Something Wild

Summary

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RISK! Podcast Episode: Something Wild

Date: June 16, 2026
Host: Kevin Allison

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Episode Overview

“Something Wild” offers two powerful, true stories about breaking boundaries—whether in a wild, unsupervised Texas summer or the confines of a misunderstood relationship. Both stories are uncensored, vividly told, and bracingly honest, capturing the essence of what makes RISK! unique. Host Kevin Allison frames the episode as an exploration of personal ‘wildness’—from adolescent rebellion to relationship crisis and survival.

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Story 1: “Horsing Around” by Cambry Cruz ([03:30–13:18])

Main Points & Insights

• Deaf Family, Different Childhood:

  • Cambry was raised in a deaf family in rural Texas. She’s often asked about her ability to sign, speak, and read Braille (she does sign and speak, but not read Braille).
  • The upside of having deaf parents: unlimited music volume, sneaking out, and late-night freedoms (“…we could listen to music as loud as we wanted, as late into the night as we wanted to…” [04:08]).

• Rural Texas Life & Self-Reliance:

  • Grew up with no running water or electricity for a period, while her parents worked overtime, leaving her and her brother unsupervised.
  • The trailer home and its surrounding woods became a place of unfettered childhood chaos—her brother gravitated to hunting and pot-smoking, while Cambry became a puppet master and entrepreneur, even turning her room into a library with real late fees.

• First Taste of ‘Wild’ & Friendship:

  • At 13, Cambry’s summer shifts after meeting Maria—a girl her age, smoking pot with her older brother’s friends. Unlike the boys, Maria can offer something entirely different: adventure on horseback.
  • They begin daily horseback rides (on a small Arabian horse named Star) to Webb’s Grocery, four miles each way, to buy cigarettes and Boone’s Farm wine.

• Getting Her Own Horse—And Outrage over Injustice:

  • Cambry argues for her own horse, pointing out her hard work and clear-headedness compared to her misbehaving brother, who gets more privileges:
    • “My brother…never had a job…flunked out of sixth grade, and he was kicked off the bus for fighting. And yet he still got a shotgun and a waterbed for Christmas. That is not fair. I am a feminist, and I demand equal pay.” [09:04]
  • Parents acquiesce; she “inherits” a horse named Charlie Brown.

• Charlie Brown, The Loyal & Unexpectedly High Horse:

  • The horse is described with affection:
    • “My mom said he thought he was one of us…he would follow me around like a puppy dog.” [10:18]
  • Then, one day, Charlie Brown starts acting strangely—bucking and circling the perimeter, oblivious to Cambry’s summons with his treat bell.
  • The twist: Cambry’s brother discovers the horse ate all his homegrown marijuana plants. Charlie Brown is “baked.”

Notable Quotes & Moments

• “Bless my heart. I said they were deaf, not dead.” (Cambry Cruz, [03:54])
• “Here I am. Here we are.” (after surviving busboy gigs, fireworks stands, and unsupervised summers, [08:15])
• “If you ever want to know what a high horse looks like when you are told to get off one, that’s what they look like.” (Cambry Cruz, [12:55])

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Story 2: “Reasons to Stay” by Evan Miles ([19:48–37:33])

Main Points & Insights

• Catastrophe, Confusion, and Arrest:

  • Evan recounts the harrowing night of being unexpectedly arrested after a 12-hour hospital shift:
    • “The helicopter is right above me and the light drops straight down onto my windshield. And that’s when it hits me. This is for me.” [20:22]
  • Police surround him, guns drawn. He’s arrested, accused of attempted murder—a charge he learns about only later at the station.

• Behind the Accusation—Addiction and Denial:

  • Context: Nine-year relationship with a partner spiraling through alcoholism and drug use. Evan tries to manage, support, and contain her addiction, to the detriment of his own well-being.
  • Describes denial/complicity:
    • “What I thought was devotion was actually complicity.” [25:41]

• Relationship Dynamics & The Breaking Point:

  • Chronic turmoil:
    • Violent migraines, verbal abuse in public, cycles of apology and relapse.
    • “We had five therapists. … Sometimes things got better. … But then it would start back up. Just half a glass. I want to check in with myself. And I already knew how that story ended.” [24:10]
  • A particularly traumatic night—drugs, syringes, blood. Evan records these moments, more for self-validation than threat.

