When My Soul Went Live

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It’s an odd feeling — talking about masturbation, or sharing things I used to feel deep shame around — and not feeling shame flood my system like it used to.
Even writing that out feels like something I couldn’t have done before.
But somehow, on this website — a place I built with the intention of being authentic — it feels more inauthentic not to share these parts.

Not because I owe them to anyone. But because they’re real.

And that’s what this space has become.
Not a platform. Not a project.
But a kind of quiet digital sanctuary.
A place where parts of my soul can exist outside of me —
even if no one ever reads them.

There’s something healing in that.
Something about having control over what I share, and yet still choosing honesty.
Something about not needing it to benefit others to justify it.
Maybe that’s the experiment:
Can I let something feel good and meaningful, even if no one claps for it?

I’ve spent most of my life hiding parts of myself.
The parts that longed.
The parts that hurt.
The parts that felt weird or unlovable or simply too much.

But now… I’m starting to accept them. Maybe not all at once. But I’m leaning in.

There’s a thought I had recently:

Am I weird for sharing this on the internet, or is someone stranger for judging it?

And I don’t ask that with bitterness — I ask it with clarity.
Because I’m done shrinking to fit into someone else’s comfort zone.

This website may not have an audience yet.
But it’s live.
And that means… part of my soul is live too.

It feels right. It feels good. And I don’t need to explain why.
I’m letting myself lean into what feels healing — without performance.