The Strength I Find by Walking the Unknown Road.

For most of my life, I didn’t feel.

Not deeply. Not honestly.

What I called strength was just performance.

I could show up loud. Lead the room. Keep the energy high.

I was aggressively extroverted —

but inside, I was carrying more pain than I knew what to do with.

And that’s how it manifested:

By being the loudest in the room,

because silence felt too close to the truth.

But beneath the performance, I’ve always been an artistic soul — as we all are.

Years of professional creative expression through design, art, and aesthetics —

a quiet language where I could feel safely,

even when the people around me couldn’t mirror what I carried.

I always sensed that what moved inside me

was too much for most people to hold.

So I buried it.

Channeled it into work.

Into momentum.

Into holding it all together.

But life doesn’t let us avoid ourselves forever.

Losing both my parents as a child.

Losing my closest friend recently.

Everything I hadn’t dealt with came rushing up.

And it didn’t bring peace.

It brought chaos — and a massive identity crisis

that, to be honest, I’m still experiencing.

Just this deep sense that I couldn’t keep living at war with myself.

So I stopped trying to hold it all together.

And started walking —

Into the unknown.

Into the emotions I’d never had the space or support to name.

Not all at once.

But breath by breath.

In that space, I began to feel the truth of a purpose that wasn’t driven by image,

or by society’s version of success —

but by something quieter.

More honest.

A desire to live without pretending.

To heal without performing.

What I continue to find is never clean and clear.

Something I could repackage in a blog or reel.

But it is real.

Because in this age where vulnerability is commodified,

where advice is everywhere,

and everyone has a reel about healing — and that’s beautiful —

it’s also become hard to tell what’s authentic and what’s rehearsed.

Sometimes I see people sharing their deepest healing live, in real time.

And honestly… it amazes me.

Because this work?

It shakes the foundations of who you think you are.

Recently, I began filming my journaling and reflections —

and I had to pause.

To ask myself why.

What was the motivation?

How can you fully express what you’re still unraveling?

How can you perform transformation

while your identity is still being dismantled?

I want to be wholehearted in my truth —

but I also want to be careful.

Not cautious out of fear,

but out of respect for what’s sacred.

This isn’t for validation.

I’m not sharing to be seen.

I’m sharing because it’s cathartic —

because bringing my truth into words and voice

is a powerful act of self-reclamation and discovery.

And that power doesn’t come from applause.

It comes from presence.

Because the social infrastructure we live in —

the algorithmic game, the constant performance, the race to appease —

it’s not built for truth.

It’s built for conformity.

And how can we ever find ourselves

if we’re constantly adjusting to fit something that was never designed for us?

This path

this quiet, sacred return to feeling

has been the most confronting and beautiful thing I’ve ever done.

Because we live in a world that’s become too comfortable.

We chase convenience. We curate safety.

We numb with self-soothing drinks, with Netflix, with endless scrolling.

Perhaps seeking discomfort is a sacred act.

A primal form of shedding.

A way of unlearning the layers the world wrapped around us,

so we can remember what’s underneath and meet ourselfs.

Because real transformation doesn’t seem to happen in comfort.

It happens in the discomfort we don’t edit out.

In the stillness we don’t distract from.

In the moments where there’s nowhere left to run — only inward.

And as Rumi once wrote:

“The wound is the place where the light enters you.”

But only if you let it.

Only if you stay long enough to feel what’s beneath the noise.

That’s where I continue to find a strength that doesn’t fade.

Not in the version of me that had all the answers —

but in the version that finally had the courage

to sit with what hurt

until it became something true.

So if you’re in the mess of it — not broken, just breaking open

I see you.

You don’t need to perform your healing.

You don’t need to package your pain.

You just need to walk your truth.

That’s what I’m doing.

And for the first time in years —

I start to feel truly free.

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