You un-become the striver. That relentless engine in your chest that needed the promotion, the bigger house, the nod of approval from a father who is now gone—it finally sputters. And the silence is terrifying at first. You mistake it for depression. It’s not. It’s presence .
You un-become the mask. The polite laugh at the party. The “fine, thanks” when you are drowning. The stoic silence when the doctor uses the word chronic . The mask doesn’t fall off violently. It just... no longer fits your face.
Not staying because you are a hero. Staying because you have finally realized that this —this messy, aching, ordinary Tuesday morning with the slow coffee and the ache in your lower back—is the only heaven you were ever promised.
We are going to tell you to sit in the unraveling .
