I’ve always felt a strange self-consciousness when people are deeply invested in certain cultural stories that I just don’t connect with. Watching Wicked, I noticed resistance—this internal pressure to find meaning in it, to feel something because everyone else does. But what if I don’t? Does that mean something about me, or is it okay to simply observe without belonging to the collective enthusiasm?

Looking back at childhood moments of invention—creating a fictional person or fabricating an exotic backstory—reveals something deeper than just “kids being weird.” These moments highlight early attempts at shaping identity, seeking influence, and making life feel more interesting. What do these small lies say about the way we construct ourselves, then and now?

Binge eating isn’t just about consuming food—it’s deeply tied to ritual, anticipation, and emotional security. Living alone has made bingeing less appealing for me, but I still find comfort in having junk food on hand, even when I don’t eat it. This post explores the emotional patterns behind binge eating, the connection between food and safety, and how early experiences shape our relationship with eating.

Authentic desire isn’t about obligation or pressure—it’s a quiet pull, a sense of rightness in the body. But when habits of structure and external motivation take over, it can be hard to hear what we actually want.

For most of my life, to-do lists weren’t just tools—they were survival mechanisms. They structured my time, gave me direction, and provided a sense of control. But now, as I try to live with less external pressure, I feel lost. Who am I without a task list guiding me? The struggle isn’t just about organization; it’s about learning how to want things without a structured prompt.

I miss feeling alive in my body—hiking, biking, pushing my limits. Now, my body feels like a heavy weight, and exertion feels dangerous. The fear of movement has crept in, making me wonder how to trust my body again.

When life feels unfocused, is it better to deliberately pick a priority or wait for clarity to emerge? Sometimes, structured focus can help provide direction, while other times, true focus only appears when we slow down and reconnect with ourselves. The challenge is finding a balance between choosing a path and allowing focus to reveal itself naturally.

Feeling trapped in loops of overthinking, self-doubt, and panic can feel like being lost in a hall of mirrors—every thought reflecting back on itself with no way out. When the pressure to "be a person" adds to the chaos, even simple interactions can feel overwhelming.

Stability doesn’t always bring relief—it can unearth a deeper kind of uncertainty. When survival mode isn’t necessary, what’s left? The struggle to feel embodied, the fear of stagnation, the grief of realizing that being human is harder than expected. This isn’t failure. It’s recalibration.

The human mind is not a single entity but a constantly shifting network of thoughts, emotions, and patterns—more like a city than a static object. It predicts, narrates, and distorts reality, sometimes acting as a powerful tool, other times as a barrier to experiencing life fully. Understanding the mind isn’t about defining it as a single thing but recognizing its complexity and contradictions.