🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦

🎀#𝒲𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒𝑅𝒶𝓌 #Writin#WritingCommunity #Poetry #AmWriting #Author #PoetryCommunity

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

Disconnection

—anatomy within the body
A misfire
— my brain, remembering touches
Feelings and sensations

Called survival

#writeraw #iwriteraw #writingcommunity #poetrycommunity #poetry #amwriting

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

🔓 NIVEL DESBLOQUEADO: LA PAUSA → ELEGIRME A MÍ

Hoy desbloqueé algo más grande que simplemente aprender a hacer una pausa antes de reaccionar.

Me di cuenta de que estoy comenzando a crear un espacio entre lo que siento y lo que hago.

Hoy estaba molesta por lo que estaba pasando con mis hijos y con Tim. Tenía todas las razones emocionales para responder inmediatamente. Estaba enojada, herida, frustrada y con miedo de perder otro momento importante con mis hijos.

Pero en lugar de permitir que esas emociones me dirigieran, hice una pausa.

Vine aquí. Lo hablé. Analicé lo que quería decir, el resultado que quería obtener y si la acción que estaba a punto de tomar realmente me acercaría a ese resultado.

Ese es el cambio que he estado tratando de reconocer en mí.

No me estoy convirtiendo en una persona que no siente intensamente.

Me estoy convirtiendo en una persona que puede sentir intensamente sin actuar automáticamente desde esa emoción.

Mi nueva pregunta es:

“Si hago esto ahora mismo, ¿el resultado representa realmente el resultado que quiero?”

Esa pregunta está cambiando la manera en que vivo mi vida.

Después ocurrió algo que hizo que esta lección fuera todavía más clara.

Alguien que me importa me recordó que cada paso hacia adelante cuenta. Que me encuentre a mí misma. Que florezca. Que evolucione. Que no todas las personas merecen mi tiempo.

Y mi respuesta fue sencilla:

“¡Estoy aprendiendo JUSTAMENTE ESO! ¡Esta vez, por mí!”

Esa última parte es la que necesito recordar.

Por mí. Esta vez.

He pasado muchísimo tiempo intentando entender a otras personas, acomodarme a ellas, preservar relaciones, explicar quién soy, reparar cosas, demostrar mis intenciones y entender por qué las personas hacen lo que hacen.

Ahora estoy aprendiendo a convertirme a mí misma en el objeto de la investigación.

¿Por qué reacciono de esta manera?

¿Qué estoy sintiendo?

¿Qué ocurrió antes de llegar hasta aquí?

¿Qué estoy intentando conseguir realmente?

¿Qué crea esta acción?

¿Ese resultado coincide con la vida que estoy tratando de construir?

Estoy aprendiendo que entender a otra persona no significa que tenga que seguir dándole acceso a mi vida.

Estoy aprendiendo que querer a alguien no significa que tenga que abandonarme a mí misma.

Estoy aprendiendo que estar herida no significa automáticamente que tenga que tomar represalias.

Estoy aprendiendo que estar enojada no significa que tenga que entregar mi juicio.

Estoy aprendiendo que puedo reconocer mi pasado sin permitir que escriba cada capítulo de mi futuro.

Y, sobre todo, estoy aprendiendo que mi crecimiento no puede depender de que otra persona lo reconozca.

No quiero sanar para que alguien finalmente me entienda.

No quiero evolucionar para que alguien regrese.

No quiero convertirme en una persona más saludable para que alguien más me trate de manera diferente.

Quiero convertirme en una persona más saludable porque tengo que vivir conmigo misma.

Ya no estoy simplemente acumulando información.

La estoy aplicando.

Sentir → Pausar → Procesar → Elegir → Observar el resultado → Aprender → Adaptar.

Ese está empezando a ser mi nuevo sistema operativo.

Y hoy me descubrí utilizándolo de verdad.

Así que esto no es simplemente otra entrada sobre algo que aprendí.

Esto es evidencia.

La pausa se está convirtiendo en un comportamiento.

La conciencia se está convirtiendo en acción.

