Tag: writing

  • PMS Goblins – Or Are They Actually Messengers?

    What if PMS wasn’t a pack of unhinged basement goblins we’re supposed to chain up, hide from society, and pretend we don’t have?

    What if our symptoms were just… messengers?

    Loud, dramatic messengers, sure, but still pointing at everything we’ve been bottling up. That month. That year. Our whole damn life.

    What if our period is basically a monthly diagnostic scan? Not to torment us, but to highlight the unresolved: the wounds, the resentment, the grief, the tiny swallowed feelings we said we’d “deal with later.”

    Just like modern medicine, we slap bandaids on symptoms and avoid the root. PMS works the same way.

    If the same themes show up month after month (no matter how healed or self-aware we think we are) then maybe they’re not random. Maybe they’re the exact chapters we’re supposed to work on.

    I only realized this now. So I’m mapping out my emotional “PMS report” this cycle and actually working with it. Who knows, maybe my PMS goblin will turn into a gentle glittery fairy. Maybe that’s what she wanted all along: care, attention, appreciation. Not blame. Not shame. So yes, I’m apologizing to my sweet, chaotic red gremlin for all the times she tried her best to show what I had been bottling up to me only go get ignored. 

    Maybe we should all treat our period like a monthly staff meeting. HR barges in with her clipboard:

    “Heart, your boundaries need an upgrade. Inner Child, sweetheart, this is not a daycare, someone please hold this kid. We’ve contacted IT six times about the Abandonment Issues bug. They swear they’re working on it, but the system keeps crashing. Self-Worth, Self-Love, Self-Care: excellent performance this month, keep it up. Past Mistakes… stop showing up uninvited. We’re not rehiring.”

    Honestly? Start journaling every emotion PMS HR lady brings up. Then revisit it through the month. Work on it. Integrate it.

    Is it work? Yes. Are we getting paid for it? Not in money. But in nervous system stability, emotional resilience, and the ability to build healthy love someday? Absolutely.

    I’m not just working on myself for me. I am, for the family I might have. Because I know what emotional neglect looks like: how it shapes kids who grow into adults who flinch at touch, cry into pillows, isolate instead of ask for help, and treat vulnerability like a threat. I know what it’s like to be raised by parents whose nervous systems simply couldn’t hold mine. I know firsthand how the way our emotions were handled when we were young can make building a healthy relationship feel impossible: even when the love is real, the fear keeps showing up. How when we never observe healthy nervous system regulation, it takes us ages to learn it for ourselves. I know all about the urges to run away, disappear without saying a word and come back when I feel better. I know what it’s like to be misunderstood. I do not want my future kids to go through what I have. 

    Someone once asked me what my biggest aspiration in life was. I don’t remember what I said, but it’s always been this: to break the pattern. To be a good mother and a good partner. To raise emotionally aware kids who never have to feel as alone as I did.

    That’s my real ambition. Not the materialistic financial side of the story. That’s why I ended up on this path. Apparently I did choose this journey myself, just… it looks nothing like I thought it would, hence why I think I hadn’t signed up for this at all. Turns out, I have.

    If I’m meant to have a family one day, I want to meet them as the integrated, steady version of me. Not the girl who never had anyone to hold her when she needed it.

    And on the days when it all gets brutally hard -courtesy of an awakened life force doing whatever the hell it wants- it helps to remember what the point was all along.

  • Mission: Inner Peace (Now With Extra Sass)

    Nothing whispers “mission accomplished” softer than uniting with your own energy after years of chasing nervous system regulation like it was a limited-edition NFT. Yeah. I said it. Me, myself, and my vibe: finally in alignment. Chill, calm, and absolutely unwilling to outsource my peace ever again.

    And then there’s my creative spark. Oh, the elusive little rascal. Vanished years ago like it was dodging taxes, only to waltz back in a few nights ago with, “Hi, remember me? Let’s doodle.” Not AI-generated, thank you very much. AI could try, but it doesn’t have my brain’s level of chaotic brilliance. My head is basically a Pinterest board for symbolic dreams, very specific snack cravings, mixing things I love (the Aare, fondue and the animals at Dählhölzli) into an artwork. Think an alternate universe Bern where the Aare is flowing fondue, the herbivorous zoo animals have turned into cheese eaters, and they’re having a “fondueschwumm” meanwhile the carnivorous ones are BBQing at Eichholz. Don’t worry they bought the meats from supermarkets, no zoo animals were harmed making these illustrations. Yay my child level absurd creativity is back. 