• The Setup:

  • Nine days after a catastrophic fight, Evan is accused by his partner of physical assault and injecting her with drugs.
  • At his arraignment, bail is set at $1 million. He has video evidence supporting his innocence, but it takes days to reach anyone for help.

• Jail Experience—Fear, Insecurity, and Waiting:

  • Transferred to Twin Towers Correctional Facility: chaos, violence, unsanitary conditions, and constant fear.
  • “And that’s when I understood what it means. To not feel safe in your own body.” [32:17]

• Aftermath—Legal Limbo, Isolation, and Loss:

  • Released after nine days, but investigation and litigation drag on for eight months.
  • Work and social life are strained; haunted by betrayal and the impossibility of closure:
    • “But the most tragic part is that we’ll never have a chance to reconcile…for nine years, she wasn’t just my partner, she was my home. And now that entire chapter of my life ends in silence.” [36:54]

Notable Quotes & Moments

• “You’re being charged with attempted murder.” (Unnamed deputy, [22:38])
• “I was overwhelmed. Grief, anger, fear. Like every nerve ending was exposed.” (Evan Miles, [26:13])
• “It isn’t the accusation. It isn’t the money, and it isn’t even her betrayal. The most tragic part is that we’ll never have a chance to reconcile.” (Evan Miles, [36:42])

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Memorable Episode Moments

• Cambry’s comic retelling of a “high horse” and rural mischief delivers warmth, humor, and feminist bite.
• Evan’s narrative is quiet, tense, and devastating—a journey into trauma, betrayal, and the limitations of love and justice.
• Kevin’s Commentary denotes the theme: how wildness is not just a state of action, but also a state of emotion and survival.

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Structural Timestamps

• [03:30] Cambry Cruz – “Horsing Around” begins
• [12:55] Cambry finishes her story
• [19:48] Evan Miles – “Reasons to Stay” begins
• [37:33] Evan finishes his story

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Tone and Language

• Cambry: Wry, self-aware, humorous; uses vivid images and Southern expressions.
• Evan: Raw, honest, and methodical; the retelling is tense, emotionally devastating, and ultimately meditative.
• Kevin: Warm, conversational, supportive—encouraging listeners to “take a risk” of their own by telling their stories.

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For Listeners Who Want More

• Cambry Cruz: Author of “Burn Down the Ground,” founder of QED Astoria. Instagram: @cambrycruz.
• Evan Miles: Connect via “Grief and Grace TIAH” or leave comments at risk-show.com.

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Summary:
“Something Wild” is a double-feature of outlandish, honest living—one in wild Texas adolescence, the other in the unexpected wilds of heartbreak and the justice system. Each story is a testimony to the unpredictable ways life can push us—and how we find the nerve to navigate it, sometimes with laughter, sometimes with tears, always with a wild hope for what comes next.

Transcript

[A]

On this episode of Risk.

[B]

You'll hear you're being charged with attempted murder.

[A]

And you'll hear Charlie Brown.

[C]

Come on, get your treat.

[A]

And me, Kevin Allison on the show where people tell true stories they never thought they'd dare to share.

[B]

Mom, can you tell me a story? Sure.

[C]

Once upon a time, a mom needed a new car.

[B]

Was she brave?

[C]

She was tired.

[A]

Most.

[C]

But she went to Carvana.com and found

[B]

a great car at a great price. No secret treasure map required. Did you have to fight a dragon? Nope.

[C]

She bought it 100% online from her bed, actually.

[B]

Was it scary?

[C]

Honey, it was as unscary as car buying could be. Did the car have a sunroof?

[B]

It did, actually. Okay, good story.

[C]

Car buying you'll want to tell stories about. Buy your car today on Carvana. Delivery fees may apply.

[B]

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[A]

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[C]

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[A]

Okay, folks, this is Simon Osterholt behind me now. And this is an episode we're calling Something Wild. I've been away for a little bit, and, boy, will I have something wild to talk about soon. But let's get to the stories. We're gonna start with a favorite of ours, Cambry Cruz, who told this one in March of 2025 at our friend Julia Wiedemann's show in New York called Top Elf Stories. It's a Story we call horsing around.

