I used to believe that changing my mind was a sign that I had failed to think things through. Once I made a decision, I felt pressure to stand by it, even when it no longer felt right. I told myself that consistency mattered more than honesty, and that revising a choice meant I lacked…

There is a thought I keep returning to, not because I fully understand it, but because it refuses to leave me alone. It surfaces at unexpected moments, usually when I am quiet enough to notice it. I do not chase it deliberately. It arrives on its own, persistent and unresolved, asking for attention without offering…

I used to believe that being unfinished was a problem to solve. If something in my life felt incomplete, I treated it like a loose thread that needed to be tied off as quickly as possible. I assumed that comfort lived on the other side of resolution. Until something was decided, defined, or complete, I…

I used to believe happiness would be obvious when it arrived. I expected it to feel large, unmistakable, and earned. I thought it would come with clarity, with certainty, with the sense that something important had finally fallen into place. When that feeling did not appear, I assumed I was doing something wrong. I kept…

I have spent most of my life moving according to invisible timelines. Some of them came from people I admired. Some were built out of fear that I was falling behind. Others I invented myself, imagining that progress meant keeping up with a pace I never agreed to in the first place. For years, I…

There is a kind of heaviness that lives in the space between choices. It is not the sharp weight of regret, or the ache that follows loss. It is quieter than that, slower, and harder to name. It builds in the background, beneath ordinary days, until every thought feels like it drags. I know that…

I have spent most of my life trying to repair things that were never mine to fix. The tone in someone’s voice. The silence in a conversation. The shift in another person’s mood that I imagined was my fault. Somewhere along the way, I learned that being good meant smoothing every edge, filling every pause,…

I have spent most of my life trying to repair things that were never mine to fix. The tone in someone’s voice. The silence in a conversation. The shift in another person’s mood that I imagined was my fault. Somewhere along the way, I learned that being good meant smoothing every edge, filling every pause,…

There is a kind of power that does not announce itself. It does not shout, or push, or rush to be heard. It waits. It breathes. It holds still when everything in you wants to act. I did not understand that kind of strength for most of my life. I thought power was motion. I…

When I move quickly, the world flattens. Everything becomes a blur of tasks and noise, a series of things to get through instead of moments to experience. My thoughts speed up to match the pace, and before long, I forget that I have a body, that I am breathing, that the air around me even…