reflection

The Lies I Tell Myself

I have begun to notice something uncomfortable about myself.

I lie to myself almost every day.

Not the large lies that deceive the world. Mine are quieter.

I tell myself I am too busy when something frightens me.
I call it patience when I am afraid to decide.
I call it acceptance when I have simply given up.
I say something does not matter when, somewhere inside, it hurts deeply.

And perhaps the cleverest lie of all is that I know myself.

The Grace of Being Nobody

There was a time I believed I was what I did.
A title on a door, a name on a card, a face in a crowd that someone might remember. I believed identity gave me direction — that it made me visible, even valuable. Every new role felt like a new skin, warm for a while, then suffocating as it tightened with expectations.

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