The Stillness was where everything changed. For the first time, when I looked back on my past, I wasn’t bound to pain. I wasn’t a victim anymore. I could revisit those moments—not as someone suffering through them, but as an observer.
I saw my past for what it was. The choices I had made. The false beliefs I had carried. The clouds that followed me, not because they had to, but because I kept them there.
Stillness gave me space to slow down. To step back from the chaos and see with clarity. It became the place where I could finally process the traumas that had shaped me—where I could untangle the unconscious behaviors and emotional instability that had kept me trapped.
In that quiet, I uncovered the lies I had told myself just to survive. Coping mechanisms disguised as truth. False realities I had clung to because I didn’t know any other way.
And then, I processed and I let them go.
This was when I first began embracing the philosophy that would shape the rest of my writing challenge. Understanding the layers of false identity. Breaking through confusion. Learning where the truth had been buried all along.
It was a reconciliation. A sorting of emotions. A clearing of the debris I never thought I’d be free from.
I had a mantra during this time: Calm. Quiet. Slow.
I repeated it to steady my mind when rogue thoughts clawed for my attention. I still use it today. It reminds me that while I am connected to everything, I also have the right to my own world, my own space, my own peace.
And most importantly, I have the right to live my days as I choose—not as my thoughts or emotions demand.