You were told it was just a phase. That specific ache behind the eyes when you try to smile in a room where you don’t belong.
You were told to “lean in” and “stop being so sensitive,” and offered a seat at the table that always came with a hidden cost. To survive the journey of modern life it was safer to go unconscious.
There is a whisper among the polished halls of our culture: to get from where you are to where you “belong,” you must put your soul to sleep. We learn to numb ourselves for the ride. In the name of acceptance, we:
Shaved our edges to fit the mold.
Bend our spines until they nearly gave out.
Trade our names for decorum and our rage for reason.
We put ourselves to sleep just to make the journey bearable, trading the truth of who we are for the fragile illusion of being wanted.
But sometimes, someone stays awake. They begin to feel the “drag” the subtle horror beneath the harmony of synchronized clapping and curated joy. To open your eyes mid-journey is to feel the static of reality ripping through the performance.
True belonging demands that you be fully known and being known is a dangerous thing. It means shedding your second skin and letting people see the raw, unfinished and unfiltered version of you. It means risking exile for the sake of your own soul.
The real horror of life isn’t the travel or the distance; it’s the risk of never making it back to yourself. There is a quiet hope flickering at the edge of the cosmos: that you might find a place where you no longer have to trade your authenticity for a seat.
May you stay awake for the journey. May you be seen and in that seeing, may you finally be safe. Because the goal isn’t just to arrive; it’s to arrive as you.