For a long time, I believed everything in my life needed an explanation. Every ending needed a reason. Every feeling needed a label. Every detour needed a lesson wrapped neatly in a bow. If something didn’t make sense, I treated it like a personal failure—like I just hadn’t thought hard enough, processed deeply enough, or…

For a long time, I only trusted myself in hindsight. I trusted the version of me that had already learned the lesson, already survived the hard part, already figured things out. I trusted the healed version, the confident version, the “future me” who would eventually have clarity. But trusting the version of me that was…

There was a time when I thought meaning came from noise. From movement. From full calendars and busy days and constant momentum. I believed a meaningful life was one that looked impressive from the outside—a life full of stories, updates, accomplishments, and visible progress. Quiet felt like something to avoid, something that meant I wasn’t…

For as long as I can remember, I felt like I was running late for my own life. Late to figure things out. Late to arrive where I thought I should be. Late to become the version of myself I believed everyone else already was. I rushed my healing, my growth, my decisions, my timelines,…