the bear

i’ve been showing up every day trying to make something out of the wreckage. that’s what it feels like sometimes — like i’m rebuilding a place that burned down with my name still spray-painted on the wall. it’s not just about the work it’s about the weight behind it. the voices in my head saying “you should be further” or “this isn’t enough” or worse, “you’re not enough.” no one talks about how loud that gets when everything around you finally starts looking like it’s coming together.

people see the surface — they see promotion, progress, maybe even confidence. but they don’t see the nights where your mind won’t stop racing, where every mistake you’ve ever made starts playing on loop, louder than your wins. they don’t see you staring at the clock at 2 am, dissecting a conversation you had ten hours ago wondering if you handled it right. they don’t feel how heavy it gets when the bar you set for yourself keeps getting higher, & you don’t even know if you’re chasing growth or punishing yourself anymore.

i carry a lot of pressure. not from anyone else, but from me. from what i expect, from what i refuse to settle for. i want to be excellent. i want to build something real. but there are days where i wonder if it’s coming from a place of passion or if it’s coming from fear — fear of slipping back into the version of me that was lost, or broke, or quiet when he should’ve spoken. i’ve been him before & i swore i wouldn’t go back.

but you still feel him some days. in the doubt. in the silence after a long shift. in the way your body tenses up when something goes wrong. you fight him with routine with discipline with drowning yourself in the work. you try to find control in chaos because you couldn’t control the things that shaped you. & maybe that’s okay maybe it’s not about escaping your demons but learning how to cook with them in the kitchen without letting them burn the whole place down.

i don’t know if i’m doing it right. i don’t know if i’ll ever feel fully healed or fully seen. but i show up. i care. i try to give a shit even when giving a shit hurts. & maybe that’s what it means to fight through it — not to be perfect, but to keep showing up when you’d rather disappear. to keep building, even when all you ever learned growing up was how to survive the collapse. maybe i’m not building a dream. maybe i’m just trying to prove i deserved better than before.

-rl.

still got your light

read this if you’re tired but still here

june. men’s mental health awareness. but this isn’t a holiday. it’s a pulse check. it’s for the ones who never speak but feel too much. the ones who keep it together for everyone else but fall apart when the room goes quiet.

this is for you. not the version people see. the real you. the one who’s been carrying more than anyone knows. who shows up, works hard, keeps smiling—even when something inside’s been breaking for a while.

read this slow. your worth is not in your status. not in what you’ve lost. not in how quiet you’ve been about the pain. your worth was never meant to be measured by struggle. you are not a broken thing that needs fixing. you are someone who’s learning how to breathe again. how to feel again. how to live without pretending it’s all okay.

& if you’ve ever felt like you were drowning in your own silence—I’ve felt that too. not for attention. not for sympathy. just truth. i’ve sat in that space where sleep doesn’t help & nothing sounds right. but i made it through. & so will you.

this world won’t always give you space to feel but that doesn’t mean you stop feeling. you don’t have to numb yourself to survive. you don’t have to wear a mask to be loved. you don’t have to keep shrinking to fit what they expect.

you still got your light. even if it’s dim. even if it’s buried. even if you forgot it was there.

you are not behind. you are not too much. you are becoming.

this month, don’t just survive. choose to show up—for you. because when you find your light again the world won’t know what to do with it.

but you will.

-rl.

pour into you 1st.

there’s power in choosing you. not in a selfish “nobody else matters” kinda way—but in that quiet, grounded type of knowing… that your peace, your worth, your energy? it’s gold. people gon’ talk, switch up, come & go—but the way you see yourself? that’s what sets the tone. don’t wait for someone else to recognize your value before you start moving like you already got it.

every time you show up for you—whether it’s protecting your space, saying no, or just giving yourself a damn break—you’re teaching the world how to treat you. & real talk, some people won’t like that. they were cool with the version of you that dimmed down, played small, stayed quiet. but self-love ain’t about being liked. it’s about being real. standing in your skin, flaws & all, like “yeah, this me… & I’m still dope.”

stop letting people who don’t even know themselves tell you who you are. they don’t live your battles. they don’t carry your story. they don’t see the work it takes just to wake up & keep pushing some days. most of the noise is just their own insecurity screaming out loud. but you? you’re still standing. still growing. still here. & that ain’t by accident. there’s purpose in your presence—don’t let ‘em make you forget that.