    So there I am, cozy-ass apartment, candles flickering like tiny, passive-aggressive cheerleaders, fake sunlight doing its best impression of a tropical vacation, playful music playing like it has insider knowledge of my mood swings. I’m drawing. Then I’m sawing wood. Sanding it. Smelling the nostalgia of sawdust from childhood… it’s literally the adult version of playing with Lego, but with a hint of meditative stillness. Maybe I inherited some of my dad’s craftsmanship genes, maybe I’m just happy to have something that doesn’t require Wi-Fi.

    Oh, and yes, I’m on a social-media hiatus. Hermit mode: activated. I posted my illustrations in my stories, called my mom (hi, mom!), that’s it. No notifications. No external stimulation. Just me, my thoughts, and the occasional existential chuckle.

    Because sometimes, hermit mode isn’t “antisocial,” it’s the height of self-love. It’s a soft rebellion against chaos: “I’m too peaceful to scroll. I will eat the Rösti and let my tastebuds dance. I will sip my tea. I will spend time with my plants.”

    In the quietest, softest way, life throws random surges of happiness at me as well. Love. Gratitude. Little nudges that feel like someone sprinkled edible glitter on my aura. It feels… yummy. Like, I-can’t-believe-this-is-real-but-it-is yummy.

    And the icing on the cake? My inner runner and inner chaser finally RSVPed “yes” to the self-love party. No drama, no chasing, no fleeing. The party has one strict dress code: heart-centered vibes only. And the DJ? Yours truly, spinning only tracks approved by my nervous system.

    So here I am. Peaceful, calm, armed with my art, my sawdust, my emergency fondue and chocolate stashes, and a renewed appreciation for the absurdity of being human. No Bern. No cosmic outsourcing. Just me. My vibes. My energy.

    And truly? I’ve entered my “I lived, I healed, and I’m kinda hot about it” era. I’m living proof you can survive full‑body ego extractions, spiritual plot twists that make telenovelas look subtle, dark nights, emotional detoxes, cosmic curveballs, karmic escape rooms, entanglements so confusing they deserved subtitles, identity deaths, resurrection arcs, and whatever the hell you call “healing while inhaling sawdust.”

    And somehow? I came out of it with good skin, working chakras, and a nervous system that no longer files HR complaints about my lifestyle.

    So no, I wasn’t supposed to be a monk. Or the next Buddha!? I’m still me, just healed and regulated. Plus balanced, finally. I’ve been craving balance more than some Libras I know. 

    But here’s the humbling part: I’m fully aware life might drag me into another dark night if there’s more junk to peel off. And that’s fine (optionally I can really live without one.) But right now? I’m enjoying the absolute hell out of this peace.

    Because me (and the pillows that have absorbed several liters of my emotional hydration), we earned this era.

    And I’m unapologetically YAYing to that.

  • The Burn-Out

    I couldn’t help but wonder… How many cities are actually designed to destroy us… and why do they never send a follow‑up apology email? I feel happy for my girl friends who found home in Milano, and how this city that’s my training ground and zen-testing, is somehow their happy place. 

    Some places drain you without remorse. The noise, the density, the emotional smog in the air; suddenly your body is clenching every muscle like you’re preparing for impact and didn’t get the memo.

    And then one day… Your upstairs neighbors decide they’re headlining an Italian R&B World Tour. Your other neighbors are reenacting Parliament: The Musical. Your coworkers are collectively stress-breathing like a broken espresso machine.

    And you catch yourself thinking, “can noise kill you or just spiritually assassinate you?”

    Turns out: neither, but it can make you question all your life choices and consider becoming a hermit in the Alps for a couple of weeks.

    So naturally, your brain does what any responsible adult brain does: It dissociates. You escape to the reality you want in your dream: You’re wandering through a cheese expo, sampling Swiss cheese like you’re the Queen of Lactose. Life is good. Your cortisol is on vacation.

    Honestly? I crave cheese the way some people crave stability. My dream house? Made entirely of different types of cheese so I can nibble on the walls when I’m stressed.

    And when winter hits…? Throw me into a lake of fondue. Let me backstroke through melted Gruyère like a happy little raccoon. 

