The Phase

      I don't know when "being strong" turned into swallowing my own pain so other people could stay comfortable. Actually, scratch that. I do know. It happened slowly. Quietly. One compromise at a time. One "it's fine" when it absolutely fucking wasn't't.  So here it is, plain and unfiltered.  I'm done.  Done with people's shit. Done with overexploiting.  Done with begging for the bare minimum effort dressed up as love.  Done with shrinking myself so other people don't feel guilty for how little they show up.  And I hate that it had to come to this, I really do.  Because I'm not done in a clean, empowering, instagram-caption way.  I'm done in a tired, hollowed-out, mascara-streaked, dissociated-on-the-bathroom-floor way.  I'm done because I ran out of pieces to sacrifice.  That's the part no one talks about.  You don't walk away because you're healed.  You walk away because staying would finish destroying y...

You know what? I don’t actually think most people are lazy. I think we’re just… tired. Like, soul-level tired. The kind of tired sleep doesn’t fix. Because think about it — when did life quietly turn into this constant performance? Always responding, always explaining, always proving you’re doing enough. Enough healing. Enough productivity. Enough growth. Enough positivity. Enough “handling it.” And the fucked up part? Half the rules we’re trying to live by were never explained. We just absorbed them. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, we learned that rest needs permission, emotions need to be justified, and struggling is only acceptable if you’re doing it quietly. So now here we are. Exhausted. Overstimulated. Wondering why simple things feel so hard. Blaming ourselves instead of questioning the system that keeps asking for more. And you know what messes me up the most? We talk about mental health like it’s this personal failure. Like if you’re anxious or depressed or burnt ou...

 You know what? I think most of us are way harder on ourselves than we ever needed to be.  Like... we're out here replaying conversations from three years ago, judging ourselves for things we did while we were just trying to survive. Holding ourselves to standards we'd never expect from someone we love.  And you know what's weird? We call that "growth."  But what if grown isn't constantly correcting yourself?  What if it's finally letting yourself off the hook? You know what? Some days you're healed.  Some days you're triggered by something dumb and you don't even know why.  Both can be true. That doesn't mean you're going backwards.  Life isn't a straight line. It's more like a messy scribble with moments of clarity sprinkled in when you least expect them. Usually late at night. Usually when you're relaxed enough to actually hear yourself think.  And maybe that's the point.  What if we're not supposed to be consist...

Holy shit. Where do I even start? You were never required to love me. You didn’t have to answer my panic-filled calls at 2 a.m. You didn’t have to sit with me when the world felt like it was trying to crush me. You didn’t have to hold me while I cried, rage, or swore at life for taking everything I loved. And yet… you did. Every single time. You are my chosen family. And holy fuck, that means something in a world that so often tried to leave me behind. You Saw the Shit I Tried to Hide You saw my rage. You saw my grief. You saw the parts of me that scared the hell out of other people. And you didn’t leave. You didn’t tell me I was too much. You didn’t act like my pain was inconvenient. You just… were there. You held space for me when no one else fucking would. You Make Life Bearable, Even When It Sucks Some days, the world is a dumpster fire. Some days, life fucking hurts so bad I want to curl up and disappear. But then there’s you. You call me when you don’t h...