[C]

I grew up in a deaf family. My mom is deaf, my dad is deaf. My aunts, my uncles, my grandparents. Almost everyone in my immediate family is deaf. And this prompts a lot of questions. So I'm going to answer the top three FAQs, so then we can just move on. One, yes, I know sign language. Two, I know how to talk because I'm not deaf. I can hear and I can talk, and no, I cannot read Braille. Thank you for the ASMR menu thing, but no, I do not know how to read Braille. Not a question, but a frequent comment is, oh, my goodness, your whole family's deaf. Even your mama. Oh, bless your heart. I'm like, bless my heart. I said they were deaf, not dead. Okay, you're a kid. Your parents cannot hear what you're doing. What's the downside? I'm trying to find one because, yeah, we could listen to music as loud as we wanted, as late into the night as we wanted to, whatever kind of music we wanted. I had a Columbia Records, like, 10 cassettes for a penny. And I got Richard Pryor, Eddie Murphy, George Carlin. And my parents would be like, what's so funny? And I'm like, ah, just a funny man, a comedian. Okay, I was eight, and I had debt, too. Columbia Records was like, cambry Cruz, pay up. And I'm like, I have no money. Yeah. Sneaking out of the house, walking out the front door, sneaking back in. Just as easy as long as we didn't shake the trailer. Our trailer was up on stilts, which created vibrations, which my parents are sensitive to. So we would just tiptoe through the front door. Bye, Mom. Bye, dad. Tiptoe back. Now, besides my family being deaf, my parents being deaf, they also worked very, very long hours over time. We were pretty poor, so they were trying to rake in the money. And we lived in the deep, deep, deep woods of Texas. Like, rural, rural Texas. No running water, no electricity, no plumbing for a hot minute. And they would drive an hour and a half to Houston, sometimes more with traffic and back. So we were left on our own for long stretches of time, which meant that our trailer was the place to hang out. And in summertime, basically, it devolved into, like, a Southern fried Lord of the Flies. It was every kid for himself. Kill or be killed. My older brother Kevin was almost five years, four and a half years older than me. And he and his friends, they would get high and they would be like Tom Sawyer or whatever, hunting snakes and skinning snakes. We had just snake skins everywhere. I, on the other hand, I wrote and produced puppet shows. And I turned my bedroom into a fully functional library, complete with a Dewey decimal system. I had customers and late fees. And I earned money. I was a little entrepreneur. And now, the summer I turned 13, things changed. My brother and his friends, they're now like 18, 20, 21. They're all sitting in the living room getting high as usual. And, you know, they would always ask me if I wanted some pot. And I'd be like, no, I'm doing inventory. But this time, I walk in and there's a girl sitting on the couch with them. There were no girls in Montgomery, Texas, and she was my age, 13, and she's sitting on the couch with them getting high. So when she asked me if I wanted a hit off the joint, I said, sure, yeah, okay. So I take a hit, we get high, and after a bit, we get the munchies. So I'm like, yeah, what are we going to do? We're poor. We don't have any food in the house. Like, we got some potatoes in the garden. She's like, oh, well, let's just go to Webb's Grocery. Like, Webb's Grocery? That's 4 miles 1 direction. How are we gonna get there? And she's like, on my horse. Doy. What the. A horse. There's a horse in our yard, and his name is Star. And he's like, freedom from this trailer and being isolated in the woods. And so we hop on the back of Star. He's a tiny little Arabian horse, and we ride four miles to Webb's Grocery in the hot summer sun, and it was great. And along the way, she hands me a cigarette, asks me if I want to smoke. Yes, of course. And I get like the buzz. And then we get to Webb's Grocery and I buy a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of Boone's farm. Now, Mr. Webb had been selling me packs of Coors Light and Cools for my dad while he sat in the Chevy pickup truck. I don't know why it didn't d. Maybe a grown man would not switch brands of cigarettes and Boone's Farm, Strawberry Hill. But he gave them to me. Have a good day, kid. You got it, mister. Get back on Star. Ride four miles back to the trailer. We did this every day all summer long. After a while, Maria's dad was like, cambry, you're breaking this little horse's back. She's a pint sized little Joan Jett look alike. I'm a big girl and the two of us on this little horse, he's like, cambry, you gotta get a horse of your own. I'm like, that's a great idea. I'm gonna ask my parents. So I pitch it to my parents. I'm like, I'm a straight A student. I have never been in trouble, and I have two jobs. I was a busboy at a yacht club, and I ran and managed a firework stand on the side of the road by myself. 13. While I smoked with two fucking tons of expensive explosives and money. And yet I survived. Here I am. Here we are. So my brother, on the other hand, never had a job. Flunked out of sixth grade, and he was kicked off the bus for fighting. And yet he still got a shotgun and a waterbed for Christmas. That is not fair. I am a feminist, and I demand equal pay. And they were like, you know what? You're right. So I get a horse. And when people hear this part of the story, they're like, wait, you weren't poor. You had a horse. I'm like, you're thinking Hamptons riding crops and steeplechases. No, no, no. Think, like, Ecuador or Peru. You can, like, find a horse, tie it up to a tree, Voila, you have a horse. They are there to fertilize our garden, keep the ground clear, and take me to get some Boone's Farm, Strawberry Hill. Now, Charlie Brown was his name, and he was so smart. My mom said he thought he was one of us. And he would follow me around like a puppy dog. If I walked, he walked. If I jogged, he trotted. If I ran, he galloped. And I swear he was stuck to me. Forgive me. Like glue, just with me forever. So when one day I couldn't find Charlie Brown, I thought that was a little odd. I go out there and I ring this bell that he knew when I rang it, he got a special treat. Ring the bell, Charlie Brown. Come on, get your treat. Come on, we gotta go to Webb's Grocery. Mama needs some Boone's Farm. Ringing the bell. Nothing. And then finally, I see him on the perimeter of the land. But he's bucking. He's, like, just bucking, and his hair's whipping around. He's shaking his head. I'm like, oh, my God. I think a swarm of wasps or bees is around him because he's trying to buck something off or shake something off. But he didn't look distressed. He didn't look agitated. He just was doing this weird bucking. And he was just going around in Circles on the perimeter of the property, over and over. And I kept calling and ringing the bell. Nothing. Charlie Brown screaming. Finally, I go inside, asked my mom and brother, they're sitting on the couch watching television. I said, mom, mom, something's wrong with the horse. Come look. She's like, what's wrong? I was like, I don't know. Come on. And she and my brother come out there and I'm like, look, look, you're gonna see him. He looks like he's in slow motion. It was really actually quite beautiful. If it weren't so weird, he's like bucking and shaking. She goes, oh, that is so strange. It's like he's high or something. And that's when my brother tears off barefoot through the behind our shed and lets out a blood curdling scream, comes chomping back. He ate my plants. We're like, what? My pot. He ate it all. We're like, what are you talking about? My brother had been growing giant stalks of marijuana behind the shed and Charlie Brown had found it and chomped off the tops of each and every one. Charlie Brown was baked. He was baked. So if you ever want to know what a high horse looks like when you are told to get off one, that's what they look like. Thank you very much. That's my story,