Y elegirme a mí misma se está convirtiendo en parte del proceso.

🎮 NIVEL DESBLOQUEADO: AGENCIA EMOCIONAL

No controlo cada emoción que aparece dentro de mí.

No controlo lo que hacen los demás.

No controlo todas las circunstancias.

Pero cada vez controlo más lo que sucede después.

Y esta vez, estoy aprendiendo a elegirme a mí misma.

#iwriteraw #wrc #writeraw #iwriteraw100 #writeraw100 #writingcommunity #writingcommmunity #AgenciaEmocional #Autoconocimiento #Autodescubrimiento #CrecimientoPersonal #ProcesoDeSanación #RegulaciónEmocional #DecisionesConscientes #RompiendoPatrones

[Amy Christie @cri_amy]

You cannot heal while returning to what hurt you.

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

🔓 LEVEL UNLOCKED: THE PAUSE → CHOOSING MYSELF

Today I unlocked something bigger than simply learning to pause before I react.

I realized I am beginning to create space between what I feel and what I do.

Earlier today, I was upset about what was happening with my children and Tim. I had every emotional reason to respond immediately. I was angry, hurt, frustrated, and afraid of losing another important moment with my children.

But instead of allowing those feelings to navigate me, I paused.

I came here. I talked it out. I examined what I wanted to say, what outcome I wanted, and whether the action I was about to take would actually help create that outcome.

That is the change I’ve been trying to recognize in myself.

I’m not becoming someone who doesn’t feel intensely.

I’m becoming someone who can feel intensely without automatically acting from the feeling.

My new question is:

“If I do this right now, does the outcome represent the outcome I actually want?”

That question is changing the way I move through my life.

Then something else happened today that brought the lesson into sharper focus.

Someone I care about reminded me that every step forward counts. Find yourself. Flourish. Evolve. Not everyone deserves your time.

And my response was simple:

“I’m learning JUST THAT! For me this time!”

That last part is the part I need to remember.

For me. This time.

I’ve spent so much of my life trying to understand people, accommodate people, preserve relationships, explain myself, repair things, prove my intentions, and figure out why people behave the way they do.

Now I’m learning to make myself the subject of the investigation.

Why do I react this way?

What am I feeling?

What happened before I got here?

What am I actually trying to accomplish?

What does this action create?

Does that outcome match the life I’m trying to build?

I’m learning that understanding another person doesn’t mean I have to keep giving them access to me.

I’m learning that caring about someone doesn’t require me to abandon myself.

I’m learning that being hurt doesn’t automatically require retaliation.

I’m learning that being angry doesn’t mean I have to surrender my judgment.

I’m learning that I can acknowledge my past without letting it write every future chapter.

And most importantly, I’m learning that my growth cannot depend on somebody else recognizing it.

I don’t want to heal so someone will finally understand me.

I don’t want to evolve so someone will come back.

I don’t want to become healthier so somebody else will treat me differently.

I want to become healthier because I have to live with me.

I’m not just collecting information anymore.

I’m applying it.

Feel → Pause → Process → Choose → Observe the outcome → Learn → Adapt.

That is becoming my new operating system.

Today, I caught myself actually using it.

So this isn’t just another entry about something I learned.

This is evidence.

The pause is becoming a behavior.

The awareness is becoming action.

And choosing myself is becoming part of the process.

🎮 LEVEL UNLOCKED: EMOTIONAL AGENCY

I don’t control every feeling that enters me.

I don’t control what other people do.

I don’t control every circumstance.

But I increasingly control what happens next.

And this time, I’m learning to choose myself.

