A story from my heart: The In-Between — Chapter 1
The novel I wrote years ago and finally feel ready to share—a story of losing everything you thought you needed, and discovering what your heart always knew.
In 2021, I wrote a novel. A story pulled from the marrow of my own experience, stitched together from real memories, real heartbreak, and real healing.
It’s called The In-Between.
And I’m finally ready to begin sharing it with you.
This is the story of a girl who loses everything she thought made her whole
her relationship, her career, her identity
and what happens when she has no choice but to face herself.
It’s inspired by my own journey, particularly my time in a mental health treatment facility, and the years of unraveling and remembering that led me there.
While deeply personal, this is a novel. It is based on truth, but it is not all truth.
Some names are changed. Some moments are reimagined. But the heart of it?
It’s real.
And it’s my honor to share it with those of you who feel ready to go a little deeper with me.
The In-Between is about depression, loss, and transformation.
But more than that, it’s about hope.
About what happens when we choose to be honest with ourselves.
About the courage it takes to begin again.
After this launch post, I’ll be releasing a new chapter every Friday starting this week.
This will be a paid-only series here on Substack (with this first Chapter being free) —if this story speaks to you, I’d love to have you along for the ride.
With all my heart,
Alex
From the outside looking in, she had the dream life: a successful fitness career, picture-perfect relationship, financial abundance, and yet still wanted to disappear.
The In-Between is the story of a girl unraveling and learning, piece by piece, how to come home to herself. How to rewrite the narratives of her past and create a new future. It’s fiction, based on real experiences, written during one of the hardest, most honest seasons of my life where I decided to put myself into an in-patient treatment facility.
If you’ve ever felt like your life looked perfect on the outside but was quietly crumbling within… this story is for you.
Read Chapter 1 below with Chapter 2 and the rest of the story on the way in the next few days (for paid subscribers only) 💌
Chapter 1
“November 27, 2020 I ripped a page out of my journal because that’s what it feels like. The beginning of the story has been ripped out and I don’t even know where to begin anymore.
What I thought was the beginning of a new life actually ripped me to shreds. It tore my being down and revealed a new vulnerable scared little girl. Who has now been given the opportunity to flee or to grow.
Many think that fleeing will lead to freedom but as they say: "Wherever you go, there you are." So I have no choice but to grow. To shed these layers, create scars from wounds, and emerge brighter and stronger.”
He kisses me softly and holds me close as the tears stream down my face. Even though I don’t know how I have any tears left after the past few months. I am filled with an eerie sense of comfort and peace, which is strange as I’m headed away for 30 days of unknown. It’s also strange because we’ve been broken up and unengaged for 2 months already, yet we are still standing in our shared home.
I look out at the cemetery outside our window, the trees bare and the gravestones covered in a light dusting of snow. I still believe that he is my person and that we will be together again, but I also know this is just a lie I keep telling myself.
Throughout this entire experience of quarantine it’s been interesting to watch the seasons change within this small square frame of the window. Like a frame capturing the experience of both intense love and death.
"You’re going to be great babe. I am so proud of you."
The fact that he still calls me babe, it feels so natural and so wrong all at the same time. He doesn’t want me to be his babe anymore but it’s still the only name he calls me, at least for now.
"I’m going to miss you so much." I say as I look down at Kali, my 8 month old border collie mix puppy, who sits quietly by my feet, and then back at him. His expression is confusing. He loves me but his eyes are tired and heavy with the drawn-out lie of our would-have-been perfect life together. I’ve grown accustomed to this expression over the past year, and it has always made my heart and head battle between logic and lust.
It’s time to go. I know that when I come back to my apartment in January, nothing will ever be the same again. This is it. This is really the end. And not just the end of our time together, but the end of a life I once knew. The end of a version of myself I thought I created, when in reality was actually created by everyone else around me. Underneath is who I am, but I don’t know her at all yet.
I give him one more squeeze, kneel down to kiss Kali, and grab my bags. Our hallway is long, long enough that I was using it for sprints during my at-home pandemic workouts, but this time, walking down it isn’t exciting. It’s depressing and daunting.
By the time I sit down in the Uber, I’m numb. I look down at my left hand, my new ring sparkling in the evening light. I had replaced my engagement ring a few weeks ago, buying myself a wedding band covered in 23 different colored sapphire stones that together make up the rainbow. It was my dedication to love myself first and foremost, though it was still more aspirational than a reality. Each time I glanced down at the stones, I am reminded of the confidence I soon hoped to have within myself.
I replay the past few months in my head. How did I actually get here? Thank goodness, I won’t have to sleep in our apartment alone tonight while he sleeps uptown at his client’s spare apartment. Thank goodness I won’t be reminded of all the things my life was supposed to be but are just now not. Thank goodness I won’t wake up with an empty calendar, void of clients, classes, calls, etc. All of the metrics of success I had been used to for so many years. The void of busyness has felt like purgatory when in reality it has been an invitation, and I’m finally RSVPing yes. I’ll be in a new space and with a new mission and agenda: to just simply FEEL.
