Threshold
A collection
Thirty liturgies
For the seasons
no one prepared you for.
A book of short prayers and prose for the woman who seems okay but isn't — language for the divorce, the diagnosis, the long middle of a hard thing. Not advice. Not a fix. A companion you can hold in the hollow hour.
46-page PDF · instant download · yours to keep
You wake up and you know.
Before the coffee. Before the day asks anything of you. Some quiet part of your body has already decided, and now the rest of you has to catch up.
Let it be true for one minute.
You don't have to do anything with it yet.
What's inside
Thirty pieces in five movements — the shape of a season you didn't choose, moved through one small hour at a time.
Movement I
The First Knowing
- 01For the morning you wake up knowing
- 02For the night you knew
- 03For the conversation you cannot un-have
- 04For the ring you took off
- 05For the body that keeps the score
- 06For the diagnosis in the doctor's mouth
- 07For the morning the prayer would not come
Movement II
Body and People
- 08For eating something while you cry
- 09For the shower you finally took
- 10For the friend who said the wrong thing
- 11For the friend who is still alive
- 12For the friend who said nothing at all
- 13For the mother you cannot tell yet
- 14For the child watching you be brave
Movement III
The Hard Middle
- 15For the hour you are tired of being brave
- 16For the email you have to send
- 17For the Sunday that has no shape
- 18For the apartment with the wrong echo
- 19For the anger that arrived late
Movement IV
Seasons and Dates
- 20For the question 'how are you'
- 21For the way grief comes back in October
- 22For the first holiday alone
- 23For the birthday you did not want
- 24For the anniversary of the worst day
Movement V
The Turning
- 25For the small kindness from a stranger
- 26For the laugh that surprised you
- 27For the morning the light looked different
- 28For the thing you can finally say out loud
- 29For the woman you are becoming
- 30For the self that was waiting for you
Read one. Sit with it. Come back tomorrow.
You are so tired of being brave.
Of the steady voice. The competent email. The way you arrange your face before you open the door.
Put it down for an hour.
The brave will still be there when you pick it back up.
Who this is for
The woman whose marriage is ending.
The one whose body has betrayed her.
The one rebuilding a life she didn't choose.
The one who is fine, mostly, except for at 3am.
The one who needs language that doesn't pretend to fix it.
The light is different this morning.
Not better. Not a sign. Just different — the way it falls across the floor you have walked a thousand times while you were not looking.
You are still here.
Notice that. Don't make it mean anything yet.
Read one before you decide
Liturgy 01 — For the morning you wake up knowing — in full, free. Leave your email and I'll open it for you.
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What readers have said
I've never been able to capture the season I've been in these last few years in words — and this does it perfectly. I think it's a season a lot of people are in, actually.
That is so beautiful, and exactly what I needed. Having something for my brother — whom I've lost to Alzheimer's — is what my heart needed. To grieve his loss while he is still alive is so comforting.
I feel like you wrote it for me — I could relate to it so much. It feels good to define the wilderness for what it is, and the doorway I'm walking through. Shedding layers that aren't needed anymore.
"You are absolute magic. That piece assigned words to what had only been felt, not named."— E.
The writer
I'm Bukola. Divorce survivor. Cancer survivor. I write for the woman who seems okay but isn't — honest company for the seasons nobody prepares you for.
I started writing these for myself, in a season I didn't have language for, because nothing I was handed felt true to the size of it. Not advice. Not theology. The sentences I needed someone to say out loud, quietly, without hurrying me through.
If they meet you somewhere, I'm glad.
Quiet questions
A few things, asked plainly.
- Is this a devotional, or a memoir?
- Neither, quite. It's a collection of liturgies — short pieces of written language, part prayer, part script — meant to be read slowly when you don't have your own words. No story arc to follow, no program to work through. Open to the one you need.
- Is it for me if I'm not religious — or if I'm still in the worst of it?
- Yes, to both. They draw from a liturgical tradition but they are not doctrinal. Written to meet you wherever you are — believer, doubter, deconstructing, or still mid-collapse. Nothing here asks you to be further along than you are.
- What do I get, and how long is it?
- A 46-page PDF — thirty liturgies, instantly downloaded after checkout. $9, one-time. Yours to keep, print, return to, give away.
The collection
Liturgies for
the Threshold
Thirty liturgies, delivered as a single PDF designed to be printed and held. Yours to keep, return to, give away.
46-page PDF. Instant download. Read on any device.