Finding Myself (Or At Least Trying To)
This morning, a friend reached out to me, and her message made me pause. It pushed me to reflect on my current self—on how I feel right now, why I chose to live the way I’m living, and whether I’ve truly found myself yet.
A few days ago, I couldn’t stop thinking about freedom. Not the glamorous kind, but the quiet kind that lets you breathe without feeling judged. Lately, I’ve been carrying this invisible pressure—as if I need to behave the way people expect me to. I catch myself hiding parts of who I am depending on the group I’m with, never showing the whole picture.
But deep down, what I want is simple: to feel unchained, to spread my wings, to finally fly high as myself. To be accepted as I am—even the parts I usually tuck away. Because the truth is, it’s hard to accept yourself when others won’t. And yet, I also crave a “normal” life. But what does “normal” even mean? Is my version of it different from theirs?
I can’t say I’ve fully found myself yet. What I’ve found are different versions of me—and honestly, I like them all. Each represents a piece of Xyreen. But not all of them fit neatly into the communities I try to belong to.
Right now, I don’t know where my choices will lead. But what I do feel is a strange kind of contentment—satisfaction mixed with self-preservation. And I’m holding onto hope. Hope that one day I’ll have the courage to believe in myself fully. Hope that I’ll dare to go beyond what’s easy to reach.
Because lately, I’ve only been grasping what’s within arm’s length. One day, I want to risk reaching for something truly valuable—something that feels like flight.
