“I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.” — Audre Lorde
It’s 5:41 in the morning. I’m sitting here with my joint, listening to the birds sing while my heart feels heavier than I know how to hold.
Heavy for a love I’ve never fully touched.
Heavy for a happiness I’m starting to believe I may never have.
And I ask myself—why is this feeling hitting so hard?
Am I truly afraid that I’ll spend the rest of my life alone, never experiencing the kind of romantic partnership I long for? Or… am I still clinging to people, places, and versions of myself that I should have let go of a long time ago?
I’ve watched others move forward, shedding what no longer serves them like old skin. Why can’t I do the same?
Why is it still so hard to take pride in myself without needing to “catch up” or “prove” something?
Why do I measure my worth like a checklist instead of embracing my enough-ness as I am?
I tell myself I lack discipline—but is that really true?
“Selective discipline is still self-abandonment.”
Or am I just selective with my discipline?
Maybe I give it to everyone and everything else but myself.
Do I need the validation I claim I don’t crave?
I say I love words of affirmation—so why is it so hard to say that out loud?
Why does asking for reassurance still feel like weakness?
Could this be yet another root of childhood pain rising back to the surface?
Because if I’m being real with myself, I’ve carried the weight of never being “enough” for as long as I can remember.
I was told I’d never be better than my sister. That I wasn’t as smart, as pretty, or as worthy.
My first bully was someone who was supposed to love me.
I’ve unpacked this wound before—in therapy.
And maybe it’s time to go back.
Maybe it’s time to take that road again.
The bumpy one. The twisty one. The one that makes you question everything before you finally see clearly.
It’s not a straight path. It’s a pile of notes and half-finished drafts.
Thoughts that never made it into the final cut because they felt too raw or unfinished.
But maybe those are the exact pages I need to revisit.
Because something is missing.
Something still needs to be told.
Like that story about the professor who kept asking, “Is this the best you can do?”
If you know, you know.
I’m confronting a lot of uncomfortable truths.
And while it’s hard… I can’t help but feel a quiet curiosity.
Because, like I always say—
It’s painful, but it’s powerful to see what’s waiting on the other side of healing.
TheAbundantAries 