#iwriteraw #wrc #writeraw #iwriteraw100 #writeraw100 #writingcommunity #writingcommmunity #LevelUnlocked #EmotionalAgency #SelfAwareness #SelfDiscovery #PersonalGrowth #HealingJourney #EmotionalRegulation #MindfulChoices #PauseBeforeReacting #BreakingPatterns #ChoosingMyself #FindingMyself #Flourish #Evolve #GrowthMindset #RecoveryJourney

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

Listen closely
My silence has never been empty
It keeps
what I refuse to say
until the wanting becomes impossible
to mistake
Wanting the darker thing
beneath it,
stay
long enough
to discover
whether you can handle
what you asked
me to reveal

#DarkPoetry #DarkRomance #Desire #Temptation #Unspoken #ForbiddenDesire #MidnightThoughts #PoetryCommunity #WritersOfInstagram #WriterRaw #RawWriting #IntimateWriting #PoeticDesire #TheDarkWithin #WordsWithWeight

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

I simply kept moving.

SHADOW:
That doesn’t mean you’re okay. YOU’RE NOT OKAY. You’ll never be okay. You’re nothing. NOTHING!

Strange thing is, is that I know. I am probably all of these things but permanence is finite. I’m not. I’m changing. Learning. Evolving.

SHADOW:
You’ll never be her. NEVER. Don’t you want to go back to the darkness? Unseeing? Don’t you wanna go into hibernation? Don’t you wanna SLEEP it all AWAY? YOU CAN FADE! You can! YOU CAN END IT ALL! All the pain. The uncertainty. The molestation. Abuse. Manipulation… YOU KNOW HOW TO DO IT RIGHT THIS TIME!

But it means the story would have to stop there… it isn’t finished just because the first sentence of the day was dark.

Maybe today’s lesson isn’t that I’m the PROBLEM.

Maybe the bigger lesson is that I am finally becoming AWARE of how much of my life has been spent trying to survive myself, other people, circumstances, memories, expectations, loneliness, shame, and whatever version of me was required in each room.

And maybe awareness hurts BEFORE it becomes useful.

While my life has worth to myself, I shouldn’t catastrophize how other people haven’t valued me, respected me, or loved me.

SHADOW:
But they WANT YOU TO FAIL. They dont care if you’re homeless. They dont care if you dont eat. COME BACK TO MY SIDE! We KNOW HOW TO SURVIVE! WHAT ARE WE DOING RIGHT NOW? WHERE’S THE CHAOS? Where’s the threat?

But it’s literally peaceful right now.

SHADOW:
That’s what it wants you to think. NOW, think about what the other foot is gunna drop. YOU KNOW IM RIGHT! It’s only a MATTER OF TIME!

I don’t need to figure out the ROI of being in anyone else’s life.

I only need to recognize that there was a moment this morning when death felt possible, and somehow I am still here writing about it.

SHADOW:
For NOW.

For NOW… is enough.

Maybe tomorrow gets to be another minute.

And maybe another minute is how I find out what exists beyond everything I thought I already knew about myself.

Today isn’t that I almost disappeared.

SHADOW:
For now. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO. Do it. Do it. DO IT. DO IT!!!

At least I’m finally able to admit how close the POSSIBILITY felt.

And instead of pretending that thought never happened, I’m giving it a name.

MY Shadow.

It can speak. But it doesn’t get to write the ending because A SHADOW IS A SHADOW. Shadows lay in the dark behind, they stretch into your today to try to snuff out the sunlight tomorrow.
#writingcommunity

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

Yes. I’d make the Shadow a distinct voice, not a villain. More like the part that says the things you don’t want to admit out loud. The journal can let both voices exist without letting the Shadow become the narrator of your fate.

I woke up this morning with a thought I don’t want to minimize anymore.

Suicide felt possible.

Not abstract. Not some distant thought I could dismiss as being dramatic or exhausted. It felt like an actual possibility sitting there at the beginning of my day, before I had even had the chance to become distracted by everything else.

SHADOW:
You COULD just disappear. POOF!

And then I got up anyway. That is the strange part. I kept moving.

I talked. I thought. I tried to understand myself. I thought about getting to the bank. I stopped myself because I knew what having money in that state could potentially give me access to. I wanted to escape the clarity of being sober. I wanted to stop seeing everything.

SHADOW:
You are tired of seeing YOURSELF.

Maybe I am.

Lately, it feels like the masks I’ve worn for years finally have eyes. And now they are looking back at me.

