-
I Wish I Had a Name for This
I think it has a name I just don’t know what it is. It’s not quite peer pressure, but it feels close. Not quite envy, either but something near it, a quiet ache that invites anxiety and sadness. It doesn’t push you to compete it just leaves you lonely. What a time to be alive, when life moves fast and everyone seems to be doing everything, with ease, with joy, with rhythm while I stand still, aching to feel part of it. Maybe I want to be part of the trend. Maybe I want the happiness I see in others to wrap itself around me, but it never fits quite…
-
A Letter to the One I Haven’t Met Yet (But Hope to Love One Day)-Part 4
Dear You, I don’t know your name yet.I don’t know your laugh, or how your hands fit into mine, I wonder if your voicewill sound like home,or if your silencewill echo in the same places mine does. But I do know this I am not waiting for you to complete me.I have spent too long learning how to hold myself. This love, if it finds us , will not be desperate.It will not be born from emptiness.It will be a choice, not a rescue. I hope we meet softly.Not in a whirlwind, but in something slower ,like the way the sun kisses the sea at dusk.Warm. Unrushed. Certain. I hope…
-
Learning to Feel Safe in My Own Love-Part 3
It’s strange how something as soft as love can leave wounds so deep. When you grow up in survival mode, love becomes something you chase, not something you receive.You don’t know how to trust calm, so you mistake chaos for passion.You call anxiety butterflies.You confuse being needed with being valued. I didn’t know love could feel like safety.I thought it was supposed to hurt , at least a little. The First Time I Felt Safe It didn’t come from a partner.It came from me. It was the moment I didn’t text back or call out of guilt.The night I chose rest instead of explaining myself again.The first time I said…
-
Unlearning What I Was Taught About Love – Part 2
I’ve often wondered how much of what we believe is ours… and how much was handed down to us ,wrapped in survival, soaked in silence. Because somewhere along the way, I realized:I wasn’t just watching love happen around me.I was absorbing it.And that version of love became my blueprint. When You Love Like You Were Taught I loved like my mother did.Softly. Silently. Desperately.I gave more than I got and called it devotion.I let the weight fall on me because I was told that’s what strong women do. I made excuses.I shrank to be more “understandable.”I forgave too quickly and left too slowly. I didn’t ask for much , because…
-
What Love Looked Like at Home — And Why I Stopped Believing in It – Part 1
As I lay in bed with my eyes closed but my mind wide awake, I drift and turn, fighting the sleep my body craves. My limbs are heavy, but something heavier rests on my chest , something that refuses to leave. So I think about my day. The Couple That Made Me Look Away I was walking down the road when I saw a couple , laughing, intertwined, wrapped in something that looked a lot like love. I felt a pang of envy in my chest, then quickly looked away. Could someone ever love me like that? Almost instantly, my mind said no. Not because I don’t want love, but…
-
Have you ever felt alone?
Not the kind of alone where no one is around you. I’m talking about the kind of alone where people are everywhere, laughing, talking, living, but somehow, you still feel invisible. You smile.You laugh.You play your part.But inside, there’s something heavy. Something you can’t name. A lump in your throat that keeps growing, making it harder to pretend. Sometimes, you don’t even know what you’re feeling. You just know it hurts. You just know that something inside is unraveling, slowly. Quietly. And no one sees it. You look okay.You act okay.But you’re not. And the worst part? You can’t explain it.How do you describe a kind of emptiness that feels…
-
At Least It’s Some Kind of Love
I sat in silence today, staring into space, lost in a thought that slowly sank into my chest like a stone in still water. I realised I’ve never experienced a love that goes beyond what we can see. The kind of love that isn’t performative or measured by actions alone, but one that exists just because it does, just because you exist. Most of the love I’ve known served only what stood in front of the eyes. It was conditional, calculated, transactional. It showed up when I was useful, when I was easy to love, when I didn’t take up too much space. And that’s a heartbreaking realisation. To live…
-
Anxiety in My Chest: How it waits for me
It wrapped around your neck like a cord pulling so hard you felt life escape you, as you gasped, you felt life leave your body slowly, deep breath like you just emerged from from under the sea, your lungs filled with salt water, it was just the blood in your mouth from how hard you bit down your tongue trying to hold on until the cord let you breath life into your body, the blood swindled in your mouth like wild waves, leaving everything red in its passing. Red was a colour destined in your path, it always buried itself in the shadows waiting for the cord to pull and…
-
How Not to Care About Coworkers’ Feelings: A Guide to Surviving Workplace Toxicity
How Not to Care About Coworkers’ Feelings (A Guide to Workplace Survival) Before I even got out of bed, I felt a heavy lump lodged in my throat, making it difficult to breathe, especially when thoughts of work crept in. It only grew worse on the bus ride, settling in deeper with every passing minute. By the time I arrived at work, it had made itself at home, weighing on me so much that my breathing was heavy, as if I had run all the way there. I kept running through different reasons for this feeling, but none of them gave me any real clarity. All I knew was that…
-
They are looking: Do not Move
Quiet, that is all I know. Quiet and still. Do not move. Do not let them see you. That is what I prefer. But when I am quiet, they stare. They try to figure out what might be wrong with me. Why does silence make them uncomfortable? Why is being still seen as strange? They say I am mean. Cold. But how can they know that from the few words I speak? Why must I be loud for them to hear me, to understand me? Why can’t I just be as I am, quiet and still? I have thought about changing, shaping myself to fit the image they expect. But…