Mirror Musing

I used to wear my overwork like a badge of honor. Early mornings blurred into late nights. Lunches were optional, often replaced by cold coffee and adrenaline. I thought if I just worked harder, stayed longer, never complained, and constantly said "yes," I’d finally be seen as good enough.

I used to believe that leaving my toxic relationship would set me free. And in many ways, it did. I gained physical space, reclaimed time, and began the slow process of rediscovering myself. But what no one warned me about was the truth I’d only learn later: freedom without healing just becomes another kind of prison.

I used to believe that needing someone meant weakness. Growing up, I watched my mother shrink herself to fit the small spaces her partner allowed. Her voice softened over the years, her dreams were packed away for his comfort, and her financial dependence slowly turned into a cage. The message was loud and clear: Needing a man makes you vulnerable. And vulnerability gets you hurt

Walls are built out of fear and distrust. They manifest as deep skepticism towards everyone, cutting people off at the first sign of misunderstanding, and masking real emotions by insisting, "I’m fine," even when drowning inside. Walls feel safe at first, but over time, they harden into cages.