In a world that constantly pulls us away from ourselves— into screens, into narratives, into expectations, into a hundred versions of “better than now”— being fully here is an act of quiet rebellion. To pause and actually arrive in your own life, in your breath, in your body, in this exact moment— not planning the next, not rewinding the
Approval felt like oxygen for most of my life. A look of affirmation. A nod of validation. A “you’re good” from someone I was afraid to disappoint. I shaped myself around it— sanded down the parts of me that were too rough, too loud, too emotional, too honest. I became fluent in reading rooms and adjusting accordingly. What do they want fr
Somewhere along the way, I learned that my feelings were too loud. Too much. Too inconvenient. I was praised for my composure, admired for my strength— which really meant: thank you for hiding your pain so we don’t have to witness it. So I became excellent at swallowing emotion. I made myself digestable. I smiled when I was aching, softened wh
For a long time, I mistook performance for pleasure. I learned how to arch my back just right, how to moan at the right time, how to turn my body into something to be watched, rather than felt. I wasn’t taught to ask myself what I wanted—only how to give what was wanted of me. So I became a shape. A show. Not a person in pleasure, but a woman
I used to think “pretty” was a purpose. That if I could just look right, sound right, behave right, I’d finally belong. I thought prettiness would protect me— That if I made myself easy to love, I wouldn’t be left behind. So I became what the world rewards: Polished. Pleasant. Painless. I smiled through discomfort. I bit back truth and