The entire flight is a blur. I avoid eye contact throughout the journey. Not that anyone is looking at me anyway. That’s the beauty of a flight, it's the one public place where intentionally ignoring interacting with fellow humans is acceptable. Flights and elevators. The flight attendants move about the cabin, simply doing their job. The guy next to me is half asleep, his earbuds in, and unassuming to the turmoil that is going on in my mind.
I imagine if I look someone in the eyes, they’ll see right through my false composure and straight to the excruciating pain I’m in and I’ll quite literally crumble to the floor. An experience that has been a daily occurrence over the past 2 months. There is a heaviness in my chest and a sharp pain behind my eyes. I also know that if I do end up making eye contact with someone, I’ll feel so seen and vulnerable that a panic attack will surely follow. I keep my head down and hide my tears with my sweatshirt sleeves.
Half of my heart is back in NYC in my apartment and the other half has crumbled into pieces in the blue window seat of this JetBlue flight. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt whole.
When I finally land in LA, one of my close friends, Rachel, greets me at the airport. The sliding doors open and the warm winter California air kisses my skin, a beautiful contrast to the cold and dreary New York I’ve just left behind.
Rachel pulls up alongside the curb in her black jeep, her newest addition to LA life, and hops out to give me a hug and help with my bags. This is atypical as she usually remains in the driver’s seat and gives me a kiss on the cheek when I hop in, but this time she makes a point to get out of the car, walk around to the passenger side, and extend her arms out wide for a hug. She knows how difficult this journey will be and has been already. It’s clear that I’m not here to have a vacation, I’m here to save my damn life.
I know Rachel can see how skinny I’ve gotten from the look on her face when she releases me from her embrace. I have been so depressed that I’ve barely been eating. I feel smaller. I feel weak. I feel empty, like a vessel waiting to be filled with life.
It’s our tradition to drive straight from the airport to Erewhon, a very expensive and health-driven grocery store and cafe in LA, so that’s where we go. It feels like our usual "Dani is visiting LA routine" which both of us know it isn’t. We delicately dance around the topic of my arrival and go through the motions, keeping the conversation on the surface.
"How was your flight?" "Oh it was fine. I wanted to sleep but I guess I was too anxious." "Understandably so. There’s a lot of change happening, and a lot of change to come." "Yeah. I’ll be ok." I say, trying to hold my shit together but feeling anything but certain that I’d be ok.
I’m still in a bit of shock that all of this is real. Rachel knew I was struggling these past few months but really wasn’t aware of the intensity of my panic attacks and how often I imagined downing the entire bottle of pills when I went to take my prescription. Dreaming of a moment when the pain was nonexistent and I could just disappear.
We arrive at Erewhon in Venice and park in the already full parking lot. Even though it’s a grocery store, it feels more like the hottest bar in town. Rachel always runs into someone she knows because she teaches some of the best yoga classes in town, and I am just hoping that today is the exception. I cringe at the thought of having to talk to a stranger and act like I’m just here visiting without any other ulterior motive.
After ordering from the hot food counter we take our overpriced salmon plates into the back garden of Erewhon, and I finally share with Rachel the truth of what’s been happening.
"It’s been really bad Rach. I’ve been hurting myself, blacking out, breaking things in the apartment, scaring Kali. I just... I can’t believe this is my life. I have nothing. I am nothing."
She remains silent, a look of acceptance and understanding across her face. Her breathing remains steady as she holds space and lets me process these thoughts. Her calm and her acceptance was what drew me to her when we first met. When I learned she was not just a yoga teacher but also a Reiki practitioner, it made total sense. I loved her all the more for it.
I’m sobbing now and the words are pouring out of me just as quickly as the tears. I’m rambling but I have been holding this in for so long and I’m desperate for someone other than my therapists to finally listen.
"I would have been getting married next month. I would still have my friends. I would still have my job. I would still have my brand sponsorships. I would still have MY life. But it all disappeared, gone so quickly like sand through my fingertips. No matter how hard I’ve been holding on and gripping tight, it’s all just gone. And I don’t know why. Where is my happiness, my life, my purpose? I don’t even know who I am. I don’t think I ever knew."
My salmon plate is getting cold. I can barely eat, which is pretty common for me lately.
Rachel looks up at the pink colored sky, quickly getting darker as the winter sun is setting. "You needed to go through all of this to find yourself again. You needed to lose it all to love it all."
I believed her, but I still couldn’t see it. I couldn’t feel it. I poked around at my food for a little longer, even though I had no appetite. Then we got back in the car to head to her place. It was only 7pm but with jet lag and a full day of travel, I was done for the night. As I cleaned up and showered, Rachel converted her couch into a bed and I climbed right in.
