Rock Bottom to Raccoon Rebel: My Softcore Detachment Origin Story

There I was: huddle up in a hotel chair with my kids in the next room, clutching my phone and Chat GTP like a lifeline. It had been a hell of a week to say the least. Within the last five days I had pretty much poisoned myself with enough alcohol to kill a small donkey, driven across state lines detoxing with my dad and kids, had my screaming into the canyons moment, watched my dad collapse in the desert and have to get helicoptered out and taken to another state for treatment, and then I drove the kids and I alone out to the exit point and wondered "where the hell do I go from here?" 

But the thing about completely falling apart is you get to put yourself back together. 

So I did. I reached out to a therapist, who cold called me immediately, which was amazing and life saving. I put enough pieces back together to go into the next room and be there for my kids. We had a quiet night in an amazing hotel suite that my dad had booked for us. We packed everything up and then I drove us 9 hours across state lines to get our butts home. I listened to a lot of Fleetwood Mac on that drive. 

But in that hotel room, clutching my phone, I learned that this was going to be messy and also authentic. I was going to fully own it and make it mine. I was going to own the wreckage and accessorize it: with claws, a tiny knife and a multi-step skincare regimen. 

That’s how Softcore Detachment was born. It’s for the ones who’ve blown up their lives—or had them blown up for them—and decided to build something wildly beautiful in the ashes. It’s for the tender-hearted boundary enforcers. The ones who cry in bathrooms and then walk out like they’re headlining their own tour. It’s for you. It’s for me. It’s for all of us who looked disaster in the eye and said, “Not today, babe. I’ve got kids to raise and eyeliner to wing.”

Our mascot is a raccoon. Not just any raccoon—a knife-carrying, flower-crowned trash panda. Because that’s what healing looks like. It’s sweet. It’s scary. It digs through the past and defends its peace. It’s cute as hell and absolutely unhinged.

If you’re here, it probably means you’ve made a mess. Welcome. You’re in the right place. We don’t shame the mess—we frame it. We compost it. We use it to grow something alive and weird and full of teeth and petals.

So yeah, this is me. Still feral. Still healing. Still holding a knife—metaphorically (and sometimes not).

Thanks for showing up. Let’s make something beautiful.

Follow along on Instagram @softcoredetachment. Or don’t. The raccoon doesn’t care. It's got work to do.