15 APRIL 2025 TUESDAYWhat's one promise that I've made recently that wasn't actually mine to carry?I promised to be their emotional anchor, even when my own ship was barely afloat. I took on the weight of fixing them, healing them, holding them together-- but that wasn’t my promise to make. That was theirs. Their responsibility. Their healing. Their growth. I can love someone and still not be responsible for saving them. What would happen if I stopped proving and just paused instead?If I stopped proving and just paused instead… I’d finally be able to hear myself think—without the noise of expectations or the pressure to perform. I’d realize that I’ve been exhausting myself trying to earn love, validation, and a sense of worth that I already had all along. I’d feel the tension in my chest start to loosen, the knot in my stomach begin to unwind. I’d see that I don’t need to explain myself to people who are committed to misunderstanding me. I’d remember who I am beneath all the proving—my softness, my fire, my truth. By pausing, I’d reclaim my power. I’d rest. I’d breathe. I’d heal. And I’d understand that I was never meant to live in survival mode. I was meant to live in alignment—with peace, purpose, and presence. Because I am enough. Even when I’m still. Especially then.  What's one promise I've made recently that wasn't actually mine to carry?The promise to always be the strong one. You’ve probably told yourself—or someone else—that you’d hold everything together, be the rock, the reliable one, the peacekeeper. But maybe that promise wasn’t really yours to carry. Maybe it was born out of survival, out of love, or out of fear that if you didn’t step up, everything would fall apart. But truth is, you’re allowed to fall apart sometimes. You’re allowed to need help. That promise to always be okay… Yeah, that might’ve been more about protecting others than protecting yourself. Let that one go if it’s weighing heavy. Your healing matters too.  If I dropped the performance today, who would still stand beside me?If I dropped the performance today—if I stopped pretending I’m fine, if I let the mask fall and showed every scar, every cracked piece of me—I wonder who would still be there. Who would still call me enough when I’m not hustling to prove it? Who would sit with me in the silence when I have no words, no jokes, no strength left to give? Who would love me when I’m not inspiring, not productive, not fixing everyone else’s mess? If I dropped the performance today, I think the truth would be loud. Some people would leave. Some wouldn’t even notice. But the real ones? They’d pull me in closer, not away. They’d say, “You don’t have to be anything but you. And that’s more than enough.” And honestly… I’m ready to find out who those people are.  What version of me needs to die or did die so that I could breathe again?The version of me that needed to die was the one who begged to be chosen. The one who kept shrinking, softening, and silencing himself just to keep the peace. The one who accepted crumbs and called it love. The one who thought loyalty meant self-abandonment. That version of me died when I realized I was suffocating in spaces I was never meant to fit into. He died when I stopped apologizing for existing too loudly, feeling too deeply, and needing more. He died the moment I chose to stop surviving and start healing. And in his place, I began to breathe again. Not because everything was suddenly okay-- But because I finally gave myself permission to be. 
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