"It’s my last sleep as a free woman!" I joked. "Nah, I think you’ll feel more free after." She responded. "Good night D, I love you." "I love you back."
This trip won’t allow us much time together, because that’s not why I’m here. I’m not here to visit LA. I’m here to check myself in to an inpatient program at a mental health treatment facility.
The next morning, we both wake up before the sun. Me because of jet lag and Rachel because she has to get ready for work. The pandemic led Rachel to make a slight career pivot and she is now a kindergarten teacher, in addition to the yoga classes she still teaches virtually. Because we are still in the height of the pandemic, her school classes are also on Zoom. So even though she’ll be home this morning, she’ll be busy and unavailable to give me hugs or help manage my anxiety before I leave for Malibu in a few hours. This is obviously not her job and I’m a grown 28-year-old woman, but I’m feeling particularly needy and hover around as we make our coffee. I’m chatting more than usual, anxiety pouring out of me, while she remains more quiet, getting into the zone for a day of work.
"I’m excited to watch you be a kindergarten teacher. I still can’t believe you are one now." She nods. "Yeah, crazy." "How do you start the class?" "We sing Modeh Ani."
Rachel is working for a Jewish private school, something I’m familiar with from my own childhood. I went to yeshiva from nursery through fifth grade.
"Wow, I haven’t heard that in years." She smiles, finishes her coffee, and heads to the bathroom.
While she’s in the shower, I lace up my sneakers for my last freedom run. As I’m on my way out the door I hear her begin:
"Modeh Ani lefanekha melekh ḥai vekayam…"
It’s a traditional morning prayer in Hebrew that translates to: "I give thanks unto You, Adonai our God, that in mercy You have restored my soul within me. Endless is Your compassion. Great is Your faithfulness... May I renew my soul with faith in You, Source of all Healing."
As a kid, it always felt too religious. Now, after exploring my own spirituality, the words make sense. Gratitude for waking back up in your body. Gratitude for another chance.
I step out into the early LA morning for a run, the breeze cool on my skin. I’ve never felt this sense of gratitude before. Maybe this program really is my chance.
Running, hiking, even yoga has felt more intentional lately. Movement connects me to myself. I know the science behind it but during these dark few months, it’s been the one thing that helps me feel alive. I asked the admissions coordinator if I could run while there. She said, "You can run around the property." "How big is the property?" "One acre."
One acre is 0.0015625 miles. A full mile is 640 acres. I briefly imagined myself running 640 loops around the building. Ridiculous, but that’s how much I need this.
I run through the streets of Rachel’s neighborhood. I pass the rainbow sculpture outside the Sony Pictures Studio. A nod from the universe. A reminder of the rainbow I wear on my finger. The rainbow I’m still trying to find inside me.
Each step is a wave. One moment, I’m proud. The next, I’m begging for my old life back. I repeat to myself: One foot in front of the other. Ride the wave.
I head for the Culver City stairs. 282 steps to the top. By the time I get there, I’m breathless and buzzing. I’ve climbed my way out of something. I don’t know what yet. But I’m starting.
Back at Rachel’s, she’s still teaching. The run helped, but the panic is back. It’s 10 a.m. I’m being picked up at noon. I try to relax, but it’s like trying to relax before jumping out of a plane. I shower and accidentally wash my hair with body wash. I force down a banana. Brush my teeth a third time.
I pick up a book I’ve been reading, The Road Less Traveled. A line jumps out at me:
"Dependency may appear to be love... but it is a form of antilove."
Not the line I needed. I start to spiral. The walls close in. I cry, quietly, because Rachel is working and I can’t fall apart here. I panic in silence, sitting on the couch like a girl quietly reading her book.
I want to call him. Drew. He always knew what to say. Once, years ago, I called him from Mykonos when I was panicking. He told me, "Feelings are real, but they’re not forever. Move forward with grace and love. You can do this."
I stand up and go outside to the stoop. I FaceTime him. He doesn’t answer. I call again. No answer. I’ve done this too many times these past few months. Call after call. 49. 50. 100. Just the sound of it ringing gives me hope.
Then, finally, he calls back.
"I... want to... come... home," I sob. "Please. This is a huge mistake. I’m getting a flight." "Hey, slow down. Breathe," he says. He always had a hold on me. Just hearing his voice is a hit of relief.
"You’re going to be great," he says again. And again. The same line he’s been using ever since I decided to go.
"I want our life back."
"Dani, this is what you have to do. We’re not doing this anymore."
He’s done. And he has been. Since Valentine’s Day. It just took a year for both of us to admit it.
The call ends. I go inside. Rachel is on her lunch break. She sees my face and knows. She walks over and hugs me. A real hug. I melt into her.
We hold on longer than usual.
Then I pull away. I gather my things. I put on my jacket. One more hug.
She is my safe place. She knows how much I love to brush my teeth.
My phone buzzes. A message.
"Hi, it’s your driver from Arcadia Treatment Facility. I’m here."
It’s time.