    But reality hits like a cold shower: Your neighbors are still loud. Your job is still loud. The planet is still loud. Where am I gonna go? Live on a star? Although that was a childhood dream of mine, even my inner child got educated on science, biology, and space. 

    So you retaliate with the maturity of a seasoned adult: You BLAST your own music out of spite. You slam on your Beats like you’re performing a noise exorcism. You decide that inner peace means “no outside noise. Just me, my playlist, and maybe God if He’s quiet.”

    Meanwhile, your little sneaker who wants to sprint to Switzerland on the next train, is packing her tiny emotional suitcase like, “Enough. Let’s go where the frequencies are civilized. And calm.” 

    But no. Not this time. Because this era is called “You’re Not Outsourcing Your Emotional Stability and Your Zen-Mode to Switzerland.”

    No Bernsie. No Aare river emotional support field trip. No letting Switzerland do 70% of the energetic heavy lifting while you pretend it’s your breathing exercises.

    This season? Is radical sovereignty. It’s me choosing to be zen here, not just in a country that feels like a healing crystal (not everywhere, just in some places, for me.) 

    So it’s me. My cozy-ass home. My emergency fondue stash (obviously). My music. My energy. Me, regulating myself like a tiny enlightened bouncer at the door of my own nervous system.

    And somehow… It’s working. Just not every single day. But guess who catches me when I burn-out? Me. 

  • Snacks

    I remember going to a supermarket with an ex, buying snacks, and doing what any sane human being would do, wanting to have a snack on the way back. I opened it, and he looked at me like I had just committed a crime. “Can’t you just wait until we’re back?” he said, in full snack-police mode. That killed the vibe. The mood. The entire snack timeline.

    Then later, with another guy, after I’d retired from mid-commute snacking due to previous trauma, he surprised me. He bought snacks for the way back. My inner child practically jumped up and down in joy inside my heart. “Finally, someone who gets it!”

    When I was little, around five, I convinced my parents to let me go to the supermarket alone because apparently I was already a fiercely independent grocery enthusiast. I bought myself a snack, sat at the park, and ate it before going home. Meanwhile, my parents were in full panic mode, convinced I’d been kidnapped. When they found me, just chilling, I said, “I got myself a snack for the way back.” They were speechless. I was snack-satisfied.

    I think that’s the thing about connection. The more someone brings out your inner child, the happier you are. Science even says we’re more likely to fall in love with people who remind us of our childhood. I lived that. He had my favorite childhood tea at his place, completely by coincidence. Then, as we hung out more, I kept rediscovering snacks from my childhood in a totally different country. Coincidence? Maybe. Magic? Absolutely. Drinking milk with milk chocolate? Love it. Late night candy? Yes please. My inner child was thriving. She finally felt safe. Seen. Snack-approved.

    Since I was a kid, I always wanted someone in my life I could bring shells to. He was that. I’d spend hours at the beach finding the most perfect ones to bring back. He’d put them around his apartment, and that, even if it sounds small, was a dream come true. He was the guy who made so many of my childhood and adult dreams come true. Not all, but most.

    It didn’t last, of course, but that’s beside the point. If there’s anything I miss from that connection, is how my inner child felt around him. Safe, happy and healed. 

    Now, I surround myself with people who bring that version of me out. The one who laughs with her whole heart. The one who gets overexcited about gummy bears. The one who loves animals, and shares food without being asked. When my inner child comes online instead of hiding in her room, I know I’m around the right people. It is not the same, but it doesn’t have to be.

    So yeah, snacks and candy, apparently, are my love language. If you ever want to win my heart? Don’t wait till we’re home. Just open the damn bag.

  • The Art of Being Grounded

    Today, I accidentally grounded myself. Not in a “spiritual practice” kind of way, more in a “bureaucracy dragged me to Switzerland and I ended up on a random walk by the Rhône” kind of way.

    Normally, I’d call that walk “too flat, too boring.” I’m a mountain girl. I crave altitude, challenge, sweat, existential breakthroughs at 2,000 meters. But my body, still in recovery, had other plans. Apparently, she wanted flat. Gentle. Ordinary and yet with hidden beauty everywhere.

    And somehow… it was perfect.