I am seeing things I couldn’t see before. My patterns. My reactions. My choices. The ways I have participated in situations that hurt me. The ways I have protected myself. The ways I have sometimes become part of the very cycles I wanted to escape.

And the easiest conclusion is: I’m the problem. Because I’m the one constant in every scenario.

SHADOW:
Exactly. It’s ALWAYS you.

But tonight I don’t think that conclusion is that simple. Being a constant doesn’t make me the cause of everything. It means I’m the person who has been present THROUGHOUT all of it.

I have carried the history from one situation into another. I have brought survival mechanisms into places where survival wasn’t always required. I’ve reacted before thinking. I’ve attached. I have detached. I’ve used distraction, substances, relationships, anger, isolation, writing, anything I could find to make the internal noise quieter.

And now that some of those things aren’t working the same way, I can hear myself.
It’s exhausting.

SHADOW:
Then go back to autopilot.
Be a puppet. Mold. Conform. Let your mind get even more brainwashed into believing this is who you are. This IS who you ARE. Close your eyes when you stand in the bathroom!

Part of me wants to. That’s NOT ME. It’s not who I WANT TO BE OR WHO I EVER WANTED TO BE. I survived.

I don’t want to be this aware. I don’t want to examine every feeling. I don’t want every relationship to become a psychological autopsy. I don’t want to sit here and recognize things about myself that hurt to recognize.

I want silence. I want relief. I want to stop feeling like I have to understand everything. But there’s something I can’t ignore anymore:

I woke up thinking suicide was possible, and I made it through the day.

Not beautifully. Not triumphantly. Not scratch-free. Not with some inspirational revelation tied neatly around my neck, and paired with a bow.

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

BENEATH THE HOUSE

#writing #amwriting
I thought healing
meant opening windows.
letting light in.
airing out
the rooms
I had been afraid
to enter.
I didn’t know
there was a house
beneath the house.
another foundation
underneath the floorboards.
another set of rooms
beneath the rooms
I called myself.
I found it
by accident.
or maybe
it found me.
a door
where there shouldn’t
have been one.
I opened it.
and everything inside
was still breathing.
old storms
folded into paper birds.
a child
made of locked doors.
mirrors
that changed faces
depending on
who was standing
in front of them.
hallways
that stretched
when I needed someone
and disappeared
when I feared
they were leaving.
I thought
the mirrors were lying.
then I realized—
they were remembering.
some mornings
I woke up
and the whole house
belonged to me.
I painted the walls
with possibility.
I opened every door.
I believed
the sky had finally
come inside.
and by evening
the same house
could feel like
a burning match
with nowhere
to throw itself.
nothing changed.
everything changed.
that is the strange mathematics
of the place beneath me.
one heartbeat
can become
an entire weather system.
one silence
can become
an empty ocean.
one goodbye
can become
every goodbye
that ever existed.
and I kept asking
why the waves
were so large
when the stone
was so small.
I didn’t understand
that I wasn’t
measuring the stone.
I was measuring
the depth.
so I went deeper.
and deeper
doesn’t always mean
darker.
sometimes
it means
finally seeing
what the dark
was hiding.
the hooks
in the walls.
the strings
I had mistaken
for roots.
the little doors
I kept building
inside myself
so nobody
could leave me
without taking
something with them.
I found whole versions
of myself
living in separate rooms.
one screaming
open the door.
one screaming
lock it.
one saying
stay.
another whispering
run.
and somewhere
between them
I was standing
with a handful
of keys
trying to figure out
which one
was mine.
maybe healing
isn’t demolishing
the house.
maybe it is
learning the floor plan.
learning which rooms
belong to yesterday.
learning which windows
actually open.
learning that not every
sound in the hallway
means someone is coming
to hurt me.
learning that a door
closing
is sometimes
just a door closing.
not the end
of the world
not the end
of me.
just wood
meeting a frame.
and maybe MM
that is what I am doing now—
walking through
the house beneath
the house
without becoming
every ghost
I find there.
I am learning
to sit beside
the frightened rooms
without letting them
drive the whole house.
I am learning
that a storm
can pass through me
without becoming
my name.
that a feeling
can be enormous
without being
a prophecy.
that I can miss someone
without opening
every door.
that I can love someone
without handing them
the keys.
and that I can find
a broken room
inside myself
without deciding
the whole house
is broken.
because maybe
I was never
a ruin.
maybe I was
a place
that survived
too many winters
with the windows open.
and now
I am learning
how to close them.
how to mend
the glass.
how to let the morning
come in slowly.
how to live
above the foundation
without pretending
the foundation
doesn’t exist.
I don’t need
to destroy
the house beneath me.
I just need
to stop letting
the ghosts
hold the keys.

