I was already sitting there, screen open, cursor blinking in that patient way it always does, and this should have been the easiest part, the part where you just start and let the rest sort itself out, except my body stayed put, not frozen, not resisting, just not moving forward yet. That surprised me more than it should have, because until then I’d trusted starting to take care of itself. I’d built my days on that trust. Sit down, begin, let momentum do the boring, useful work of carrying me through. Even when I felt tired, that first step …
Somewhere Between Starting and Staying
A while back, I noticed that I could spend an entire morning at my desk and still feel unsure about what I’d actually done. Not because I was distracted or wasting time, but because I was busy in a way that left no footprint. The document would be open, the last paragraph reread a few times, a word changed and then changed back, the structure reconsidered, the coffee reheated, and somehow the hours would pass without resistance. It didn’t feel wrong while it was happening. I wasn’t avoiding the work. I was close to it. Close enough that …
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She Didn’t Send the Message
He said he’d call later and she heard it the way you hear most things that don’t come with a time, not trusting it, not dismissing it, just letting it sit somewhere loose. The evening moved on without asking her permission. Food happened. The kitchen got messy. She sat down, stood up, sat again, and only much later noticed how often her phone had been in her hand without her remembering picking it up. The message came when the night was already tired. He said he was exhausted. He added a quick sorry. He didn’t say anything about the call. …
The Life That Never Broke
I figured out the problem on a day when nothing went wrong, and that’s what made it hard to argue with. The work was done, the list was cleared, the room was quiet in that satisfied way that usually means you’ve earned rest, and yet I sat there longer than I needed to, staring at a closed laptop, feeling mildly irritated without a good reason to justify it. The day had gone exactly as planned. Emails answered, tasks finished, progress made in the neat, measurable way that feels responsible. At one point, I remember choosing not to step …
It Made Sense at the Time
It was already open on the screen, the cursor blinking where it always blinked when something was almost done. Finishing it would take twenty minutes, maybe thirty, and tomorrow would be easier if it was off the list. That’s how the night tipped in that direction. Not with a decision, just with momentum. At the beginning, this kind of choice felt solid. Responsible. The adult thing to do.There were reasons that didn’t wobble when spoken out loud: deadlines exist, money matters, other people are waiting. None of that is wrong. It’s practical. …
The Loneliness No One Warned Ambitious Women About
There is a kind of ache that hides in plain sight. Life looks “fine” from the outside —work, friends, responsibilities—but inside there’s a constant heaviness, as if your chest is carrying a weight no one else can see. It’s the feeling of being surrounded by people and still sensing that no one is really standing with you. You can talk about your day, your tasks, your wins, but there’s a deeper layer that never quite makes it into words. That quiet question - Who actually sees the real me, not just the put‑together version?—keeps echoing …
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When Everything Feels Too Loud Inside
There are days when the smallest things feel oversized. A tight muscle suddenly feels symbolic. A lump in the throat lingers longer than expected. It’s strange how emotions arrive without asking permission, as if they’ve chosen a random Tuesday to stage an unannounced parade. I move through the day with this invisible weight, pretending nothing’s happening, while inside I’m busy trying to hold myself together. It’s unsettling how private frustration can be; how the world continues normally while you’re quietly swelling with noise. What …
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The Hardest Part Isn’t the Dream — It’s Staying Yourself
I think about giving up more than I ever admit.Not in a dramatic way—just the quiet, exhausted kind where you stare at the ceiling and wonder, why am I doing this to myself? My face is puffy, my body is heavy, and my spirit feels like it tripped over its own shoelaces. And weirdly… that’s okay. Because falling apart has been more honest than any of the times I pretended I was fine.There’s something raw and oddly clarifying about crying until you run out of excuses. The aftertaste of those tears is truth. Here’s mine: There is …
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