Undoing Toxic: The Brilliant Things That Remind Us Life Is Worth Living

Content note/ trigger warning: This post discusses mental health, suicide awareness, grief, and emotional pain. If these topics feel heavy for you right now, please take care of yourself while reading.

This past week I went to Broadway to see Every Brilliant Thing, starring Tracee Ellis Ross. I have to admit, I was skeptical at first. A one-person play? I wondered how one person could carry an entire story, an entire audience, and an entire room. I wasn’t sure what to expect.

But within minutes, I found myself completely drawn in. And yes, I highly recommend going to see the play; it’s a must see!

What I expected to be a simple theater experience became something much deeper. It became a reflection on love, loss, mental health, grief, connection, and the small moments that make life worth living.

Before I walked into the theater, though, I had an unexpected conversation with someone who represented a chapter of my life that I still hold with tenderness. The conversation was unexpected, but it stayed with me because sometimes the moments we do not plan are the ones that offer us the most reflection.

One thing he said to me was, “Without drama there is no writing.”

That stayed with me.

Because in many ways, it is true. Our stories are shaped not only by the moments that bring us joy, but also by the moments that challenge us. The heartbreaks. The disappointments. The unexpected endings. The relationships that did not become what we hoped they would become. Those moments become part of our story. They become the chapters we return to when we are trying to understand ourselves, our choices, our patterns, and the lessons we have learned along the way.

Maybe that is why this summer I have found myself returning to something that has been calling me for a while: my Undoing Toxic book draft.

Writing this book has required me to go deeper into myself. It has required me to revisit experiences, relationships, and moments that shaped me. It has asked me to look honestly at where I learned certain lessons: about love, boundaries, communication, self-worth, and the ways we sometimes abandon ourselves while trying to hold onto relationships.

The conversation also reminded me of something important about relationships: availability matters.

Someone can care about you. Someone can have good intentions. Someone can appreciate you. But a healthy relationship requires more than feelings. It requires presence.

One of the first signs of a healthy relationship is someone who is available for you.

Available without you having to chase.

Available without you having to convince them.

Available without you having to shrink yourself to make room for them.

It is not just about what someone says. It is about how someone shows up. How they treat you. How they care for you. How their actions align with their words.

Love should not leave you constantly questioning whether you matter.

Love should feel like being met.

The lessons I want to share with others are not coming from a place of having a perfect story.

They are coming from being willing to examine the story.

And maybe that is why Every Brilliant Thing resonated so deeply with me. The play doesn’t just tell a story; it invites you into one. Through storytelling, humor, vulnerability, and nostalgia, it reminds us that every person is carrying a story… one that others may never fully know.

We are all fighting battles that are not always visible.

There are people walking through the world carrying grief, loneliness, anxiety, heartbreak, trauma, and pain while appearing completely fine on the outside. There are people showing up to work, caring for others, laughing with friends, and moving through their daily lives while quietly carrying something heavy.

This is why conversations about mental health and suicide prevention matter. They matter because we never truly know what someone is carrying. Sometimes a person’s reason for holding on is not one big life-changing moment. Sometimes it is a collection of small things that remind them there is still something beautiful here.

That is what stayed with me about the play; the list. A list of brilliant things that make life worth living.

Some things on the list were profound. Some were funny. Some were simple. Some were things I would have never thought to include, but once named, I understood exactly why they mattered.

There was something powerful about seeing the list written down.

Maybe because there is something nostalgic about a physical list. Growing up, we wrote everything down. We wrote phone numbers in address books. We passed handwritten notes. We kept journals. We saved cards, physically printed photographs, polaroids, ticket stubs, and little reminders of moments we didn’t want to forget.

There was something different about memories existing on paper.

Before everything became digital, before we could instantly search, save, delete, or scroll past, we had to slow down. We had to intentionally hold onto things.

The play brought me back to another time; a time of record players and albums. There was something special about listening to music then. You didn’t just press a button and immediately move to the next song. You chose the record. You decided the speed. You carefully placed the needle onto the vinyl and waited.

You listened. You heard the small imperfections, like the crackling sound before the music began, the warmth of the record playing, the reminder that something real was happening in that moment.

You couldn’t skip a song because you were tired of it. You stayed with the experience.

There is something meaningful about that in a world where we have become accustomed to instant access. We can skip songs, skip commercials, skip conversations, and sometimes even skip over our own emotions because sitting with things can feel uncomfortable.

But some things require us to stay.

The nostalgia of the play brought me back to childhood. It brought back memories of earlier versions of myself. It brought back moments that were joyful, moments that were painful, and moments that shaped who I became.

Nostalgia is complicated.

It can be comforting, but it can also bring grief. It reminds us of what we had, what we lost, who we were, and how much has changed.

Sometimes looking back helps us understand where we came from. Sometimes it reminds us of the lessons we learned along the way.

And this summer, I have found myself spending more time looking back. Not because I want to stay there, but because working on the book draft has asked me to revisit places I thought I had already healed from.

It has asked me to sit with the questions:

What did I learn?

Where did I learn it?

What patterns did I have to undo?

What did I have to reclaim?

The lessons I hope to share in this book are not coming from a place of having everything figured out. They are coming from lived experience, reflection, and the process of making meaning from the things that changed me.

In many ways, Every Brilliant Thing reminded me why this book matters.

Because so much of healing is about making sense of our stories.

It is about looking at the moments that shaped us and deciding what we want to carry forward and what we are ready to release.

The list in the play made me think about my own.

I had the number 10,000: waking up late next to someone you love.

A simple moment.

A quiet moment.

But maybe that is exactly why it matters.

Because life is often made up of ordinary moments that become extraordinary because of who we share them with.

As I left the theater, I found myself thinking about this season of my life.

This summer has not been the summer I expected.

There have been moments of heartbreak, uncertainty, and having to sit with things I cannot control. There have been moments when looking ahead feels difficult and when the future feels less certain than I imagined.

But maybe that is where the brilliant things come in.

Maybe hope is not always found in the big, dramatic moments.

Maybe hope is found in the small glimmers.

A song that brings you back.

A memory that reminds you of love.

A conversation that makes you laugh.

A moment of peace.

A creative spark.

A reminder that you are still becoming.

Healing does not mean that the difficult things disappear. It means we learn how to hold the difficult things while still making room for joy, connection, and possibility.

If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide, feeling overwhelmed by emotional pain, or unsure how to keep going, support is available.

You can call or text 988 (available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week) to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline and connect with a trained counselor who can provide immediate support.

If there is an immediate danger or someone is at risk of harming themselves or others, call 911 or contact emergency medical services.

You do not have to carry a difficult moment alone. Sometimes reaching out is the first step toward finding your next brilliant thing.

The list is not about pretending life is perfect.

It is about remembering that pain is not the only thing that exists.

There are still brilliant things.

There are still moments worth noticing.

There are still reasons to keep going.

Everyone’s list will look different.

Maybe yours includes a person.

Maybe it includes a place.

Maybe it includes a memory.

Maybe it is something small that brings you back to yourself.

So today, I invite you to think about your own list:

• What are the brilliant things, big and small, that make life worth living?

• What is one thing on your list that reminds you there is still beauty, connection, or hope in this life?

I would love to hear yours. Thank you for reading.

Let’s connect. Email me: moniqueevanstherapy@gmail.com

Accepting individual, couples, and family clients (self-pay and select insurance via headway.co- Monique Evans, LCSW)

For social work clinicians, I also offer clinical consultation meetings (Not to be confused with clinical supervision for licensure hours) at any level of practice.

Book me as your mental health presenter for speaking engagements, podcasts, panels, and presentations.

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