We’re Not in Kansas Anymore

Written By Nickole Malloyd
Tornado approaching grain elevators across an open field under a dark sky.

Photo by Greg Johnson on Unsplash

Me, the Tin Man, and a Midnight Voicemail

We’re keeping with the Judy Garland theme. I don’t know if you know this about me, but—yeah, I love her. One of my all-time favorite movies? The Wizard of Oz (1939). Comfort film of all comfort films.

If you follow me on Instagram, you probably saw that moody photo I posted—the iPod buried in leaves with a nostalgic caption. That kind of sums up my vibe lately. Nostalgia feels like the only safe space when everything else is just... too much. The news. The cruelty. The way things could’ve been different if more people just voted with empathy. And that’s not even counting the regular, everyday stress we all carry.

Some days I wish I had a giant lever, like the one in Bride of Frankenstein—just pull it, bring the whole thing to a dramatic halt, and let the credits roll.

But there’s no lever. No castle. No clean, cinematic ending.

Cue: The Wizard of Oz

So this past Saturday night, needing something familiar and warm, I hit play on The Wizard of Oz. Not for the hundredth time—probably the thousandth.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I love Judy Garland. But my favorite character has never been Dorothy.

It’s the Tin Man.

He’s out there, looking for a heart. And when he finally meets the Wizard, he gets this cold little speech:

“You don’t know how lucky you are not to have one. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.”

Still, the Tin Man wants one. And sure, he’s given a ticking clock—but let’s be real. He already had a heart. He cries and literally rusts himself solid. He risks everything to help Dorothy. You don’t do that unless you’ve got something real beating inside you.

And as the band America said:

“Oz never did give nothin’ to the Tin Man that he didn’t, didn’t already have…”

Whew. That line hits.

I Get Him—The Tin Man

I really do.

I cry. I rust. I feel everything. I carry this soft, breakable thing in my chest called compassion. And some days it feels like both a blessing and a curse.

So let’s talk about Saturday night. Or more like, early Sunday morning. Around midnight, my phone rings—unknown number. You know how it is in 2025: unknown number = probably spam.

But not this time.

It was someone I’d blocked. A guy I used to know. Someone who made it very clear—through his actions, his posts, his comments—that he held some deeply racist and transphobic views. And I’m not here for that. As a Black woman with LGBTQ+ friends and family, and someone who depends on reproductive care just to maintain my health, I can’t just shrug that stuff off. It’s not “a difference of opinion.” It’s people’s lives.

Still, I paused the movie and checked the voicemail. And yeah—he was drunk. Slurring. Clearly not okay. He’s been in and out of rehab, so I knew what I was hearing.

And the worst part? I knew that he needed someone right then.

Addiction Is Familiar

Addiction isn’t foreign to me. It’s touched my family. And I’ve been through my own journey—I’m a recovering bulimic. It’s been ten years since I’ve purged. But like alcohol or drugs, eating disorders are often about control. About finding something to hold onto when the world feels like too much.

I got through it with free outpatient support groups, because I didn’t have insurance at the time. I listened to other people’s stories. I found my triggers. I figured out how to fight for myself again. And I shared all of that with him when I called back.

I told him to put down the vodka. Drink some water. I promised I’d check on him in the morning.

9 a.m. came. I called.

No answer.

A Little Backstory

We met back in college. Same class. As the room emptied over the semester, he kept sitting closer. One day, he was right behind me. We talked. We exchanged numbers. He used to collect my sports articles from the campus paper. We were on-and-off. He’d pull me close, then ghost.

Years later, he admitted he was struggling with alcohol even then.

And look—let me be clear: I don’t co-sign who he’s shown himself to be today. But I also don’t want him to die. That’s the only reason I called back.

I hope—truly—that he gets the help he needs. That he figures it out. That he finds some peace and stays sober.

Final Thought: Hearts Break, But They Beat

I guess what I’m trying to say is: having a heart hurts. But it’s better than the alternative.

“Now I know I have a heart, because it’s breaking.”
— The Tin Man, The Wizard of Oz

And maybe that’s what keeps us human.

Even when it feels like everything is falling apart, there’s still that small, steady beat inside us—the part that chooses to care, to feel, to hope.

And when you’re ready—when the dust settles and the rust shakes off—remember these words:

“You're out of the woods,
You're out of the dark, you're out of the night.
Step into the sun, step into the light.
Keep straight ahead for the most
glorious place on the face of the earth or the sky.
Hold onto your breath, hold onto your heart, hold onto your hope,
March up to that gate and bid it open.”
— The Optimistic Voices, The Wizard of Oz

Keep your heart. Even when it breaks.

💬 Feeling this post?

Drop a comment. Share your own "Tin Man" moments. Or just say hey. Because the world feels a little less heavy when we realize we’re not carrying it alone.

Resources

〰️

Resources 〰️

If you or someone you know struggles with addiction or an eating disorder, I’ve included some resources:










Nickole Malloyd
Next

Meet Me in St. Louis