Here, behind the hidden door, is a speakeasy for grief. A place for medicine the world doesn’t want you to taste, but your soul longs for. Grief itself is taboo. Abuse is taboo. Coercive control is taboo.These are the words no one wants to speak, yet they ripple through families, courts, and bodies. Here, in the speakeasy, we name them. Because naming is medicine. Because silence is poison.

This is a companion apothecary to my educational substack series, Love Letters to Dr. Grief.