by Roxy Redrum

I was watching the news the other day, and they were covering a trial—another senseless murder, another grieving family standing in a courtroom reading letters to the man who took their daughter’s life. The letters were full of hate. Understandably. They wanted him to feel the weight of what he did. And while I completely understand their pain, I felt something strange crawl up my spine.

It wasn’t judgment. It wasn’t even discomfort.

It was clarity.

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life handing the mic to the people who hurt me.

I don’t want my story to be shaped around their crimes.

I don’t want to write letters to ghosts. I want to write scripts that turn blood into punchlines and betrayal into poetry.

I want to build something that gets me out of that courtroom entirely.

Because here’s the thing:

Grief isn’t one-size-fits-all.

Some of us scream.

Some of us go silent.

And some of us start a podcast called Shift Happens: Bloodbath & Beyond because we’re done bleeding out for people who never brought bandages.

This isn’t about denying the pain. I lived it. I still limp from it. But I don’t want this show—my life—to become a living crime scene, with everything taped off and “Do Not Cross” signs draped over all the soft parts of me.

I want it to be the getaway car.

I want Shift Happens to be the soundtrack of my escape.

From codependency. From trauma bonding. From the version of me that thought survival was the same thing as love.

So if you came here looking for courtroom catharsis or victim monologues, you might be disappointed.

But if you’re crawling out of your own mess with mascara under your eyes and a grudge in your pocket,

welcome to the passenger seat.

This isn’t a podcast about what happened.

It’s a podcast about what I’m doing with what happened.

That’s the shift.