Story Teller

 Dear Me, I know you're tired. Tired of trying, tired of starting over, tired of pretending you're okay when you're not. I want you to know something — I see you. I see how hard you've been trying, even on the days no one noticed. I see the nights you cried in silence because you didn't want to worry anyone. I see the strength it takes to get up when your heart feels heavy. You have been through so much, and yet you are still here. That alone is worth celebrating. I want to say thank you. Thank you for not giving up when things felt impossible. Thank you for loving people who didn't always love you back. Thank you for staying kind in a world that tried to make you bitter. Thank you for choosing to grow, even when growth was painful. You don't need to have everything figured out right now. Life is not a race. Some seasons are for resting, some are for rebuilding, some are for dreaming again. It's okay to pause. It's okay to start small. It's okay ...

 I used to think healing had a deadline. 30 days to move on. 2 months to be okay. 6 months to be completely fine. If I wasn't okay by then, I thought something was wrong with me. But healing doesn't work like that. Healing is not a race. It doesn't have a finish line that you have to cross quickly. For a long time, I rushed. I rushed to smile when I still wanted to cry. I rushed to say "I'm over it" when my heart was still hurting. I rushed to be strong for everyone, while I was breaking silently inside. And rushing only made the wound deeper. Because when you rush healing, you don't heal. You just hide. This is what I learned slowly: 1. Some days will be heavy again — and that's okay. Healing is not a straight line. Some mornings you will feel light. Some nights you will feel heavy again. It doesn't mean you failed. It means you are still human. 2. Silence is also healing. I stopped explaining my pain to everyone. I stopped needing everyone to und...

 Dear younger me, If I could sit next to you right now, on that small bed where you used to cry quietly so no one would hear you, I would not start with advice. I would just sit with you. I would hold your hand and let you know, you don't have to be strong today. I know you think you are behind. You see other girls smiling, getting it together, and you wonder what is wrong with you. Nothing is wrong with you, my love. You are just feeling things deeply in a world that told you to hurry. I want to tell you a few things I wish someone told you then. First, you don't have to earn love by being perfect. You spent so many years trying to be the good girl, the quiet one, the one who never complains. You thought if you were easy to love, people would stay. But love that needs you to shrink is not love. The right people will love you even on the days you are messy, tired, and not smiling. Second, that heartbreak that feels like the end of the world? It is not. I know it feels like you ...

 For years, I lived in the shadow of other women. I would scroll and see a woman with perfect skin, perfect relationship, perfect business, and I would ask myself, "What is wrong with me? Why am I behind?" I compared my body to hers. My healing to hers. My motherhood to hers. My bank account to hers. And every time I compared, I felt smaller. The truth is, comparison never told me I was inspired. It only told me I was not enough. This is how I finally stopped. 1. I realized I was comparing my real life to her highlight. That woman I envied? I didn't see her crying at 2am. I didn't see her debt. I didn't see her loneliness. I was comparing my full, messy, real life to a 5-second edited photo. It was never a fair comparison. 2. I muted what made me feel small. This was hard. I unfollowed accounts that made me feel like I had to compete. Not because they are bad women – they are beautiful – but because I was not healed enough to watch them without hurting myself. Pro...

For a long time, I was scared of being alone. Not because I didn't like my own company, but because I thought being alone meant I was unlovable. I thought if I was alone, it meant something was wrong with me. So I kept people around even when they hurt me. I stayed in conversations that drained me. I said yes when I wanted to say no. All because I was scared of that quiet moment when it would just be me. But life taught me how to be alone, not by choice, but by necessity. People left. Plans failed. And there I was, alone. At first, it felt like punishment. The house was too quiet. The nights were too long. I kept reaching for my phone, hoping someone would fill the silence. Then one morning, I made myself a cup of tea and sat with myself. No phone. No music. Just me and my tea. And for the first time, being alone did not feel lonely. It felt peaceful. That was the day I learned the difference. Loneliness is feeling like you need someone else to complete you. Being alone is realizin...

  Everyone talks about healing like it's loud. Like you have to announce it, post about it, prove that you are getting better. But my healing happened in silence. It happened on days when no one checked on me. On nights when I cried and no one knew. In the small moments when I chose to keep going even though no one was clapping for me. For a long time, I thought healing required an audience. I thought I needed someone to validate my pain, to say "I see you, you are hurting." I waited for someone to save me. To notice that I was not okay. No one came. At first, that broke me even more. I felt invisible. Forgotten. Then, something shifted. I realized that waiting for someone to witness my pain was keeping me stuck in it. I was giving away my power, hoping someone else would give me permission to heal. So I started healing in silence. I started with small things. Drinking water. Making my bed. Opening the curtains. I stopped explaining myself to people who were committed to ...