    I passed quiet valley towns, waved at black nose sheep, spotted horses, crows, a shy eurasian jay, the all black crows I love so much, cure sparrows… Basically, a Disney line-up for introverts. The sun hid behind the mountains, the air bit just enough to remind me it’s November. I photographed the first frost of the season like it was a celebrity sighting. 

    And for once since my August Bern trip which I spent 9 days in a constant state of bliss thanks to the Aare; I wasn’t thinking again. Not about what’s next. Not about the past. Not about anything, just the occasional Swiss German grammar questions I came up with. And my new favorite song, Grüens Liecht playing in my mind on repeat. My mind was… empty. And it felt peaceful. Blissful. 

    Afterward, I did what any enlightened woman would do: blew too much money at Migros and Coop. My fridge always looks like a Swiss grocery aisle – chocolate, cheese, butter, salad dressing, zopf… I even bring pasta back to Italy. If Italians find out, it won’t be good for me. In my defense I buy it for the shape. They don’t have “hörnli” and I love that shape of pasta because it reminds me of my childhood. My taste buds definitely don’t care about geography. They like what they like. 

    Then, like the universe wanted to wink at me, I stumbled into Fasnachtseröffnung. The costumes, the brass, the wild joy of it all. I’d been thinking about 11.11 11:11 for a week, and suddenly there it was, three days early. Unexpected, and definitely brought a smile.

    My old self would’ve hopped on the next train to Bern, chasing the gravitational pull I always feel towards that city, my personal north star. But instead, I stayed grounded. I stayed here. And maybe that’s growth: realizing you don’t need to orbit the brightest star in your universe to feel illuminated.

    Today reminded me when you’re whole, when you’re present, the coordinates don’t matter. Peace travels with you. 

  • The Cloud

    I like to imagine the subconscious as an infinite cloud floating somewhere above us. Not grey and stormy, but pastel pink, soft blue, brushed with new leafy greens, flashes of purple and bright pink, orange glimmers, dusted in gold all drifting across a deep purple infinity that stretches forever. The cloud feels light, ethereal, alive. Like thought itself breathing in color. Stars flickering through it like neurons firing in slow motion. And inside that infinite shimmer, we’re all connected.

    It’s somewhere between a nebula and lucid dreaming. Weightless, infinite, but alive. 

    Loved ones. Strangers. Ancestors. Everyone who’s ever lived, and everyone who hasn’t yet in linear time. All just vibing in the same frequency field.

    Maybe that’s why love feels like the strongest force we know. Because love is the WiFi password. It opens the door. It lifts us to that cloud, where we remember what we had forgotten. 

    Maybe that’s how we visit each other in dreams. How the ones who’ve left can still find us. How we meet the pure version of ourselves before the the matrix conditioned us which shaped our egos.

    Somewhere in that cloud lives what spiritual folk call our “higher self.” The one untouched by fear. The one who doesn’t flinch, perform, mask, or shrink. The one who remembers who we were before the world told us otherwise.

    Every time we quiet the noise: the scroll, the hustle, the “shoulds,” we connect to that cloud, our subconscious. The static clears and the signal strengthens. And we start aligning with who we’ve been all along.

    Maybe that’s the real purpose of all this. Not chasing meaning, but remembering it. Not escaping the world, but syncing with the part of us that never left the cloud.

    Maybe, just maybe, that’s been the entire point of existence the whole time. Remembrance. 

  • To the Source (And Back Again)

    In Matrix Revolutions, Neo had to go to the Source. By that point, he’d chosen love over fear, stepped outside yet another system of control (hi, Zion), followed the pull of his dreams, and just knew. Even if it meant he might never return.

    But what if the Source was never out there in some glowing, code-filled mainframe? Or an eternal library filled with countless books (that’s what I used to imagine it as.) What if it’s been inside us the whole time, sitting quietly in our subconscious, waiting for us to listen?

    The more I think about it, the more I wonder if “going to the Source” was always a metaphor for diving inward.

    What if every time we meditate, dream, or follow a gut nudge, we’re not channeling something external, we’re simply unlocking deeper layers of ourselves?

    We underestimate the subconscious. It’s an infinite hard drive we barely access. Sometimes I think it already understands everything (every language, even the ones animals speak), it’s just our conscious mind that hasn’t caught up yet.

    Because here’s the thing, neuroscience already told us this. Ninety-five percent of what we think, feel, and decide happens below conscious awareness. We’re not driving the car; we’re the passenger who thinks they’re steering while the GPS (subconscious) just lets us believe it.