[A]

Folks. In my 40s and 50s, one of my biggest disappointments has been that no one ever really taught me about skincare. I just come from a generation of midwestern men who were really out of the loop for decades. So in recent years, I have experimented with a gazillion skincare products. But I found it's just so overwhelming. There's so many different things I've tried that left me saying, okay, is this doing anything? You know, there's a lot of wrinkles now and the dullness and looseness and the dark circles and bags under the eyes, it stresses me out. So I have to say I'm also genuinely grateful that our sponsor, Oneskin, sent me their OS1 peptide products for the face and under eye treatment. I'm actually seeing and feeling an unmistakable difference. My skin is brighter and it's tighter, it's softer, it's not greasy. And even the under eye, the tired, dark, baggy stuff, is fading away. The thing is, as we age, some skin cells stop functioning the way they should. Longevity scientists call them zombie cells. And One Skin's OS1 peptide was specifically engineered to address those doing something most skin care was never built to do. Their results are backed by four peer reviewed clinical studies over ten 10,000 five star reviews and it was all born from over a decade of longevity research. One skins OS1 peptide is proven to target the visible signs of aging, helping you unlock your healthiest skin now and as you age. For a limited time, try one skin with 15% off using the code risk at OneSkin co. Risk. That's 15% off OneSkin co with the code risk. After you purchase, they'll ask you where you heard about them. Please support our show and tell them we sent you.

