Shaped By the Struggle

There is a certain kind of trouble in knowing what is wrong but not how to settle the problem.

This is how my problems feel sometimes: like some inexplicable trap. Complicated and agonizing just for the sake of it. A trap where the light at the end of the tunnel is just a veneer.

But recently, I’ve begun to grasp that not every problem needs to be solved. Not just in the way I recall all of my “could’ve would’ve should’ve” moments when I’m stretched thin, but in the way that delicately feeling my emotions — all of them — heals me.

This is how I am realizing that I often let my problems consume me. I should really let them form me.

Now, I’m not saying, “I demand that all my problems disappear.” But instead, I am calling myself out on my own b.s. To stop crying over minor inconveniences. I’ve learned that your storyline can adjust when you no longer fit the narrative. That you can feel accomplished while also bothered that everything is falling apart.

Sometimes I find that my troubles shrink when I concern myself with who I am versus who I worry about. Rather than polishing my Instagram feed and overexplaining my life decisions, like I’m in a Love Island confessional, I’m agreeing to let my life glisten without the fillers.

I don’t think my approach is a lousy one. I used to be scared of this approach, but now I call it protecting my peace.

Real life is not an aesthetic. The glow fades fast, things feel intense, wounds run deep, problems come back stronger, and you still make the same blunders.

We all have errors we wish we could hide away. Our “this wasn’t my noblest decision” moments. But none of my breakdowns made me a failure — they made me gentler. Empathetic. More human.

At the end of the day, I don’t love the struggle, but I can’t ignore how it’s shaped me.

The bad taught me to see the good, and maybe that’s the point. To be able to look at everything and say: “This is my life and it is perfectly imperfect.”