ianvoss

I don’t want to abandon myself like I used to. I’ve been through a lot, and I’m still standing. That means something. I respect that about me. I’m not just surviving anymore. I want to live, fully — with all of me.

And what I’ve realized recently is that my emotional side — my intuitive self — is really smart. It makes life easier when I actually listen to it. It’s not something I need to shut down or escape from. It’s something I need to trust.

I just sat there, staring at my phone, scrolling through TikToks. Then my roommate said he was going to the gym, and I decided to make chicken and sweet potato fries. After that, I felt like going for a walk. I took a street bike and rode down to the lakeshore.

When I got there, I saw the moon reflecting on the water. It’s almost a full moon — golden and so beautiful. While I was walking, it hid behind a cloud. I felt sad, like it didn’t want to give me its light. I got emotional and even had tears in my eyes.

But I kept walking along the lakeshore near Ontario Place in Toronto. I sat down on the stones and watched the moonlight shimmering on the water, and the moon glowing above me in the sky. I asked the moon to take away my sadness and give me light.

Since I was a kid, I’ve always been mesmerized by the moon. I’ve felt a strong connection to it — like it has a soul, a beautiful and nurturing one. I shared how I felt with it, quietly, and walked back to the bikes feeling a bit more at peace. I rode home, took a shower, and went to bed.

and it hits something inside me. I’ve been scared—truly scared—of how lonely a person can feel. I keep telling myself that I’m protecting my peace by keeping people at a distance, but deep down I know that’s not true. That’s just what I say to make the silence feel less like failure.

If I’m honest, I’ve been running my whole life. I run from discomfort, from conflict, from the hard work of healing. Whenever things got too complicated, I collapsed inward, spiraled emotionally, and disappeared. In some cases, it saved me—changing environments gave me air to breathe. But now I’m in a place where I don’t have to run anymore. And still, I do.

I've ruined more relationships than I care to admit—not out of malice, but out of fear. I never really learned how to set boundaries. I either gave too much or shut down completely. If I had known how to protect my energy without pushing people away, maybe things would be different. Instead, I told myself I was better off alone. But that’s not the full truth. It’s a defense mechanism dressed up as wisdom.

Yes, some people needed to be cut out of my life. But some were worth fighting for. And I didn’t fight. I withdrew. I let good people go because I didn’t know how to stay without losing myself—or maybe I didn’t believe I was worth keeping around.

There was one love. One real, honest love. And I let it slip away too. I still love. I think part of me always will. I wish I had been stronger, more open, more healed. I wish I had seen then what I see now—that connection like that doesn’t come often, and when it does, it’s not just a gift, it’s a responsibility.

I don’t want to keep living like this—trapped between regret and avoidance. I want to live fully. I want to show up, not just disappear. But I’m not there yet.

And maybe that’s okay—for now. But not forever.

In the past, I could only express my negative emotions. I had to be really sad to write; otherwise, I just felt empty. But recently, I’ve started letting myself feel a broader range of emotions—not just sadness. I’ve allowed myself to be angry, too. I used to rationalize my feelings, thinking that was the way to deal with them. I never realized I simply needed to feel—without overthinking. That’s been a wild, unexpected skill to develop.

Feeling your emotions gives you energy. You don’t have to suppress them. And it’s not just about anger—even when I’m sad and I let the sadness fill me, it feels like a storm rising in my chest, trying to spill out into the world. And yet, it’s still a loving feeling. It feels warm. It feels like love. Sometimes it pushes tears into my eyes—even when I’m around people.

But you know what? I’m no longer afraid to be vulnerable. I’m learning how to feel. At first, it felt like my emotions were completely dysregulated. But now I understand—it was just a shock to my brain, which had been trained to ignore feelings for so long. It was like taking ecstasy for the first time: overwhelming, euphoric, and terrifying. I felt broken. I thought I needed fixing.