    Maybe the downloads we receive aren’t cosmic emails from some divine cloud storage. Maybe they’re reflections: things we’ve seen, heard, or sensed without realizing, all reorganized into clarity. Maybe the “guidance” is just us remembering what we already know. What our ancestors knew. What our predecessors had discovered. And all the evolutionary knowledge has been stored in our DNA and maybe that’s how we’ve been progressing. 

    Because meditation, breathwork, cold plunges: they don’t open some mystical portal; they just quiet the narrator. That loud ego voice that thinks it knows everything. Once that shuts up, the subconscious finally gets to speak. And suddenly, you hear it. You feel it. You know things you can’t explain.

    There’s even a network in our brains: the Default Mode Network, that lights up when we stop trying. When we’re spacing out, shower-thinking, walking by a river. That’s where the revelations drop. That’s where intuition hits us like lightning out of nowhere, except it’s not “out of nowhere.” It’s been you, whispering to you, the whole damn time.

    And here’s the wildest part, science also says our nervous systems literally sync with other people’s. Heartbeats, breathing, micro-expressions. we’re basically walking WiFi routers of energy. Mirror neurons, baby. You feel someone’s vibe before they even talk because your bodies already started the conversation.

    So maybe “oneness” isn’t woo-woo. Maybe it’s just biology we haven’t caught up with yet.

    So no, Neo didn’t go anywhere. He went in. He went in and surrendered. 

    And that’s the move, isn’t it? Not to escape the Matrix, but to unplug from the noise long enough to remember what’s already running inside you. That the Source isn’t a destination. It’s an integration.

    The moment you stop outsourcing wisdom to the sky and realize…

    We’ve been the Source all along.

  • Matrix

    They say we were born into a system of control. That we live inside a simulation. That somewhere out there, someone, or something, is pulling the strings.

    But what if there’s no “out there”? What if we did it?

    Once upon a time, we were just wild things under starlight, sleeping by rivers, trusting instinct more than reason. Then we started to gather, and to gather we needed rules. And rules needed rulers. And rulers needed followers. And before we knew it, the code was written.

    Civilization began as a survival hack, a way to make sure our fires stayed lit and our bellies stayed full. But like every invention, it turned around and started inventing us. Agriculture created hierarchy. Writing created bureaucracy. Religion created moral control. Money created worth systems. And the internet? It created an economy out of attention.

    We wanted safety. We wanted love. We wanted belonging. And to get them, we started building walls: around our cities, around our hearts, around our very sense of self.

    Fast-forward a few millennia, and now we scroll through our own architecture: screens, systems, currencies, careers. All the digital temples built to worship the illusion of control. We call it progress. But it’s just the next version of the same software.

    And here’s the cosmic joke: even those of us who say we’re “waking up” are still playing by the same rules, only now it’s spiritual capitalism, emotional branding, and ego dressed in enlightenment. The Matrix 2.0: the Conscious Edition. 

    But maybe awakening isn’t about unplugging. Maybe it’s about remembering who built the system, and realizing the code still answers to you. Because awareness changes everything. When you see it, you can shape it. When you own it, you’re no longer owned.

    Maybe the goal isn’t to escape the Matrix at all. Maybe it’s to become conscious within it, to use the system without being used by it. To love without losing ourselves. To earn without being owned. To play the game, but never forget we’re the ones holding the controller.

    Maybe we’re not meant to burn the Matrix down. Maybe we’re meant to turn its architecture into art: to live as the glitch that reminds the world it’s dreaming.

  • Ice Walls

    My relationship with the cold began after I was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually destroyed. I couldn’t even stand the heat, my chest would tighten, my breath would catch, and the sun felt like an interrogation lamp I never agreed to sit under. I hated the sun because it was warm and bright and cheerful, three things I was not. I even avoided the sea, the same sea I grew up with, because water was too emotional. Too much flow. I needed the mountains instead. The heights, the rigidity, the stillness, the cold air, the quiet blanket of snow. 

    I became cold-resistant out of sheer survival. I learned to control my muscles, to reverse the involuntary flexing that comes with feeling cold. When you relax your muscles in the cold, you stop feeling it. Wild, I know. That little trick trained me to control my emotions too, especially the negative ones. I built walls. My heart became an ice fortress. Elsa would’ve been impressed. 

