Secret Letters: On divorce, taking up space, and writing an extravagant play to help you heal.

Writing a play cannot change your life, but it can help you feel a little better.

Welcome to Secret Letters, a paid subscriber perk of Letters from the Homestead. These monthly letters are exactly what you think: secret dispatches that feel a little too vulnerable to put in a free newsletter.

Thank you, as always, for reading and being a supporter of my work.

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I knew that my nine-year marriage was over after mounting my first play in New York City. It was roughly three years ago, at the end of July 2019. On my last night in the city, sleeping in my friend Jessie’s spare room in Brooklyn, I stared up at the ceiling and let that deep sense of heavy knowing press down on me. It was the first time I consciously allowed myself to imagine a new narrative for my life, one that stripped away the moniker of “wife.”

I knew what I had to do, and I was disgusted with myself. It would take me a few more months to finally end the relationship, but the refrain in my head never stopped: I don’t want to be married anymore. I don’t want to be a wife. I want to be released.