[B]

I'm Jonathan Goldstein and this spring, Heavyweight revisits some favorite episodes. Yeah, I think I want to know

[C]

why she made my life so difficult

[B]

if she had some kind of thing against me. Plus, we check back in with our guests to see what's changed in the years since. How long has it been?

[C]

Things have transpired?

[B]

Yeah, the last 10 years, everything's changed. New updates begin March 12th. Listen to heavyweight wherever you get your podcasts.

[C]

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[B]

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[C]

We're somewhere in the Gulf of Thailand.

[B]

Getting us out of here should be your focus. I'm your boss. You work for me.

[C]

We're not in the office anymore.

[B]

It's bold, relentless and endlessly rewatchable.

[A]

Discover why critics give it 93% on rotten tomatoes.

[B]

You're so fired.

[C]

Oh, am I?

[B]

No.

[C]

Help is coming.

[A]

Send help.

[B]

Rated R now streaming on Hulu and Hulu on Disney plus.

[A]

This is Risk. This is Prophecy Playground behind me now. And we just heard from Cambry Cruz, the founder of qed, the beloved performance venue in Astoria, Queens. And she's also the author of the critically acclaimed best selling memoir Burn down the Ground. Look her up on Instagram at Cambry Cruise. Folks, my next online storytelling workshop starts on June 28th. It'll be Sunday mornings at 10am Eastern Time. If you're thinking I'm too shy, I don't have stories that seems too complicated or too intense. No, it's fun with tons of flexibility for people of all levels of experience, people who want to tell various kinds of stories. And such a wonderfully supportive vibe that we create. So email me at kevinrisk-show.com to get on in. And folks, risk is so expensive to run that several of our staff members, including yours truly, have gone without paychecks of any kind, of any amount now for months. People are dipping into their savings to keep this show running. Now I cannot emphasize enough how much we truly need the support of our [e-mail] risk or you can make a one donation at paypal me riskshow now our next story comes from Evan Miles. It's Evan's first time on the show. This is one of those stories about someone in a relationship they should have gotten out of earlier. It's called reasons to stay.

[B]

