I Was Never Meant to Stay Still

July 21, 2025 · 2 min read

When peace feels like punishment after a lifetime of chaos.

This past week, I let my memory carry me. I followed it, obedient and breathless, as I laid my past bare on screen. Was I able to do this for the first time? Yes. Did I make it through? Also yes.

But the waves still come. A sudden sting behind my eyes. A heaviness in my chest that won’t go down.

I have moved over 35 times in 45 years. And as someone deeply empathic… as someone just now learning to honor her sensitivity… let me say it plainly:

That is a violence my nervous system has never fully recovered from. And I’m not sure it ever will.

Do I even want it to?

And I’ll keep saying this: I had my mom. But I did not have my mom. She did what she could. But she had no clue how to care for me emotionally. It was her… against my soft, brilliant, desperate little girl brain.

The Wine

She was over at my house tonight. I almost lost my patience by minute nine. But then we drank wine. Something I partake in on the rarest of occasions. And after an hour, I got my relief. And I didn’t want it to go away. That’s the part I have control over now. But it still scares me. How freeing it feels.

Because that same little girl still lives in me. Still begging for acceptance. Still hungry for belonging. Still chasing thrill like it’s salvation.

Is It Any Wonder?

I am a good little girl who craves movement. Who needs spark. Who worships the sacred tension of depth, power, curiosity. So yeah… this week made me look hard at my reality.

I don’t know stability. I don’t know consistency. So is it any wonder I crave chaos? Is it any wonder the calm feels torturous? Is it any wonder that peace feels like punishment?

Can I heal enough to love the quiet? To let it hold me — without suffocating me? Do I even want to?

Do I want to embrace the girl who has lived? Not just the one who is healing? The one who says yes to the unknown. The one who swallows risk like gospel. The one who channels divinity through her rebellion.

Who Is She?

What’s next for me? Who is she… this woman I’m becoming? Because I promise you — I am not who you think I am. Am I ready to embrace the freak in me? The sacred storm? The feral prophet?

What does she say when she’s not speaking in tongues? What does she sound like when she stops editing herself? Who does she become when she stops playing brave… and starts living it?

Some of us weren’t raised to sit still. We were raised to run.

A few things I want to be transparent about

I used to abuse alcohol. Not for the taste, but for the relief. The pause it gave me. The softness it faked. I’ve spent the last five years learning how to hold myself through the hard moments without it. Now, my use is occasional, but I still feel the shift. It lowers my vibration. And I love living high.

Also, when I say I’m learning to sit with the silence, know that I’ve been deep in it for years. I ran from chaos five years ago and built a quiet life that turned into isolation. I hermited. Hard. And now, I’m clawing my way back to connection. To expression. To remembering how to let people witness me again.

So when I talk about finding peace in the stillness… it’s not a metaphor. It’s my daily work.

This is what the climb looks like from the inside.

And I promise, I’m still on the way up.