Nobody’s coming to rescue us. That realization hits hard, even when you thought you already knew it. If you grew up in chaos… if you learned to earn love by walking on eggshells… if you were the kid scanning every room before you even sat down… you know this feeling. You know what it’s like to sit somewhere beautiful and still feel unsafe. You know how heavy it is to carry your own belonging everywhere you go.

Let’s not pretend things are normal right now. Some absolutely unhinged shit has happened lately (both globally and personally, if we’re being real), and somehow we’re still expected to go to work, feed our kids, hit our deadlines, clean the bathroom, answer texts, and smile in the grocery store like our nervous systems aren't just dry-heaving under the weight of it all.

That’s messed up. And yet here we are.

I didn’t know I was allowed to feel safe. I grew up in survival mode. Not metaphorically. Not “wow, childhood was tough” in the vague, TikTok way. I mean real survival. Like hunger. Like being passed between homes. Like hearing adults say they didn’t want me. Like being called a burden. Like having my safety depend on how silent I could be.