Lately, it feels like I’m trapped inside my own mind, walking through a house with too many locked doors. Every hallway echoes with the sounds of things I’ve tried to forget – old pain, old memories, old voices that still know exactly where to hit me. I thought I’d buried those years ago, sealed them behind layers of forgiveness and growth. But grief has a way of shaking the foundations, cracking the walls you thought were strong enough to hold. Suddenly, everything comes rushing back. The little girl who was scared. The teenager who never felt enough. The woman who learned how to smile even when her heart was breaking. They all live inside me, and lately, they’ve been loud.
I keep thinking about how easily the past can sneak into the present, how something as small as a quiet night or a harsh tone can pull me right back to a place I swore I’d left. The cage doesn’t have bars you can see; it’s made of guilt, self-blame, and the endless questions that loop through your head when you’re alone. “What if I had done this differently?” “What if I was just better?” “What if I deserve this pain?” I know those thoughts lie. I know healing means forgiving yourself, not just others. But knowing doesn’t stop the whisper. Sometimes I think I mistake comfort for punishment, that I don’t allow myself to rest because some part of me still believes I haven’t earned peace yet.
I see people who move through life with ease and I wonder what that feels like to not carry the weight of everything that’s ever gone wrong. To not analyze every emotion, every moment, every silence. I wish my mind could quiet long enough to let me breathe without overthinking it. But instead, I’m stuck in this constant battle between wanting to heal and fearing who I’ll be without the pain. The truth is, I’ve lived with it so long that it feels familiar, almost safe. There’s a strange comfort in the chaos you’ve always known. The cage feels awful, but it’s predictable.
Sometimes I ask myself if I’ve ever really known freedom. What does it mean to be free when your own thoughts can turn against you? When even moments of peace feel temporary, like you’re waiting for the next wave to crash? I don’t talk about it much, it’s hard to put into words without sounding broken. But I’m not broken. I’m just… human. And being human means carrying stories that don’t always have tidy endings.
There are nights I lie awake and replay the things I’ve forgiven others for, the things I’ve tried to forgive myself for. I think about how much energy it takes to keep rebuilding when the same storm keeps returning. Sometimes, I hate that part of me; the one that always finds a reason to try again. But maybe that’s also the part that’s kept me alive. Maybe that’s what survival really looks like, not triumph, not closure, but showing up even when the past won’t let go.
I’m learning that the cage doesn’t open with a single moment of clarity or a burst of bravery. It loosens slowly, one truth at a time. Some days, that truth is just admitting I’m still angry. Other days, it’s forgiving myself for the way I cope. Maybe freedom doesn’t mean leaving the cage completely, maybe it’s just learning how to sit inside it without losing who I am.
There’s still light here, even if it’s faint. And maybe, one day, that light will be enough to guide me out.
-Honest
Actually, I'm not fine... blog 