Returning to social media has brought some old feelings of failure and insignificance back with it. I’m wrestling with how to seek an audience, care deeply about being heard, and stay connected to myself when the room feels empty.

I found myself facing the same trigger years later, along with all the familiar sensations: panic, urgency, shame, and the desire to escape. I wondered whether I was back where I started. Sometimes it takes me a while to notice that something is different. That I am different.

There are moments, big and small, in my life that have me smiling, feeling encouraged by a sense of healing, greater capacity and depth…

So I started gathering pieces of other people as reference points. The way they lived, their resolve, their creativity…

It is a kind of oxymoron, a weird, squiggly journey, to start with such an adverse concept of self, only to find that love and wholeheartedness are about coming home to your own body, thoughts, emotions, and process… to own your story.

For months I’ve been holding myself in this tension, between empathy and the fear of failing them. And then one morning, wisdom whispered something beautiful.