I'm Not Losing Myself Again

I’ve written over a hundred emails to myself in the last couple of days.
Raw thoughts. Surging memories. Emotional waves rising so fast I can barely keep up.

And I haven’t uploaded most of them yet—not because they’re not worth sharing, but because there’s just so much.
But here’s the truth:

This site isn’t here to be tidy. It’s here to be true.

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This is my anchor.

A place I can return to when life starts pulling me away from myself again.
A place to track the emotional footprints I’ve left behind—so I don’t forget the road I’ve walked.
So I don’t lose myself again.

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I’m overwhelmed, yes.
But I’m also at peace in a way I’ve never been.
Because for the first time, I’m not filtering what I feel. I’m not suppressing it. I’m not apologising for it.

And ironically, allowing the peace has brought all the other feelings to the surface.
Not because I’m spiralling—
But because they finally feel safe enough to come out.

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I used to believe I was whining.
Ungrateful.
Too much.

But I know now—that voice wasn’t mine.
That voice was hers.
My mother’s shame, projected onto me.
Her inability to love herself became a curse she handed down, wrapped in guilt and silence.

And I’m done carrying it.

She won’t ever admit the truth.
She’ll twist it, deflect, mock, or play the victim.
But I don’t need her validation to know what I lived through.

And I don’t need her permission to stop living in that shadow.

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This site—this living archive—isn’t for her.
It’s not for approval.
It’s not for an audience.

It’s for me.

To protect what I’ve uncovered.
To remember what I’ve felt.
To honour the boy who had to survive silence.
And the man who’s learning how to thrive in truth.

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So no, I’m not losing myself again.
Not this time.
Not with all of this laid bare.

And if someone doesn’t understand it?
That’s okay.
They were never meant to.

This was always about coming home.

And I’m here now.