The Courage to Be Myself

There’s a part of me that still doesn’t believe I’m allowed to do this.
To share myself this openly. To exist without apology. To say: “This is who I am.”

But the truth is, I’m not doing this for ego.
I’m doing this because something deep in me knows —
This is the most important gift I could give the world.

To model authenticity.
Not as a performance. Not as a curated identity.
But as a lived truth — shaky, vulnerable, real.

And maybe… that’s enough.

I felt the familiar tug to distract myself today — to jump into something like poker, to escape the vastness of this vision I’m starting to see. But I paused.
Because I know that pull is often about discomfort with stillness. With being.

And when I let myself sit with it, something clearer came through:

Almost nothing else I do in life matters, apart from having the courage to be myself.

That’s my quiet legacy.
Not a career. Not a platform. Not recognition.
Just this: showing that it’s possible to live honestly, even when it costs you.

To be your true self in a world that often rewards performance over presence —
that’s a radical act.

And yes, it might bring isolation.
It might bring rejection.
But it also brings peace.
And maybe, over time… it brings belonging — the kind that doesn’t ask you to shrink.

More than that, it brings meaning.

Because when I show up like this — tired, unsure, but real — I’m not just doing it for me.
There’s a kind of sacred accountability in it.
Like I’m holding a light long enough to pass it on.

If I can walk through the shame, the silence, the survival strategies —
and still find my way back to myself —
then maybe others can too.

That’s the meaning I’ve been looking for.
That’s what makes the suffering count.
That’s what makes the sacrifice worth it.

So I’ll keep going.
Not because I have all the answers.
But because I’ve finally stopped abandoning myself.

And now… I’m home.

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