I don’t want a soft life because I’m lazy. I want a soft life because I’ve spent most of my life in survival mode. my nervous system has been in fight or flight since childhood and now I’m choosing peace and stability.
There’s this episode of SpongeBob where he starts crying because he doesn’t want to be an adult anymore and just wants his grandma to make him cookies. That’s exactly how I feel right now.
The kindest thing literature does is remind you that your peculiar little feelings have always existed. Someone, in some century, was equally confused by love, bored by society, tired of performing, and hungry for meaning.
I'm not toxic. I'm reactive. There's a person somewhere calling me difficult, and they're leaving out the part where they pushed every boundary I set, ignored every signal I gave, and then acted shocked when I finally stopped being gentle about it.