Writing for me has always been a mixture of sin and solace. As a child, it was a comfort—a safe place—until it became the only way I knew to express pain. My words were not met with understanding, but with isolation. Instead of being seen and heard, I was condemned. A child's plea for connection was perceived as an attack. And those who felt attacked never let it go.

Apologies were demanded, penance paid, but forgiveness was never granted. What should have been a moment of learning and growth became a life sentence, a cage built from past mistakes. Years later, those same words, written in desperation, were used against me as proof of who I was rather than who I had become. It was then that I realized: I could either continue sacrificing myself for the sake of a unit that only saw me as a moment frozen in time, or I could step back, step aside, and reclaim my own life.

The unraveling of conditioned beliefs—like the false weight of "Blood is thicker than water"—came during a time of global decline, rebellion, and revolution. And somewhere within that chaos, I began the slow journey back to myself.

Finding My Way Back to the Page

Reclaiming writing has been a quiet whisper in the back of my mind for years. It started with poetry, then love letters—first to past lovers, then to myself. Spells and affirmations followed, tiny rebellions against the silence I had been taught to keep. And finally, I found my way back to sharing out loud.

Writing has become essential to my healing, a tool to rebuild not just my sense of self, but also the connections I choose to foster. It is how I express anger, sadness, love—emotions that were once buried so deeply they only surfaced in fleeting moments. Now, they have space to breathe.

Falling in love with writing again has been eye-opening. Whether ink to paper, fingers to keys, or voice to audio, every format has revealed a different part of me. This is where I have refound my voice, where I have rediscovered a love I thought was lost. This is my expression, honoring me.

Where This Path Leads

Do I know what the future holds for my writing? No. But for the first time in a long time, I am eager to share it. I want to offer the pieces of my journey that helped me reclaim my voice. I want to speak on rediscovery, on finding identity outside of conditioning, outside of expectation. I want to give voice to the parts of me that were once silenced.

Because writing is no longer just about expression—it is about reclamation. And I am ready.