#writingcommunity #writeraw #wrc #amwriting #writing

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

THE HOUSE BENEATH THE HOUSE

I found a house beneath the floor,
where something knocked behind the door.
No candle lived within its hall,
just shadows leaning on the wall,
and silence asking for no more.

The mirrors wore a hollow face,
each one returning less of grace.
I watched myself become the night,
a fading shape without a light,
a ghost rehearsing its own place.

There were no bodies in the bed,
but every room felt newly dead.
The curtains breathed without the wind,
the walls remembered where I’d sinned,
and something mourned what wasn’t said.

I carried keys I couldn’t use,
to rooms I had forgotten, bruised.
One opened grief beneath my skin,
one opened where the dark got in,
one opened nothing I could lose.

Some nights the silence called my name,
not like a voice, but like a flame.
It promised there would be no pain,
no more arrivals, no more rain,
just emptiness without a claim.

I stood beside that quiet door,
and understood what death was for—
not an ending I could trust,
but simply absence, ash, and dust,
a room where I would hurt no more.

But somewhere underneath the stone,
a heartbeat answered on its own.
So faint I almost called it gone,
it kept returning with the dawn,
a little pulse refusing bone.

I hated it for staying there,
that tiny animal of despair.
I wanted stillness. Wanted sleep.
Wanted the dark to hold me deep.
Yet something breathed beneath the air.

So I descended, floor by floor,
into the place I feared before.
I met the ghosts I called my own,
the child beneath the buried stone,
the parts of me I couldn’t mourn.

And there I learned the darkest truth:
the grave had never wanted proof.
It wasn’t death I wanted near,
but one long silence from the fear,
one moment where I could be free
from carrying what wasn’t me.

The house is still beneath the floor.
The darkness still lives by the door.
Some nights I hear it breathing slow,
some nights I almost let it grow—
but I don’t live there anymore.

I leave one window cracked at night,
enough to let the smallest light.
Not hope.
Not yet.
Just something thin—
a breath beneath the world of sin,
a pulse that says I stayed tonight.

#WriteRaw #WriterRaw #Poetry #DarkPoetry #AbstractPoetry #AABBA #TraumaPoetry #HealingThroughWriting #SurvivorsVoice #InnerChild #MentalHealthAwareness #EmotionalHealing #PoetryCommunity #PoetsOfInstagram #WritersOfInstagram #RawWriting #UnfilteredWriting #DeathLonging #TheDarknessWithin #TheHouseBeneathTheHouse

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

What do all of these things have in common?

#BPD. #Manicdepression. #ADHD. #ADD. #Dissociation. #CPTSD. #OCD. #suicidalideations. #SelfHarmIdeation. #FNG.

=

ME.

[Amy Christie @cri_amy]

You don’t owe anyone the version of you that costs you your peace.

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

#NewProfilePic

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

August 15–16, 2026
8pm

The Weight I Don’t Have to Carry

The last two days have made me look at myself differently.

I’ve been thinking about whether I can still retain what I’ve built academically after everything I’ve been through, including periods when drugs were part of my life. There is a strange fear underneath that question: not just whether I can remember what I learned, but whether I am still the person capable of doing the things I once proved I could do.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that my mind is not the only thing being tested. I have been carrying people, situations, expectations, consequences, relationships, responsibilities, and versions of myself that other people seemed to need from me.

Sometimes I make things harder than they have to be because I factor everyone else into the equation.

