When I first decided to start this blog, I thought it was going to be empowering. I was excited. I thought I had something to say, something inspiring, something meaningful.
I had healed… right?
I deleted my old posts today. The ones I wrote when I thought I knew who I was. The ones full of culture and identity and funny little stories, pieces of me that felt true, but only on the surface.
The truth is… I don’t know who I am.
Not fully. Maybe not at all.
I was performing healing, not living it.
It felt good at first. Putting words to the hard stuff. Creating things that made people laugh. Sharing cultural jokes and survival stories that sounded like strength.
But under all of that?
There’s a version of me that’s still hurting. Still resentful. Still waiting for someone to say, “You didn’t deserve to carry all of that.”
And maybe that someone has to be me.
Because the honest truth is:
I didn’t get the village.
I didn’t get the supportive parents, the in-laws who step in, the breaks, the help.
I got pressure. I got silence. I got figure it out or fall apart.
So I did what I’ve always done: I survived. Then I tried to make that survival look shiny and whole. But healing isn’t linear. It’s not a checklist. I thought once I had the business going, once I started making things, once I looked healed, I would feel healed.
People always say “fake it till you make it,” and for a long time, I thought that’s what I was doing, pushing through, showing up, saying I was fine. I really believed I had healed. I had made progress, started a business, created beautiful things. But when I sat down to write this blog, to be real, not just productive, I realized I’m not healed at all. Not in the deep ways that matter. The truth is, I still carry a lot of hurt. Sometimes I’m resentful. Sometimes I’m sad. Sometimes I’m angry. Admitting that doesn’t mean I’ve failed. It means I’ve stopped pretending. Healing isn’t about having it all together, it’s about finally being honest with yourself. This blog is me choosing honesty, even when it’s hard.
I’m not writing this because I’ve figured it out.
I’m writing this because I haven’t.
Because something inside me said, “Be honest. Say the thing you’re scared to say.”
So here it is:
I feel lost.
I’m grieving the support I never had.
I’m angry at how much I had to carry.
I’m tired of pretending I’m fine.
I want to feel whole, not just useful.
I want this blog to be my way back to myself: slowly, painfully, beautifully.
If you’re here, maybe you feel it too.
Maybe you’re the strong one who’s finally breaking.
Maybe you’re the one who holds everything together but feels like she’s falling apart inside.
Maybe you’ve outgrown the story you’ve been telling and now you’re standing in the blank space of what’s next?
I don’t have answers. I won’t pretend to.
But I do know this: I’m done performing healing.
I’m ready to actually live it.
Welcome to the beginning.
This isn’t the blog I planned.
But it’s the one I need.
And maybe it’s the one you need too.
We can figure it out together.
-With Love
CAS