You opened the book because the question would not leave you alone. You did not expect the first thing you read to be a white man describing what it finally felt like to understand the nature of the enemy he had been to fight for years. Not the enemy out there.

You are still here. Not because the grief has moved. It has not. It is the same weight it was last week, the same question underneath it, the same exhaustion of carrying something that has no clean edge and no clear object and no timeline anyone gave you for how long this is supposed to last.

Witnessing @kimcrayton1.bsky.social in her element while writing this book was an added bonus to all the great information and thoughts that she offers our world. We won't move forward in a better direction until we know how we got here. It's up to us to shift. Book: bookshop.org/p/books/the-...

Kim Crayton [She/Her]@kimcrayton1.bsky.social · 4d ago

Thirty years ago I started asking a question the people around me did not have language for and the institutions I worked inside did not have a category for. The question was not complicated. It was: why does this keep happening regardless of who is involved?

You are still rereading the newsletter. Not because it is making you feel better. Because every time you think you have found the edge of what it is asking you to see, you read it again and find there is more. It is not comfortable reading. It was never going to be comfortable reading.

You went back to the newsletter again. You have stopped counting how many times. There was a line in the first issue you read about a book. You registered it the way you register something in your peripheral vision when you are focused on something else.

Thirty years ago I started asking a question the people around me did not have language for and the institutions I worked inside did not have a category for. The question was not complicated. It was: why does this keep happening regardless of who is involved?

Nobody planned for this. Not the meeting that started it. Not the question that would not stop running. Not the closed door, the newsletter, the grief that arrived without a clean object or a name.

The grief arrived. You are in it now. You thought you knew what grief felt like. You have grieved before, people, jobs, versions of a future you planned for and lost. That grief had an object. You could point to it. You could tell someone what you were grieving and they would understand,

You read the newsletter. You keep rereading it because you cannot stop thinking about the closed door. You reached for someone after that meeting and found them unavailable in a way you did not have a script for. Not rude. Not angry. Just not there for what you needed them to be there for.

You told yourself you were done with it after the first read. You were not done with it. You went back. Not because you scheduled it or decided it was worth another look. Because the question,

I've been catching up with tech folx I've been disconnected from since the great Twitter exodus, and the one thing I keep hearing is grief. Real grief. The kind that comes from having sacrificed so much to build something you believed in, only to watch it become the very thing you feared.

You have been carrying this for a long time. Not the knowing. You have always had the knowing. You have carried it in your body across decades of rooms and meetings and conversations where you performed the right amount of not-knowing so the room could stay comfortable.

You did not expect it to feel like this. You expected to be challenged. You expected to be uncomfortable. You were prepared for that, had already decided you could handle it, that you were the kind of person who could sit with hard things.

I've been catching up with tech folx I've been disconnected from since the great Twitter exodus, and the one thing I keep hearing is grief. Real grief. The kind that comes from having sacrificed so much to build something you believed in, only to watch it become the very thing you feared.

Stop whatever you're doing and order this book right now.

Kim Crayton [She/Her]@kimcrayton1.bsky.social · 2w ago

The Predator's Table publishes August 1, 2026. You can purchase it now through Bookshop.org: bookshop.org/a/126451/979... I chose Bookshop.org and local and independent booksellers as the preferred purchase options for this book deliberately.

This is another book that I'm pre-ordering and will be looking forward to reading!

Kim Crayton [She/Her]@kimcrayton1.bsky.social · 2w ago

The Predator's Table publishes August 1, 2026. You can purchase it now through Bookshop.org: bookshop.org/a/126451/979... I chose Bookshop.org and local and independent booksellers as the preferred purchase options for this book deliberately.

Anything from Kim is excellence and real talk. I will be buying this and I recommend it. It won’t be comfortable, but it is necessary and it will be enlightening.

Kim Crayton [She/Her]@kimcrayton1.bsky.social · 2w ago

The Predator's Table publishes August 1, 2026. You can purchase it now through Bookshop.org: bookshop.org/a/126451/979... I chose Bookshop.org and local and independent booksellers as the preferred purchase options for this book deliberately.

The Predator's Table publishes August 1, 2026. You can purchase it now through Bookshop.org: bookshop.org/a/126451/979... I chose Bookshop.org and local and independent booksellers as the preferred purchase options for this book deliberately.

A friend you respect sent it to you. No context. Just a link and one line: you should read this. You almost didn't. You have been sent things before, articles, social media posts, videos, all of it landing in the same place as the question you have been trying to outrun.

You were scrolling. Not looking for anything. Just moving through the feed the way you do when you need something to do to distract you from the reality of current events. And then something stopped you. Not an ad. Not a recommendation. A post.

The newsletter is where the thinking lives between the book, the live events, and the course. It is the connective tissue of the Life Beyond The Supremacy Myth ecosystem, the place where the argument gets worked in real time, issue by issue, without the performance of having it all figured out.

You needed them and they were not there. Not unavailable in the way that comes with an explanation. Not busy in a way that gets rescheduled. Just not there in the way you have come to expect, and something in you moved toward anger before you could stop it.

The question is still running. What are you missing? You have tried to move past it the way you move past most things, by staying busy, by getting back to what you know, by filling the space with the next thing that needed doing. It has not worked.

The book, is written, designed, and ready for distribution 🎉

I finished writing The Predator's Table, available August 1st, and something unexpected happened. The questions didn't stop. They got louder. While I was writing, I had a container for it. Every new observation had a chapter to go to. Every connection had a place to land.

You reached for them after the meeting and they weren't there. Not gone, not rude, just unavailable in the way you expected them to be. The door that has always been open was closed. You do not have a framework for that. It is not a big thing, you keep telling yourself.

You named the architecture. Not out loud, not to anyone in that room, but in your body, in the part of you that has been keeping the record longer than you can remember. The design was there. You saw it. And then the meeting ended.

You have decided you are on the same side. You didn't ask. You didn't need to. It felt true, and feeling true has always been enough. You are both women. You have both been in that room. You have both felt something shift. That is enough, you have decided, to make this a shared thing,

You did everything right. That is what makes this so disorienting. You followed the rules. You showed up. You worked hard, said the right things, cared about the right things, or told yourself you did.

You are back in the room. Same people. Same table. Same ordinary rhythm of a day that looks like every other day. Except it isn't.