What do they think? What do they need? What are they expecting? What will happen if I disappoint them? What am I supposed to be for them?

And eventually, something that should have been simple becomes too heavy.

Today I realized something quieter. Sometimes I like being alone. Not because I don’t care about people. Not because I want to disappear from everyone. I like being alone because there is less noise. I don’t have to wear everybody else’s expectations. I don’t have to anticipate someone else’s reaction. I don’t have to carry something simply because someone else placed it in my hands.

And sometimes, when I’m alone, I actually like who I am. That realization carries more weight than I initially understood. Because if I can find a version of myself that I genuinely like when nobody else is asking anything from me, then maybe that version isn’t imaginary. Maybe she is me without all the extra weight attached.

The solitude isn’t creating someone new. It’s revealing someone who was already there.

The psychological lesson of these two days is that I have spent a lot of energy confusing responsibility with obligation. I can care about someone without carrying them. I can love someone without becoming responsible for their emotions. I can consider other people’s needs without automatically making those needs my own.

And academically, perhaps the same principle applies. I don’t need to prove my entire worth every time I sit down to learn something. I don’t need to measure my intelligence against every mistake I’ve made. My past can explain some things about me without becoming the definition of what my mind is capable of now.

The bigger picture is beginning to look less like rebuilding myself and more like removing what was never supposed to stay attached to me.

I don’t think the goal is to become someone who needs nobody. The goal is to become someone who can be alone without feeling like something is missing—and who can be around people without losing herself.

For the first time in a while, I can recognize that there is a version of me beneath the expectations. And sometimes, when everything gets quiet, I like her.

That matters. Because maybe healing isn’t only about learning how to carry more. Maybe some of it is finally learning what I am allowed to put down.

What weight does this carry?

It carries the realization that I don’t have to earn the right to exist as myself by carrying everyone else’s expectations. I am allowed to be intelligent without proving it, loving without rescuing, present without performing, and alone without being abandoned.

Some things are heavy because they matter. Other things are heavy because I picked them up.

I’m LEARNING the DIFFERENCE.

#Solitude #SelfAcceptance #LettingGo #NewChapter #BreakingCycles #SurvivalToThriving #InnerFreedom #ReclaimingMyself #Growth #Transformation #Faith #GodsTiming #WhatIRelease #WhoIAm #WriteRaw #WriterRaw #iwriteraw100 #iwriteraw #writeraw100 #writingcommunity #writingcommmunity

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

August 16–17, 2026
12:50 AM

The Sixth Year— the Beginning of Jubilee

Sometimes I like being alone.

Not because I don’t need people, but because when I’m alone, I don’t have to wear everyone else’s expectations. I don’t have to perform. I don’t have to explain myself. I don’t have to carry things simply because someone else placed them in my hands.

Sometimes, when I’m alone, I actually like who I am. Sometimes it feels lighter.

I’ve spent so much time carrying things that were never really mine. Other people’s expectations. Other people’s emotions. Other people’s versions of who I should be. The consequences of things I didn’t create. The weight of relationships that made me feel responsible for keeping everything together.

Alone, some of that weight disappears. And then tonight I learned something about Jubilee.

I’d always understood the word loosely, but I didn’t realize the biblical structure behind it. Seven cycles of seven years. 49 years, followed by the 50th year as Jubilee—a designated period associated with release, restoration, return, and freedom.

The 7th year itself also carried the idea of rest and release. I’ve started looking at the last six years of my life differently.

6 years.

6 years of surviving things that sometimes felt like they would never end. Six years of losing, rebuilding, falling apart, trying again, carrying too much, and learning things about myself that I could not have learned any other way.

And now I’m standing at the edge of another year.

I don’t know that I can say God promised me that my seventh year will magically make everything better. The Bible doesn’t give me that personal guarantee.

But I can recognize the symbolism and maybe the point isn’t that suffering automatically earns me a reward. Maybe the point is that I don’t have to spend another year believing that suffering is all I’m meant to know.

