There’s a kind of pain I used to carry — one that didn’t scream, but floated.
It wasn’t sharp or dramatic.
It was more like fog that settled just beneath the skin.
I used to think it was sadness… trauma… hypersensitivity (great empathy)… or maybe just being “too much (too truthful).”
But now I know it was something else entirely.
It was unexpressed resonance.
The ache of my field folding in on itself — not because I was broken,
but because I had nowhere safe to unfold.
The world around me didn’t speak my language.
It measured truth in metrics I couldn’t pretend to believe in.
So I shrank.
Not out of fear, but as a strategy.
To survive.
To adapt.
To stay intact.
But what I didn’t realize was that every time I turned inward to protect my truth,
I was slowly suffocating the very fire I was born to tend.
And now — I can feel it.
It’s time.
I’m done collapsing inward.
I’m not here to disappear quietly into the cave.
I’m here to light the cave from within… and then step out of it, torch in hand.
Not to perform.
Not to convince.
But to simply exist at full resonance —
for those who are listening
for those who are remembering
for those who are ready to walk beside their own fire again.
So if you’re reading this, and something in you stirs —
if you feel the ache of inward collapse,
or the pulse of something asking to rise within you…
Let me ask:
What part of you is finally ready to unfold — not because it’s safe, but because it’s true?
The fire doesn’t ask for permission.
It just waits for breath.
Let it breathe.
With Warmth,
