Say Still, As Real

When I was just a little one, there was a distinct moment I remember—when I finally understood just how big "real" was. And that moment came about because of a few words that were said to me.

There were a couple of years when I was still on training wheels. Every evening after my father came home, before dinner (as my mother put the finishing touches on our modest yet comforting meals), I would ride my bike around the neighborhood while he strolled alongside me. At the end of each ride, there was a small slope leading back to our house. Dad would always have me wait at the top while he walked down first; when he reached the bottom, I’d push off, speeding down without brakes, and he’d be there to catch me. It was a thrill every time.

That road had always been unpaved. But one day, it was paved. And the speed changed — dramatically. As I sped down, the handlebars began to wobble. The bike shook violently, slammed sideways, and I flew over the front. I think I flew ten feet. But Dad was there. I crashed headfirst into his chest and arms, and he tumbled backward with me in his embrace.

I was bawling and trembling, certain I was hurt. He stood up, placed me on my feet, and checked me all over: a small scrape on my knee, scratches on my palms—nothing serious. But I couldn’t stop shaking. The speed, the shock, the sudden rush of fear, and the unexpected acrobatics of it all—it all felt enormous in what was only a few seconds. He knelt down, hugged me close, said over and over and over, “You’re alright. You’ll be fine.” 

I still remember the gentle deepness of his voice wrapped around my loud, wet face. 

 

And it was exactly in that moment—through those words—that I realized how vast real was. Real was huge. I was hurt and frightened, and yet, I was perfectly fine. Both of those things were true, both were real. It wasn't just the shock and fear. Dad's words were also real and true, and without them I might never have understood just how tremendous "real" —and reassurance—could be.  

When we got back to the house, Mom was just setting mac and cheese and a big bowl of meatballs onto the table with a big smile. It was so good. 

That was years ago. Before and after that day, Dad always said nice things to me, but I never knew just how much I needed those words until that big tumble. That’s the thing about kind words — they feel enormous when you don’t.

 

And that’s how Say Still came to be—a little company that makes postcards that... say still.

To provide words of support, inspiration, hope, kindness as gentle reminders to yourself and the ones you love or will love, on all the ordinary but enormous days between all those days with names. "Say" means many things. It can mean say, or it can mean stay, or it can mean pray. "Still" can also mean many things—like will, or feel, or even just still, which can last as long as a second or as short as forever.

Each card is a small world - a moment where you can remind someone that you'll be there when they make it—or that you'll be here when they arrive. Or maybe just — you’ll be here when they get there.

Our letter-pressed, printed, debossed, and embossed postcard designs are minimal, premium, and elegant. Each postcard is crafted with detail and care: from the 550gsm paper weights to unexpected typographic design to poignant poetic messages that are our original creations.

Our postcards are not thin pieces of printer paper. You will genuinely be surprised at the weight, structure, and quality of stock used—from shimmering finishes to soft touch, cotton, and mixed papers, all eco-friendly. Every color, finish, and cardstock combination is matched with the intent and comfort of the words—ours on the front, yours on the back.

The edges of each card are foil-stamped or inked, and all corners are rounded like a quarter, for a gentle feel in your hand or a friendly accompaniment to your walls, fridge, and cozy nooks. When hands hold these cards, you will know that your words will be kept for ages and ages.

 

All this because we know that your words should be just as real as how you feel.

Say Still postcards invites you to say what you mean—or to find what you mean to say. Those words are as if just as real, as if just as much, and all as much as us. In the biggest moments within the briefest seconds of the longest minute—your words can mean all the difference in the world.

Your words mean all my heart needs to be.

Words of kindness, support, inspiration, and hope,
from Say Still postcards,

by Sandie Claire