A Strange Awkwardness

December 8, 2025

There’s a strange awkwardness in this chapter of my life—

the chapter where nothing inside me is broken or bleeding,

but I still feel the urge to share.

It’s a weird place to be—

learning how to write without urgency,

without heartbreak shaping the edges,

without needing to make sense of a mindfuck

or integrate another shard of trauma.

And because of that, my writing has changed shape.

Just like I have.

In recent weeks, I’ve noticed my words drifting toward something lighter—

toward the beauty I’m experiencing,

the unexpected sweetness in my days,

the soft returns of hope and curiosity,

the pulses of possibility that surround me.

I’m writing more about the good.

About what’s blooming rather than what broke.

I’m writing my dream life into existence—

not from scarcity or longing,

but from the belief that I deserve what I’m calling in.

I’m not excavating anymore.

I’m not rewriting trauma.

I’m not untangling knots I never tied.

I'm not moving on,

I am truly living forward.

Healthy, whole, me.

And every time I write about joy—

happily ever after, new friends, bright weekends,

fully paid first class international travel,

sharing chocolate cake on a spontaneous getaway—

I’m creating a new normal for myself.

I’m teaching my nervous system that life can feel like this.

I’m priming my reticular activating system to filter for beauty,

for aliveness,

for extraordinary love,

for moments that widen my eyes

instead of ones that collapse my chest.

I’m writing my way into a world where extraordinary isn’t rare—

it’s the new standard.

I knew I would get here.

I never imagined it would feel like this.