spiritual-awakening
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Right now…somewhere…someone I helped is sitting in a group chat like they’re on a TED Talk tour…telling people I’m a bad person. And I just know they’re dramatic about it too.Voice notes.Typos.Probably pacing. Meanwhile… I’m over here…refreshing flight deals like it’s a spiritual practice…waiting for the day I hear: “This is your pilot speaking…” Because…
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He didn’t wake up one day and say, “Today feels like a great day to unpack decades of emotional damage.” No. He woke up hungover, annoyed, and weirdly aware that his life kept repeating like a bad episode nobody asked to rewatch. Same arguments. Same women. Same ending. Different names. Same script. And somewhere between…
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There are bad days…And then there are the days where your brain wakes up, cracks its knuckles, and says,“Alright… today we spiral.” You know the ones. You spill your coffee, your hair won’t cooperate, and suddenly your mind goes,“Hey… remember… your name makes someone out there absolutely lose their shit.” And instead of feeling powerful,…
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People who had access to you never really understood how unavailable you were to the rest of the world… until they became the rest of the world. That version of you… it felt easy, didn’t it? Before all of this. Before the awareness.Before the language.Before you started dissecting your own existence like it was something…
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There was a time when “they” ran everything in your world. They made the rules.They set the limits.They controlled the outcomes. “They” was the reason things didn’t work out.“They” was the excuse that made the weight easier to carry.“They” was the invisible wall you kept running into… over and over again. And for a while……
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There comes a point where the noise stops working on you. Not because it got quieter…but because you finally realized it was never in control to begin with. Forget the conspiracy theories. Forget the hidden hands, the secret rooms, the whispered narratives meant to pull your attention outward. That’s the distraction. That’s the illusion of…
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There comes a moment when the mirror stops asking questions…and starts demanding answers. Not the kind you rehearsed.Not the kind shaped by approval, softened for comfort, or filtered through who they needed you to be. The real ones.The ones that shake something loose in your chest when you say them out loud. Show them who…
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There was a timeyou could find me in the city—not lost… but loud. Moving fast enoughto mistake motion for meaning. Neon bleeding into the night,concrete holding the weightof a thousand restless souls,and I was one of them—heels on pavement,eyes always forward,hands always reachingfor something just out of grasp. Everything was there.Everything. At your fingertips, they…
