Can you start on the premise of a lie?

On lighting up, letting out, and the parts of you that are waiting to be whole.

Authors own diary entry

Do you lie down at night thinking about how morning would be different?

How you’d be different.

Like, start the day right.

And then the extra laze is just a little extra clingy.

Hard to let go of.

And then you watch yourself go.

And then you go: let’s dive in. We’ll start tomorrow.

I’m writing this to tell you how close I am to lighting up right now.

I really could.

No one stopping me. No one would even know.

And we would still work. I know how to make it work even when I’m danked up on dank.

But here’s the thing.

I would know.

No matter what I’d say to the world, or to myself.

I know I didn’t do what I said I would. Yet again.

I don’t necessarily want that to sit deep in my body or my mind.

But I don’t wish to brush it off either.

Because that swing dance of knowing, not knowing, pretending not to know.

That’s the heaviest thing I carry.

And I have learned, and I try to remember, that if you wish to fly, you gotta take yourself lightly.

I admit I wish to fly.

I will also admit I’m a tad bit lost about where to start.

The age old paradox.

So much to do, hence doing nothing.

So here’s what I’ll start with.

Something.

Writing like this feels nice.

And maybe this is a way of hiding yet again.

But something about this hiding tells me it’ll reveal aspects of me I’ve been wanting to let out.

I was busy numbing.

Something tells me I’m now in a position to make space for her.

Something about this concealing makes me want to heal first.

In this rush to conceal, when did we forget to heal?

Now don’t get me wrong.

Healing can feel heavy. Like, oh god, trauma, oof.

But it’s sneaky in real life.

It’s not only the big catastrophic moments that get you.

Somehow it seeps into the daily.

Into the ordinary Tuesday.

Into the morning you couldn’t get up.

A friend called me yesterday.

He’d read what I wrote. He said he liked it. Really liked it.

And honestly? That one call meant more than any number of likes ever could.

Because sometimes in your true expression, people get it.

Two heart strings going, ting. In sync.

But baby, don’t hold your breath for it.

That’s the byproduct.

The true work lies in the expression itself.

That’s the end in itself.

Expression. Depression.

Notice how close those words are.

When you’re depressing, you’re compressing. Suppressing.

The parts of you tied down in your body, needing an out.

The parts you slowly, quietly, sometimes unconsciously discarded.

Because you learned: too much, too sensitive, too cold, too silly, too whatever the fuck.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

The dark, wicked parts of you need an outlet too.

We’re so busy cutting them off.

Isolation. Secrecy. Shame.

But these shadow parts need integration, not elimination.

Carl Jung spent his life on this.

The idea that what you disown doesn’t disappear.

It just goes underground and runs you from there.

So I invite you in.

Integrate the parts of you that you disowned.

Because that hole? It’s what makes you whole.

And maybe, just maybe, we all need that untamed, unfiltered, slightly wicked side.

To feel alive.

To stop being too damn comfortable.

That’s where the real flying starts.

Talk soon, Love, Poojaa