Day 129: She Still Whispers to Me
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I’m not here for sympathy. I’m not here for pity. I’m here because, for the first time in my life, I am trying to be truly and authentically me. Stripped of pretense, no masks, no numbing escapes—just me. And honestly, that terrifies me more than I can put into words.
The truth is, I’m caught in the middle of an endless battle between holding on and letting go. Every time I convince myself that it’s time to move on, every time I feel the weight of the world press down, begging me to quit—she whispers to me. It’s soft, almost too soft to hear, but it’s enough. Enough to make me pause. Enough to remind me there’s still something worth fighting for.
Her voice isn’t just an echo of someone who once believed in me; it’s a lifeline, a thread pulling me back from the edge every time I think I’m about to fall. Maybe it’s a memory. Maybe it’s hope taking form in a way I can’t yet understand. Whatever it is, I know it’s kept me breathing, even when I thought I had nothing left to give.
For years, I hid behind screens, behind substances, behind walls so high I thought no one could climb them. I was scared of being seen, of being vulnerable, of letting anyone in. But now, I realize that hiding wasn’t safety—it was suffocation. I’m here now, raw and exposed, writing these words because it’s the only way I know how to make sense of this maze. My therapist says I’m learning to show up for myself, and maybe she’s right. Maybe, for the first time, I am.
But even as I write this, I feel the pull—the fear that I’ll never escape this cycle of longing, of doubt, of trying to heal wounds that never seem to close. And yet, she whispers to me. A voice so gentle, it doesn’t scream for attention but quietly reminds me I’m not as alone as I feel. She whispers strength into my darkest moments, urging me to face the fears I’ve run from for so long.
I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand why she’s still here, why her voice hasn’t faded. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the whisper isn’t meant to give me all the answers but to remind me that the questions are worth exploring. That life, messy and chaotic as it is, still holds meaning, still holds hope. And if my struggle, my words, my journey can resonate with someone—anyone—then maybe this pain has a purpose.
So, I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep listening. Because even when I want to give up, when the weight feels too heavy, she still whispers to me.
Day 129
One Step. One Punch. One Round. 🌹
—Your Fellow Traveler