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This Is Not for Everyone

  I am not here seeking admiration or devotion. I am here to be — and to show others that this way of being is not scary. I write because it is my salvation from messy thoughts and overwhelming days. Writing puts my mind in order. It gives me space for self-love and for catching my breath. I cannot be here all the time. Actually, I probably could — but I do not want to. I do not want to pay the price of viral fame. I do not want to lose myself in the illusion of the world around me. I do not want to forget where it all started or lose the ground under my feet. Being able to disappear is a necessity for me. It allows me to rest, to recharge, and to stay focused and calm. I disappear from the noise. From expectations. From the pressure that tells you that if you do not constantly do more, you will lose track or fail. When I come back, I see the world more clearly. Without pink glasses. Without dark thoughts taking over. I feel grounded again. I can look at...

For the days when everything feels too much

 

tea, cozy, book

Some days feel like a nightmare — full of pressure and rush.
On those days I feel tired, overwhelmed, chased by tasks.
It feels like my head is going to explode.
Everything slips through my fingers and I lose control, unable to do anything and forced to do everything at the same time.

The pressure squeezes me in a deadly hug, trying to drain all my energy and leave me barely breathing on the floor.
It feels like there is a fog around me and my mind tries to see through it.
Everything becomes too loud, too fast, or sometimes painfully slow.
Anxiety fills my body like poison.

When I feel that I’m losing the present from my sight, I try to stop and breathe.
I take a small moment for myself — closing my eyes, trying to find the safe space in my soul, the refuge inside my body — and I tell myself:
Everything will be fine.
This will pass.
You are strong enough.

I try to return to the present by focusing on one task, just one thing I can do right now.
Finishing that one small thing gives my mind a breath.
It makes the fog a little lighter.

When everything feels too much, my first instinct is to escape — to run, to hide, to disappear from the storm around me.
My body is simply trying to protect me, to find safety from all the pressure moving through its veins.

In those moments, my mind rushes to scan the world around me, searching for a way out, but everything is covered in fog.
It tries to help… but it does it too fast, too intensely, too desperately.
And that rush makes me feel even worse.

Anxiety is not a sign that we are weak — it is a sign that our body believes we are in danger, even when we are not.
It’s a survival instinct, an ancient reflex trying to save us.
But sometimes it just chooses the wrong moment.

Remember: taking a moment for yourself doesn’t make you weak — it simply means you are human.
Remember: you are enough, and you are perfect in your own way — one of a kind.
Remember: you are not alone. This moment will pass. It will end.

On the days when everything feels too much, let this be your soft reminder:
you deserve calm, safety, and warmth. 🤍

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