Release doesn’t necessarily mean everything around me changes overnight. It may mean I stop participating in the things that keep me imprisoned. It may mean I stop carrying what belongs to other people. It may mean I stop confusing attachment with responsibility. It may mean I finally understand that freedom can begin inside me before my circumstances completely catch up.

Yesterday I realized that sometimes I like myself when nobody is asking anything from me.

Today I realized that maybe I’m beginning to understand why. There’s a version of me underneath all the expectations.

She is quieter.

She is less reactive.

She doesn’t need to explain every decision.

She doesn’t have to carry everybody.

She can exist without constantly proving that she deserves to exist.

And maybe that is the beginning of my Jubilee—not because a calendar promised me an easier life, but because I am finally learning what it means to release what was never mine.

The psychology of these two days feels significant. I am shifting from seeing solitude as absence toward experiencing it as space. Space allows me to separate my actual identity from the identities other people have assigned to me. It gives me enough distance to notice which burdens I consciously chose and which ones I simply learned to carry.

The lesson is not that I need to isolate myself.

The lesson is that I need to know who I am when nobody else is defining me.

The big picture is becoming clearer: healing isn’t only about surviving what happened to me. It is also about deciding what I refuse to keep carrying forward.

What weight does this carry?

A lot.

Because six years of survival can become an identity if I let it.

But maybe the next chapter doesn’t have to be organized around what I survived.

Maybe it can be organized around what I release.

Maybe I am not waiting for Jubilee.

Maybe I am learning how to recognize it when it arrives.

#Jubilee #Restoration #SelfDiscovery #BreakingCycles #Survival #Reclaiming #GodsTiming #WriteRaw #WriterRaw #iwriteraw100 #iwriteraw #writeraw100 #writingcommunity #amwriting #writingcommmunity

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

#amwriting #writingcommunity
#bpd #cptsd #ocd #manicdepression

Journal — August 14, 2026

Last night I put words to something that has been difficult to explain from inside my own mind. I recognized that what looks like one problem is actually a chain reaction: difficulty beginning something becomes frustration, frustration becomes fixation or scattered attention, awareness brings shame, shame expands into an evaluation of my entire life, and overwhelming stress can leave me physically and emotionally depleted.

The important realization is that awareness does not automatically equal control. Sometimes I become conscious of what is happening only after the reaction has already begun. That means the work is not simply forcing myself to “calm down” or stop reacting. The deeper work is learning to recognize the stages of the cycle early enough that I can create space between one reaction and the next.

Writing it down also changed the scale of the problem. Instead of seeing myself as someone who simply cannot accomplish simple things, I can see a nervous system moving through a predictable sequence under stress. That doesn’t remove responsibility, but it changes where responsibility belongs: not in blaming myself for having the reaction, but in learning what I can do with the reaction once I recognize it.

The weight of this is that I am beginning to turn an experience that once felt chaotic into something I can observe, name, and eventually interrupt.

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

@Pricerrors I just need anything helpful… 🙏🏽

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

I’m so sexy that even life got hard for me!

[🅦🅡🅘🅣🅔🅡🅐🅦 @WriteRaw1OO]

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Body Remembrance > Act of Consciousness

She noticed it afterward.

Not the man.

Not the moment.

The shift.

A small rearrangement of the body
before the mind had been invited to speak.

A shoulder.
A shirt.
A spine remembering something
she couldn’t yet name.

She wondered when the body had learned
to answer questions
no one had asked.

Perhaps it wasn’t about him.

Perhaps it had never been.

Perhaps some things arrive in the body
long before they acquire language.

And perhaps consciousness
is sometimes nothing more
than the witness arriving late.

She sat with that.

Body Remembrance > Act of Consciousness

The symbol felt strangely accurate.

Not greater in importance.

Not greater in truth.

Just first.

The body remembered.

The mind noticed.

Between the two
was an entire history
she was only beginning to peel.

Layer.

After layer.

After layer.

And somewhere beneath all of them
was a girl who had learned
that certain shapes were safer
than others.

She didn’t reach for her.

Not yet.

She simply noticed
the body still knew
her name.