    Then he came along. (There’s always a he, isn’t there?) I remember the exact night my walls melted in front of him. With him, I started enjoying the sun again. I found peace near water again, like I used to. I remember floating, laughing, breathing. I was healing. I even lost my cold resistance, which at the time I blamed on his overheated apartment; meanwhile, mine was hanging out somewhere between 13 to 16 degrees like a polite fridge. Now I know it wasn’t his radiator. It was my nervous system feeling safe. Warm. Nurtured. 

    It didn’t last, of course. I’m cold-resistant again. But this time, I don’t hate the warmth. I can enjoy both the sun and the snow, the flow and the stillness. My apartment’s still cold, but I’ve got blankets. Layers. Tea. Balance. Orange and blue. The Moon and the Sun. The Feminine and the Masculine. Shadow and Light. Harmony.

    My walls are still down, but don’t get me wrong, the boundaries are very much installed. I learned them the hard way. I broke every rule I had for a person, stretched my limits into a yoga pose that didn’t exist. And that taught me everything I needed to know about myself. 

    So even if my ego still throws shade at him and says, “no forgiveness, not today,” my soul knows better. It sees the whole thing as growth. As healing. As my love finding its way back to me, even if it took the scenic route through chaos. 

    Someone once told me I needed to get hurt to learn. At the time, I thought, “that’s a terrible teaching method.” But they were right. Pain really is the ultimate life coach. And the sooner we accept that, the sooner we get to ride the waves of life instead of fighting them.

    Some waves crash you down, some you ride like a pro, but either way, the ocean always teaches you something. That’s probably why I want to surf so badly. My emotional body has been riding waves its whole life; it’s only fair my physical body gets to join the party, so I can master the act of Surrender in real time. 

    So maybe, just maybe, the point isn’t to stay warm or cold. Maybe it’s to live in that perfect middle ground; balance, harmony, integration. Learning to dance between shadow and light, and realizing you’re both the wave and the one riding it. 

  • Home

    I realized my hair grows twice as fast when I’m at home with my family. This isn’t some woo-woo cosmic hair growth secret, it’s just biology with a sprinkle of emotional stability. My nervous system finally goes, “ah, we can chill now,” and apparently, my hair takes that as a green light to thrive.

    We seriously underestimate how much energy it takes just to feel safe. Especially for women. If you’re living alone in a country that never quite feels like “home,” chances are your nervous system is doing overtime trying to keep you grounded. It’s like having an overworked security guard inside your body who never gets to clock out.

    So, I’ve been finding ways to tell that guard, “hey, you can take a break now.” My personal favorite? Ashwagandha. My nervous system loves that stuff. I swear the first time I took it, my brain sighed in relief like, “finally, she’s doing something right.” I’ve been off it for a while, and wow, the difference is noticeable. We’re getting back on that wagon, stat.

    Then there’s my apartment. My safe zone. My cozy fortress. Blankets are my emotional support system. I wrap myself in them like a sentient burrito. I love warm, dim lighting, the kind that says “you’re safe here” and not “interrogation room.” Candles, plants, essential oils, my holy trinity of comfort. Pine, cinnamon, lemon zest, rosemary. Basically, I’m trying to recreate my childhood olfactory memories. And yes, I still have my plushies. My inner child deserves companionship too. 

    When I can, I escape to nature. Sometimes it’s just sitting in the park after rain, smelling the earth and sharing walnuts with the local crows like a low-budget Disney princess. Sometimes it’s the mountains, sometimes the sea, because I grew up by the water, and apparently my soul still thinks I’m a seal with wi-fi. I go to the pool occasionally, not only to swim, but to play in water like a manta-ray, whale and a seal, and to sit at the bottom holding my breath like an aquatic philosopher. Chlorine ruins my skin, but honestly, that underwater peace is worth every flake. 

    Everyone’s version of safety looks different. The real trick is noticing how much energy our nervous system burns just trying to keep us okay, especially when we’re busy distracting ourselves with the emotional rollercoasters of unavailable people. If we could just sit with ourselves; with compassion, patience, and a bit of humor, we’d actually feel present. Safe. Whole. And when you become your own safe place, the magic happens. You stop grasping for safety in other people’s hands. You stop crashing every time someone leaves. 

    Because you finally realize, home was never a place, or a person. It was you.