I sat.
Cross-legged. Spine long. Heart open.
And I whispered with great devotion:
“Dear Universe… I am ready to receive.”
Control isn’t born from arrogance. It’s born from helplessness.
Somewhere back there, chaos broke something in you. Maybe your childhood was unpredictable. Maybe love came with conditions. Maybe trust was shattered — and you weren’t given shelter.
So you built your own.
This shadow lives in perfectionism.
In over-giving.
In staying silent when you want to scream.
In apologizing for existing.
But silence
has its own music.
What’s not working:
I feel like I’m trying so hard and still going in circles.
There’s a sense that I’m doing everything I’m “supposed” to do… and yet nothing truly lands.
I don’t feel like I’m in my life—I feel like I’m managing it from the outside.
You’ve done all the inner work.
You understand your patterns.
But you’re still tired. Still anxious. Still stuck.
There is a kind of hurt that becomes furniture in the room.
You stop noticing it. But it shapes everything.
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