the slow, private war between who we are and who we perform
just needed to get this out of my system. if you’re in a similar place right now, maybe this will find you.
i think i’m in one of those phases of life where i just don’t feel good enough.
not in a comparison way, not because of anyone else—just this slow, heavy undercurrent where no matter what i do, it feels like i’m letting myself down.
i could be doing more. faster. better. i know it.
i have so much i want to say, but instead of sitting down to get it out, i end up doomscrolling. i have all these ideas, these crazy concepts constantly racing through my mind, but instead of sharing them, i stash them away in my Notion notes—if i even bother writing them down at all.
it feels like it’s getting harder to share myself with the world, too. when i’m in a trough like this, it feels like everything i say or do is just going to annoy people.
like—what could me, this silly little girl with a dumb MacBook, possibly have to offer serious people?
and when that thought floats through my head, i laugh at myself—because deep down i do know better.
i do have something to offer. i always have.
but knowing something and feeling it are two different battles. and the feeling one usually tends to win in the short term.
i’m afraid to open myself up in ways that would allow people to actually see me.
it’s easier to play the part on 𝕏—to joke, to self-deprecate, to play the game, to turn everything into a punchline.
but honestly, even that gets exhausting sometimes.
i’m not always in the mood to make fun of myself. sometimes i need to lift myself up instead. and when i do, i can’t hide behind the facade anymore—the polished mask, the curated imperfection—the character i’ve learned to play online.
this is when i fall silent.
when i disappear into the private worlds inside my own head, where i revisit alternate versions of myself—softer, harder, more naive, more ruthless. versions i’ve outgrown or abandoned but still carry around like old photographs tucked away in the corners of my mind.
those parts of me—while deeply familiar—are raw in a way i rarely let anyone see.
being vulnerable with myself has always been easy.
being vulnerable in public, with strangers who think they know me because they’ve seen fragments of my mind online—that’s different.
and i know i’m not unique in that.
we all suffer from the human condition: the slow, private war between who we are and who we perform. strengths, weaknesses, private loves, silent hatreds, things we barely admit to ourselves.
maybe it’s just hitting harder now because i have a digital presence, some faint “brand” stitched to my name whether i want it or not. invisible contracts, silent expectations—expectations you never agreed to but somehow feel yourself bending around anyway.
but i’ve never lived for other people’s expectations. to perform for others feels like betrayal. and when i’m not being authentic, i feel like i’m crawling out of my own skin because inauthenticity isn’t just uncomfortable for me—it’s unbearable.
so i end up here: circling back to the instinct to disappear.
not to run away, not to self-destruct—just to clear some space.
to cut through the clutter in my own head, to unwind the invisible tension that builds up when i’m too plugged in for too long.
it’s like my soul gets restless, and the restlessness crystallizes into feelings that i don’t even have the language for yet. and because there’s nowhere for the feelings to go, i just keep them inside. they become private landmarks in the unfinished story of who i am.
and maybe that’s fine. not everything needs to be shared. not every truth needs to be witnessed. but there are times, like now, where i wonder what parts of myself i’m quietly robbing by keeping so much locked away.
because it feels, sometimes, like i’m quietly ripping myself off. letting the jokes and shitposts carry the full weight of my presence, while the marrow—the real breath and blood of my experience—stays locked away deep inside of me.
and i don’t say that to dismiss the shitposts.
they’re still mine. they’re still true. they’re still me.
but they’re just shards—splinters of reality fractured into something easier to throw into the algorithm. they live at the surface. they were never meant to hold the whole of me.
introspection has always been the heavier part of who i am. the part no one asks for but refuses to leave me alone.
maybe that’s why this blockage feels so heavy lately.
it’s not that i have nothing to say. it’s that i have too much to say—and no neat, consumable way to say it.
maybe i’m not making sense.
maybe that’s the point.
just clearing space…
loosening the knots i keep tying inside myself.
letting the unfinished parts of me breathe for a minute, even if they’re messy. especially if they’re messy?
because if i wait until everything is clean and coherent and perfectly sharable, i’ll be waiting forever.
and i don’t want to live half-hidden anymore.
i guess the real work is learning how to show up even when you’re not sure what version of yourself will answer… and i guess that’s what i’m doing here tonight…
as always, thanks for reading with me—i appreciate you so much, x
other things i’ve had on my mind lately:
you might enjoy the book, The First Rule of Mastery by Michael Gervais.
Michael is a mindset coach to artists, athletes, entrepreneurs, and people who want to perform their best.
in his book, he writes about how we can lean into self-talk and our concerns about how other people think of us are actually opportunities for us to grow and create our life's work.
have a nice day ST