you can’t save everyone.

It’s your resident internet trauma buddy and chief Captain Save a Hoe checking in for a monthly update.

photo by Calah Gowdy

First things first:

April was raggedy as FUCK.

I know, that’s a hell of an opener but I’m a big fan of band-aid ripping and I figured I’d just go ahead and get that out the way before we continue this little deep dive. Sure, there were some highlights:

My lovely friend Gwladys graced us with her presence as a guest on The Ceiling Rant podcast.

I tried some new makeup and a million new products from Tiktok Shop (don’t ask…I was influenced)

I FINALLY finished the pilot script for How to Cope with Being Happy. I could cry. I’m so excited for you to see it.

On the acting side of the house we got 4 auditions (2 commercials, 1 feature film, and 1 vertical series) and we booked one of the commercials (yay!)

On set for a local commercial (serving farmersonly dot com realness)

with Ja’whann Jones (recognize her?)

Rehearsals have been going great for the stage play I’m in….and we got invited to a technical screening of a film I did background work for back in October of 2025. It seemed everything I’d been working so hard for was starting to align and lock into place. So naturally, SOMETHING fucking devastating had to happen—the universe has a sick sense of humor. On my drive home from the local commercial I booked, I got a call from my brother: my sister is dying. She’s in a Vegas hospital on life support after delivering a baby girl. I’d been messaging her on Facebook and texting the last known number I had for her for months. No responses. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. The last I’d heard from her was in January. I’d love to tell you I was shocked by this call but honestly…this is kind of run of the mill for my family. I didn’t even pull over. I just pressed swap when the call came in from the hospital and merged onto I-20 to make my sister’s medical decisions from the road. I begged her doctor to save her life. He recommended moving her to a hospital with a special advanced life support machine called an “ecmo”… I said something to the effect of:

“Save her life. Do whatever you need to do. She has people that love her.”

I didn’t know how bad of shape she was in…but I knew my sister was suffering. My siblings and I share traumas but not coping mechanisms…and unfortunately hers are a bit more destructive than making a room full of people uncomfortable. The hospital sees a drug addict. I see my baby sister. No, to be honest…I see my mother. Maybe this time I can save her.

So, in true first-daughter-virgo-rising-type-a-self-righteous-pain-in-the-ass fashion, I jumped right into crisis mode. Can we arrange a flight? Can we find her a rehab? How much is rehab? Do they have beds where she can have her child? How is the child? Why won’t they give me any information? What can I do from 2,000 miles away? Who can I yell at? Why won’t anyone call me back?!

And then they released her. On day 5. Before I could get to her. Before I could even get myself together to book a flight and hotel and car and have my husband put in PTO to take care of the kids while I embark on a rescue mission to Sin City. They told me her heart was functioning at less than 20% capacity. But she was an addict, with no insurance.

She was able to stand up on her own. She’d walked down the hall twice with little assistance. So they put a life vest on her and discharged her.

A life vest, if you’re not familiar (no worries, neither was I) is a wearable defibrillator. It shocks the wearer whenever they go into a-fib (irregular heartbeat). It’s actually a pretty nifty device. When I asked the hospital staff how she was supposed to charge it if she was unhoused…they didn’t have an answer. Honestly, I get it. They probably see hundreds of my sister per week.

Once discharged my sister all but lost interest in sibling extraction. I sent an uber to take her to the airport, she didn’t get in. And I lost her. Again. Some big sister I am.

Jason’s Lyric. You ever seen that movie? Well you SHOULD. It’s phenomenal. Before I implemented my “I don’t watch dramatic shit” rule, I loved that movie down. It was a comfort movie for me, even before all the trauma. Which says a lot because WHYY was I watching this damn movie at 7? No parental oversight in the 90s huh? Smh.

Anyway, Jada Pinkett delivers a fantastic line about trying to save somebody who doesn’t wanna be saved. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.

The saving…it wears away at you. Ages you, even. I cried more in April than I did all of last year. Maybe all of the last couple of years. But at no point did I accept that maybe my sister didn’t want saving. Selfishly, I admit…the saving wasn’t really even about her. I thought if I could save her, it would finally tie up and heal the grief I still hold from our baby sister’s murder…from the hard life our mother had.

Arrogant and self-righteous, but well meaning. I should get merch made.

And while I spent hours on the phone with doctors and social workers and answering phone calls at all hours of the night and sending money to questionable cash-app accounts…I disrupted my own peace. I disrupted my own household. I neglected my own family, to try to save hers. And therein lies the lesson. I love my siblings. I love my mother. But I’ve never successfully saved any of them. I’ve only ever hurt myself trying to.

And if you’re a mom reading this, or a big sister…hell, the responsible one in your family—you can probably see where this is going. We often abandon ourselves in service of others without anyone asking us to. Stop that shit.

Tend to your own heart first. Put your oxygen mask on before helping others. You can’t pour from an empty cup… (blah blah blah all the sayings). Girl, it gets to a point.

You are not superwoman. Sometimes the only people we can manage to save is ourselves. And that’s hard enough.

if you’ve made it this far and you enjoy my writing style…you should pick up my book, Weak Ink and let me know what you think.

Love you mean it. We’ll chat again another day.

-C