She was always soft. Not weak-soft, not pretty-soft 〜 the kind of softness that can feel . A softness that sensed truth before it was spoken, that recognised hearts beneath armour, that felt people long before they ever felt her back. But her softness was filtered. Filtered through wounds that weren’t hers. Through centuries of silencing. Through inherited fear. Through the demand to be small, pleasing, careful, grateful. Through the belief that her depth made her too much, a

Let me tell you something. There’s something about me, I don’t know what exactly, but I’ve always been met with  you’re too much . No one could ever really hold me fully. Not my true energy, not my essence. So I hid it, bit by bit, since my early teens. I hid chunks of myself as I moved through life because the resistance got bigger, threatening to take away everything I ever wanted. Connection. Friends. A partner. A dream career. It felt like being myself would cost me the l

We’ve spent years diagnosing, rebelling and trying to fix what’s wrong in the world, but something deeper is calling. This isn’t about fighting the system anymore; it’s about remembering ourselves within it. The exhaustion before awareness is where collective transformation begins, in the quiet space between knowing better and becoming different

Two years ago, the life I have so carefully curated came to an end. Words I used to cringe at now have a different meaning. Spiritual awakening is the shift from identifying with the illusion to identifying with the self. From seeking external validation to trusting inner knowing, living by programming to living by resonance surviving based on expectations to creating based on soul alignment. It’s painful. It’s disorienting. It breaks your heart and reconfigures your nervous

"He's a broken man," she told me, without turning fully, just enough to make sure I heard. But my soul, without hesitation, rejected the diagnosis. I recognised him. Like me, tending to the same ache but in a different form, A little more lost than he intended to be. And still, somewhere beneath the rock of numbness, buried under the fear and noise, drowning in distraction - he held hope. The knowing that one day he will find his way back to who he knows himself to be. I hear

He reminded me of my great aunt. As a kid I used to sit next to her for hours, listening to her stories. It was the only place I felt safe and at peace. My childhood and my mind were chaotic; I always felt like a tornado inside. I looked forward to the days at the farmhouse, excited to be around her. I would lie next to her on the bed, her arms resting peacefully as she told me stories of her youth and the world as she remembered it. Thirty years later, that’s the only feelin