The First Michael: A Quiet Little Podcast That Wrecked Me

I don’t cry easily. Not anymore. Not after everything I’ve been through. But The First Michael? That tiny little podcast, barely 90 minutes long from start to finish, snuck past all my defenses and absolutely wrecked me.

It’s created by Eric Nuzum, and no, I didn’t know the name either. But now it’s burned into my brain, right next to “things I didn’t expect to cry about on a random Tuesday.”

Here’s the setup: three men, all named Michael, one of whom has died. The story unfolds in this quiet, unassuming way that doesn’t shout “true crime!” at you. There’s no ominous music, no breathy voice trying to sound dramatic. Just a man calmly pulling at a thread from his past—and what unravels is something tender, surprising, and deeply human.

This isn’t about a murder. Not really. It’s about identity. About the things we inherit, and the things we carry. About what happens when you finally start asking the hard questions—sometimes too late.

And honestly? That hit close. When you live with something chronic, when you’ve watched your body rebel and your calendar fill with doctors instead of dreams, you start to think a lot about time. About the people who shaped you. About the ghosts walking around with your name.

The writing is spare but smart. The sound design is clean. And the pacing? Impeccable. It didn’t waste my time—which is something I now value more than gold-plated kitchen tools or promises from specialists.

I listened to it in one go. I didn’t move. I didn’t check my phone. I just sat there in the dark, ugly-crying and thinking about the firsts in my own life. The things I didn’t ask. The things I still could.

So, yeah—The First Michael is officially my favorite short-form podcast of the year. It reminded me that sometimes the softest stories cut the deepest. And that sometimes, the things we don’t know about our past still manage to shape us.

If you’ve got 90 minutes, give The First Michael a listen. Then come back here and tell me if it messed you up too—or if I’m just overly sentimental (entirely possible). And if you like your reviews a little raw and deeply human, hit subscribe. I promise to keep it real—and mostly spellchecked.