reclaimyourself

Have you ever, in a sudden, fleeting moment—without warning—been overwhelmed by a wave of sadness, anxiety, and disorientation? You start comparing yourself to everyone around you, questioning your worth, your future, your very existence. You feel the urge to disappear, to abandon it all—cut ties, erase the past, and start over from scratch.

I’ve felt that way more times than I can count. And truth be told, I have started over—again and again. But the more I tried to run, the more lost I became. Because I wasn’t running from problems, responsibilities, or even people. I was running from myself.

That realization hits you like a slap across the face, a punch to the gut, a bitter taste that lingers long after the moment has passed. Because the truth is, nothing changes until you confront the only person standing in your way: you.

From the very beginning, I carried a victim mindset—blaming life, circumstances, and people around me for everything that felt wrong. I waited. Waited for a savior. For a sign. For a miraculous shift that would transform my reality into the dream life I imagined.

But all I did was imagine. I lived in the fantasy, never daring to make it real. Because deep down, I was paralyzed. Paralyzed by the fear that I was my own enemy. That the real battle was inside me. And that one day, inevitably, I would have to look in the mirror and face the version of myself I kept avoiding.

It took years. Years of false starts, failed attempts, heartbreaks, and broken cycles.

But eventually, the truth hit me—like craving chocolate all day only to bite in and discover a sour fermented filling.

It was the day I felt abandoned by everyone I had loved, supported, prioritized—hoping that one of them might finally show up for me. But no one did. And in that moment of emptiness, I heard the voice in my head whisper:

"Girl, no one is coming to save you."

And oddly, that was the moment I felt free.

I decided to become selfish—not in a narcissistic, self-absorbed way, but in the most loving, necessary way possible.

I chose me.

To love myself first.

To save myself.

To spoil myself.

To take care of myself—before anyone else.

I told myself:

“Enough of the victim mindset. The life you want exists beyond every excuse you've built to stay small. So rise. Become your own Wonder Woman. Your own Captain Marvel. The planet you need to save… is YOU.”

You still have battles to fight. Dreams to build. A galaxy of possibility waiting to be explored.

So stop shrinking.

Stop waiting.

Start becoming.

#Anxiety #MentalHealth #MentalHealth #Adulthood #healingjourney #innerchildhealing #reclaimyourself #Trauma

She was an energetic, dreamy girl who loved crafts, art, colors, and imagination. She used to be unique in every way — especially in her own style. She loved experimenting with different hairstyles and wore whatever made her feel radiant and comfortable. And yes, she wore a lot of pink.

But one day, after many long, dark, wintery nights (and by that, I mean heartbreak, bullying, and silent suffering), she lost her voice — in a world dominated by control, silence, and male power. She lost her spark at a very young age. One morning, she woke up and threw everything away. All the colors in her closet faded into different shades of black.

She wanted to become invisible. And from that moment on, she hated pink.

Pink became the symbol of everything she felt was wrong in the world she lived in:

“Be more feminine.”

“Be more girly.”

“Obey.”

“Don’t speak loudly.”

“Don’t sit like that.”

“Don’t wear that.”

“Don’t dream too big.”

“Learn how to cook if you want a husband.”

“Learn how to clean, or you’ll end up alone.”

“Be this.”

“Do that.”

She internalized it all — and shaped it in her mind as the color pink.

And over the years, that hate settled. Her closet became all black.

But one day, at the age of 30, she woke up and craved something pink.

And that meant she was healing.

She realized she never truly hated pink. She hated what pink had come to represent. The color was innocent. The meaning attached to it wasn’t.

She was healing. And she bought her first pink shirt at 30.

What I’ve learned is this:

People can change. Our ideals can shift — if we’re brave enough to dig deep and explore the roots of our pain, our rage, and the symbols we’ve attached to them.

That girl has healed. That girl is healing.

That girl… is me.

And healing is a beautiful journey — no matter how hard it is to get there.

Because in the end, hating pink was never about the color.

It was a metaphor — a placeholder for the pain, the conditioning, the trauma I carried for years. A defense I built so strongly that I believed it was part of my identity. But it wasn’t me — it was a trauma response, not my truth.

If I can wear pink again,

you can heal too.#healingjourney #innerchildhealing #reclaimyourself #fromtraumatotruth #Breakthecycle #MentalHealth