<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I think about giving up more than I ever admit. My face is puffy, my body is heavy, and my spirit feels like it tripped over its own shoelaces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And weirdly\u2026 that\u2019s okay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because falling apart has been more honest than any of the times I pretended I was fine. Here\u2019s mine:<\/p>\n\n\n\n There is strength in staying yourself when quitting would be so much easier.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n People love the success story version of ambition. I miss the ones who make me feel safe. And yet\u2014I still want this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That contradiction is maddening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m not fearless. I think about walking away all the time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But every breakdown comes with a strange reset. I don\u2019t actually want to quit. That\u2019s an important distinction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So I sit with that messy version of me\u2014 And I tell her:<\/p>\n\n\n\n You\u2019re not weak. You\u2019re just honest. There\u2019s a sentence that\u2019s been looping in my mind lately:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI think a lot about giving up. And yet\u2014here I am.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s the truest bravery I know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not the loud fearless kind. Everyone assumes the hardest part is the climb. Not numbing out. The world doesn\u2019t need my polished version.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It needs the one who says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m scared. I\u2019m unsure. I screw this up constantly.<\/em> If there\u2019s one line I wish someone would tattoo on their soul from this, it\u2019s this:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Real strength isn\u2019t pretending you\u2019re fine That truth stings. Today I don\u2019t feel triumphant. And somehow, that feels more real than all my pretending.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I think a lot about giving up. I think about giving up more than I ever admit.Not in a dramatic way\u2014just 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\u2026 that\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","pgc_sgb_lightbox_settings":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[103,7],"class_list":{"0":"post-4506","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-life","7":"tag-growth","8":"tag-life","9":"entry"},"featured_image_src":null,"featured_image_src_square":null,"author_info":{"display_name":"vasudha","author_link":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/author\/vasudha\/"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4506"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4506"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4506\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4511,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4506\/revisions\/4511"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4506"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4506"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4506"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Not in a dramatic way\u2014just the quiet, exhausted kind where you stare at the ceiling and wonder,
why am I doing this to myself?<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
There\u2019s something raw and oddly clarifying about crying until you run out of excuses. The aftertaste of those tears is truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They don\u2019t talk about the loneliness, the longing for people who make you feel grounded, the self-inflicted pressure to look fearless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I miss simplicity.
I miss not having to justify why I want what I want.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m not unbreakable.
If anything, I\u2019m a walking bundle of doubt, avoidance, and late-night junk eating disguised as coping.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When the tears dry and the breathing evens out, the truth shows up:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I just want the pain to stop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the one who is tired of being \u201cthe strong one,<\/em><\/strong>\u201d
tired of acting like I\u2019m okay,
tired of hauling invisible expectations like a sack of bricks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You can want rest without abandoning the dream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The swollen-eyed, slightly sarcastic, \u201cfine, let\u2019s try again tomorrow<\/em><\/strong>\u201d kind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m convinced the hardest part is staying yourself while you climb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not shrinking to fit your own performance of strength.
Not pretending you\u2019re made of granite just to avoid vulnerability.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And I still care enough to continue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014 it\u2019s saying \u201cI\u2019m not\u201d and trying anyway.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
But it also frees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I feel tender, embarrassed, human.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And today\u2014again\u2014I stayed.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"