keep pouring into you. fill up in ways that make your soul breathe—alone time, new goals, music, sunlight, whatever feeds that inner fire. don’t wait for the world to give you permission to be whole. you don’t gotta earn your own love. you are the love. & when you move from that place? you’re untouchable. undeniable. people can feel when you’re rooted in real.

so if you’re sitting there wondering if you’re doing enough, if you’re becoming who you’re supposed to be—breathe. you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. not broken, not behind, just becoming. all that pain, all those lessons? they’re shaping something strong as hell. stay with you. bet on you. love loud, heal honest, & never fold. you’re not here by mistake—you’re here ‘cause you’re built for it.

the incredible true story

there’s something wild about being human in a world that never stops moving. we grow up thinking we’re supposed to have it all figured out by a certain age—like success, love, & peace come with instructions. but life doesn’t work like that. it’s messy. it’s uncertain. it bends you, breaks you, builds you back up. & somewhere in all of that chaos, you start to learn what really matters. not money. not fame. not being perfect. it’s about being real. it’s about becoming someone you can actually be proud of.

i used to think the goal was to reach some final destination—like happiness was a place, & one day i’d just arrive there. but what if the journey is the destination? what if the late nights, the heartbreaks, the quiet breakthroughs are the actual story? we spend so much time waiting for the moment things make sense, that we forget—this is the moment. every second you choose to keep going when it would’ve been easier to quit, that’s growth. that’s purpose. that’s you writing your own incredible true story.

people will tell you what you should be, how you should act, what lane to stay in. but the truth is—none of them are you. nobody else has your voice, your vision, your scars, or your reasons. so don’t shrink for anybody. don’t dilute your dreams just because they seem too big. you don’t need permission to be who you are. you just need courage. the kind that says, “i don’t have all the answers, but i’m still showing up.”

i’ve learned that peace doesn’t always come easy—but it’s always possible. it lives in the way you talk to yourself. in the way you show up for people. in the way you keep hope alive, even when everything around you feels heavy. & sometimes, peace is just knowing you made it through something you never thought you’d survive. that’s strength. not loud, not flashy—just steady. honest. real.

so here we are—on this spinning planet, trying to make sense of it all. trying to find meaning in the madness. & maybe that’s the point. maybe we’re not meant to have it all figured out. maybe we’re just meant to live fully, love deeply, & never stop becoming. because this—every tear, every triumph, every quiet moment of clarity—is part of the incredible true story we’re still writing.

rl

amor fati

there’s something powerful about learning to love what you cannot control. not just tolerating it. not just surviving it. but fully embracing it with open arms. it’s the kind of mindset that changes the way you move through life — no longer fighting the hard moments, but welcoming them as part of a bigger picture you are still learning how to see.

most of us are taught to resist what hurts. we try to run from discomfort, to fix what feels broken, to question why things go wrong. but there’s another way to live. a way that asks us to lean into every twist, every fall, every storm with the kind of trust that can only come from knowing that even the setbacks are sacred. even the pain has a purpose.

it’s not about pretending everything is perfect. it’s about understanding that everything matters. the heartbreaks shape you. the losses teach you. the uncertainty builds you. every moment that feels like an ending is secretly preparing you for a beginning you cannot see yet. you are not being punished. you are being prepared for a life that fits the deepest parts of who you are becoming.

there will still be days that feel heavy. there will still be nights you question why you had to walk certain roads. but when you choose to believe that nothing is happening by mistake, you find a different kind of peace. you stop needing to rewrite the past or rush the future. you start trusting that what is meant for you will not miss you — even if it takes a longer, harder road to get there.

when you let go of the fear of things not going your way, you start to realize they are always going the way they are meant to. even the closed doors. even the silent seasons. even the people who had to leave. nothing is wasted. nothing is random. it is all part of a design much bigger than what you can see right now.

life will not always be easy. it will not always make sense. but if you can learn to welcome every piece of it — the joy, the ache, the uncertainty — with open hands, you will find something stronger than happiness. you will find freedom. because loving the life you are given, exactly as it unfolds, is the beginning of becoming who you were always meant to be.

rl.