Sam. It's December 21st, 2022. So, winter solstice. Shortest day of the year, but the longest night of my life. I'm driving home after working a 12 hour shift at the hospital, still in my scrubs. I try calling my partner. No answer. I send a text. Nothing. But I don't think much of it because we'd been texting all day, doing normal couple stuff, processing a return at West Elm, a group text with friends talking about our holiday plans. We were scheduled to fly out the next day to visit her parents for Christmas right after my shift. And that morning before work, I kissed her goodbye. Now, the truth is we had had a catastrophic fight nine days earlier. The kind where you don't know if a relationship is going to survive it. But afterward, it really felt like we'd turned a corner. I mean, we'd been talking every day since that fight, making plans. I mean, we just signed a contract to build a mother in law suite in our backyard. So yeah, that day felt normal. So anyways, I'm driving home on the phone with this friend, talking to him about that fight, trying to make sense of it. I'm about a mile from my house when I hear it. A helicopter. I don't think anything of it, but I'm looking around at the street, the houses, telling my friend, holy, something's happening in my neighborhood. And this searchlight is sweeping back and forth across the road. The parked cars, the windows. And as I look up through my moon roof, the helicopter is right above me and the light drops straight down onto my windshield. And that's when it hits me. This is for me. And before I can react, four police cruisers surround me. Two in front, two behind. Doors fly open. Guns come out. Get out of the car and get on your knees. Face down on the asphalt. Cold seeping through my Scrubs. My hospital badge still clipped on my cheek, pressed against the street. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely feel the rest of my body. And the strangest thought runs through my mind. I'm supposed to be at work tomorrow. But something else in me shifts. I realize I'm in a system now, and the only thing to do is follow instructions. I don't move. My hands are behind my back. I don't talk. And while they push me against the cruiser, I have this quiet, terrifying thought. She did this because nothing else fit. Something's already happening. And all I can think is, what did you tell them to make them show up like this? Now they don't explain anything. I'm handcuffed, put in a car, taken to a station, chained to a bench, waiting, staring at the floor. I focus on my breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth, because it's the only thing I can do. And I keep telling myself, this is a mistake. Someone's going to walk in, apologize, release me, and I'm going to go home. Instead, I'm taken to an interrogation room. A detective sits across from me, reads me my Miranda rights. And I'm completely confused. And I ask quietly if I should have a lawyer. And he says, you don't ask, you invoke. Okay. I'd like an attorney. All right, interview's over. So they take me to booking, hand me a pair of oversized blue jail scrubs, tell me to change. And that's when it starts to sink in. I'm not going home. I'm staying here. And weirdly, I'm still thinking about work. A deputy with this cold, vacant look says to me, you're being charged with attempted murder. I don't move. And just like that, everything I had built was on the line. I'm asking myself, how did I get here? So here's what I couldn't see back then. I was in a nine year relationship with someone struggling with addiction. Alcohol at first, drug use at the end. And I couldn't see it. Or maybe I didn't want to, because honestly, I was addicted. To. To her, to our life. There were the promises to quit, you know, she'd go to Alcoholics Anonymous, I'd go to Al Anon Therapy. By the end, we had five therapists. And sometimes things got better, you know, she'd stop drinking and I'd feel hopeful again. But then it would start back up. Just half a glass. I want to check in with myself. And I already knew how that story ended. There are the nights I woke up to her, screaming in pain from her alcohol induced migraines. Or we'd be out with friends, laughing. And then she'd turn to me and say, don't fucking touch me. And the table would go quiet. And I'd smile, apologize, try to smooth it over. And every time it happened, I stayed silent. Told myself it was fine, nothing ever changed. But nine days before the arrest, something broke. And it wasn't just alcohol that night. There was a drug and a needle. So months earlier, I came home and found her on our bed, naked, glass eyed. A syringe beside her, blood trailing down her arm. One of our cats licking it off the floor. And I remember thinking, I can believe this is my life. I felt scared, helpless in this deep, visceral grief. And something in me just started to shut down. And it wasn't the last time. You know, there were other nights like that. And each time I recorded it and would text it to her. Not to threaten her, but because I needed her to see what I was seeing. And so, nine days before the arrest, I walk into the living room and it's happening again. Needle, blood, bottle of wine. And when I confront her, she denies it. And she had never lied to me before. And something in me cracked. Not just because she was using, but because for the first time, I saw clearly how long I had been explaining this away. I wasn't just loving her, I was managing it, containing it. And suddenly I saw it. What I thought was devotion was actually complicity. I was overwhelmed. Grief, anger, fear. Like every nerve ending was exposed. And all I could say was, I need to go to bed. I have work tomorrow. She was high, she was drunk, and she followed me. And this was the pattern, you know, Whenever I reached my limit and tried to disengage, she wouldn't allow it. Room to room, door to door, talking, but not really talking. Her words looping, losing her train of thought, starting again. And I would say, I can't do this right now. And she would say, no, we have to, but there is nothing to resolve. And I could feel it in my body, My chest tightening, my thoughts, grammar. Like I couldn't exhale. And all I wanted was space,

