Series 12: Things You Don’t Owe the World: A Return to what’s yours
The Space between Who You Have Been and Who You Are Now
You have carried things that were
never yours to hold. This series is a gentle return to what you didn’t lose,
but left behind.
You wake up one morning and the
things that used to fit like your routines, your reactions, the way you carried
your name start to feel off, like wearing someone else's jacket. You go through
the same motions, speak in the same tone, meet the same eyes in the mirror, but
something has changed underneath, something hard to name but impossible to
ignore.
You try to return to old rhythms,
try to trace the shape of who you were, but the pattern slips, the grip
loosens, and the script that once felt certain now reads like a role you’ve
outgrown. You are not sure what the next shape is, not sure what to call it,
but you know the old one won’t hold. You keep moving anyway, not forward or
backward, but somewhere else entirely.
You catch yourself saying things out
of habit, agreeing because it’s easier than explaining, showing up in the ways
you have always known how, but each interaction leaves a small trail of unease,
like a faint signal from within that you are pretending something you no longer
believe, and though the outside may look the same, your daily routine, your
relationships, your posture in the world, something on the inside has already
changed, and the dissonance is growing louder in the background.
It is a delicate disintegration of
what no longer fits, a slow invitation to meet the parts of yourself you hadn’t
noticed evolving, and while it may feel unsettling not to have a clear picture
of what you are moving toward, not to have a polished narrative to offer when
someone asks how you are doing, it is also a rare and valuable place to be,
because it means you are not clinging to what’s convenient, but you are waiting
for what is true.
And while the world may rush you
toward certainty, urge you to name your next chapter before you have even
closed the last, there is something sacred in choosing not to rush, in choosing
to let the unknown speak for a while, to allow the ambiguity to stretch your
understanding of who you are without needing it to resolve into something
presentable. Because it’s in that unresolved space where you begin to notice
what actually matters to you, not what you were told to value, not what kept
you safe or successful, but what calls to you from the quiet space between the
old story and the one not yet written.
You
don’t owe anyone your peace to prove your worth. Coming back to yourself is the
way forward.
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