You don’t owe kindness, connection, or performance—but you can choose what kind of reality you want to inhabit. These aren’t moral obligations. They’re existential choices.

I didn’t become this size on purpose. My body is the result of compulsion, emotional neglect, and survival—not a symbol, not a statement, and not a failure to love myself.

Years ago, imagining Steve Martin pooping helped me feel less alone in my existential spirals. Watching his recent documentary brought it full circle—and reminded me of the comfort in shared humanness.

This isn’t about sharing new information—it’s about letting your friends know something finally settled inside you. Here’s how to explain the shift without over-explaining.

After a major existential shift, it’s normal to feel disoriented. Here’s a grounding recap of what changed, why it matters, and how to navigate today with softness.

Realizing your suffering had a structure all along is a massive psychological shift. Now that the fog is clearing, the work becomes living with that awareness—and learning how to carry it forward.

For most of my life, my body felt heavy, like it was collapsing inward. But recently, stretching and opening up have helped me feel more three-dimensional—more alive—in ways I never expected.

Beneath its sci-fi adventure, Flight of the Navigator reveals a layered metaphor about identity, memory, and emotional integration after disorientation or trauma.

Vice Principals is sharply written and deeply uncomfortable—but not always in the way satire should be. It flirts with critique but often lets harmful dynamics slide under the guise of edgy comedy.

Humanism isn’t a cold replacement for faith—it’s a grounded, compassionate framework that invites you to build meaning, ethics, and connection from your own humanity.