[C]

but

[B]

it kept escalating and everything just unraveled. So in the nine days after that night, it never crossed my mind that she was planning something else. Something designed to blow up our life. And by the time I understood what was happening, I was already arrested and sitting at the police station. Silent, booked, processed, transported. And two days later, still in custody, I'm transported to My arraignment in blue jail. Scrubs my wrists and ankles, shackled me, cuffed to another inmate. And that's when I finally get to hear the story she told them. She said I punched her. She said I attacked her. She said I injected her with a drug and left her there. I remember standing there thinking, how do you even begin to respond to something like that? But an arraignment isn't where you get to explain yourself, you know? It's where you listen to the version of you the state has decided to believe. And that story set my bail at $1 million. But I did have something. I had a recording from that night, an account of what happened inside our home. And this was just a continuation of what was going on in the months past, where I would come home, catch her in a compromising position because I had no other recourse. I just felt like all I could do was record it and then send it to her as a text. So the video shows me in the bedroom and her in the living room. She appears visibly intoxicated, altered. But at my arraignment, I didn't even have a defense attorney yet. I was appointed a public defender. In fact, I couldn't reach anyone on the outside for four days because my phone had been taken and no one was asking for my version. So after court, I'm sent back to jail. And then I land at the Twin Towers Correctional Facility. And if you've never been inside jail, especially one with a reputation like Twin Towers, it is pure chaos. You're moved from one holding area to another. Rooms packed with fifty, sometimes a hundred men. The noise never stops. People shouting, arguing, cursing at each other. Across the room, rows of toilets lined up against the wall. No stalls, no privacy. And the smell. It hits you immediately. Sweat bodies and this strange burnt scent like smoke that they use to try to cover it. And everyone is looking at you because you're the new guy. The first time they marched us into the group shower, I had to strip naked in front of a room full of strangers. No curtain, no stall, Just concrete and running water. And I kept my eyes on the floor, but I could feel them looking at me. And you realize very quickly, you are not safe in there. One night in the cell block next to mine, an inmate tries to hang himself. Another time, I watch an inmate stab another in the lower back with a pencil like it was nothing. Nine days total. Eight nights inside. Concrete floors, fluorescent lights that never turn off. Learning to sleep sitting up. And that's when I understood what it means. To not feel safe in your own body. Eventually, my family and friends helped me get out. But getting out doesn't mean it's over. The nightmare was just beginning. Suddenly, I'm under three investigations at the same time. Criminal licensing and civil licensing, because I'm a licensed provider. And so the Attorney general has to get involved to assess my risk to the public safety. And then a civil investigation, because not only is she dissolving our relationship, but she's suing me for damages. 8 months. Court dates, metal detectors, benches and hallways. My name called again and again, Like a case moving through the system the same way my patients moved through the hospital and at work. No one knew. I still showed up, still took care of patients during cases. My phone would light up with texts from my lawyers, documents. Deadlines banished from my own home. Home. I'm staying at a friend's guest house in their backyard. Hiding. Because if she was willing to do this, I didn't know what else she was capable of. So, of course I hid. I stopped making plans, stopped thinking more than an hour ahead. Anything beyond that felt completely overwhelming. And all I could do was hand over the details of my life to my attorneys and wait. And that waiting was its own kind of torture. Because she wasn't just an accuser. She was my life partner. And I'm struggling to grapple with the reality that the person I tried to save all these years is trying to destroy me. So for eight months, I waited. And eventually, the case was dismissed. No apology, no acknowledgement. She walked away. And I was left with the aftermath. But the most tragic part of this story isn't the arrest. It isn't the accusation. It isn't the money, and it isn't even her betrayal. The most tragic part is that we'll never have a chance to reconcile. Because whatever happened between us, whatever love we shared, whatever mistakes we both made, that conversation will never happen. And that's hard to sit with, because for nine years, she wasn't just my partner, she was my home. And now that entire chapter of my life ends in silence.

[A]

This is risk. This is Tio Laza behind me now. And we just heard from Evan Meyer. Now, Evan came to storytelling as one way to process what he lived through. You know, a lot of storytelling is trying to make sense out of your experiences. So his work often touches on the parts of life that only start to make sense later. You can reach Evan at Grief and Grace. T I A H or, of course, you can leave a comment on any of our social media riskshow or on the page of our website for this episode. There's a link to that in the show notes. And don't forget my next online storytelling workshop starts on Sunday, June 28th at 10am People jokingly call those Sunday morning workshops Church with Kevin, where it's a much, much, much more fun kind of church. So even if you can't do that one email [e-mail] to be kept in the loop about all the future ones. Folks, today's the day. Take a risk.

[C]

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