clinic — a...

Today, as I sit at my writing desk, I feel something I’ve longed for my entire life: a genuine sense of connection with my readers. For the first time, I have a growing list of...

Something has been gnawing at me ever since my recent release from the mental health clinic. A quiet tapping at the back of my mind, reminding me that I had missed something—...

There is nothing on this spinning rock we call a planet that grows as slowly, painfully, and stubbornly as an author. The only attention you attract early on isn’t praise or...

Too often, the very places built to protect us do the opposite.

Corporate environments lecture endlessly about “well-being” while executives hurl verbal assaults like deranged...

Part III — The Oppressors

There is a certain kind of bully—an abuser—that people like me tend to attract.
I call them the Oppressors.

Many have asked me whether these individuals...

Part II: The Power We Give Away, and How We Take It Back

By Iwan Ross

There are two kinds of people in this world: the bullies, and the recipients of their cruelty. Yet despite...

Part I: The Wounds They Smell

by Iwan Ross

Since my release from the mental health clinic a little more than a month ago, a voice has been gnawing at the back of my mind. At...

Today, something unexpected happened.

Something small, silly, ordinary… and yet strangely profound.

My wife summoned me to the shops — the kind of summons where you immediately...

People like me often leave ourselves wide open for hurt. I’ve heard the terms — sucker for punishment, glutton for abuse, why does he keep going back? But when I say “people...

What losing everything taught me about work, writing, and listening to myself

Less than a year ago, I sat in this very chair, staring blankly at my computer screen, my mind...

A little less than a year ago, I lost my job because of mental illness.

Like many desperate people, I turned to social media.

Social platforms thrive on desperation the way wolves...