Hey Kaleigh!

Tag: self care

  • I’m Afraid I’ll Never Be Enough for Myself

    Image from Pexels

    There’s this fantasy that I carry with me. It’s warm, magnetic, and inviting. In it, I step out of my comfort zone the way I tread the sidewalk: confident and not second-guessing a thing.

    But if this day ever comes, I’m doubtful that it will still feel like enough. Not in the way it does in my daydreams. I want something that truly nourishes me. Something that erases my flaws and keeps me from flinching at my own reflection.

    The trouble is, this version of me only exists in my head.

    I’d like to think I’m laid-back, but in reality I manage my emotions like a drill sergeant, especially when it comes to my anxiety. I am careful to the point of obsession. I’m particular — and like to know everything in advance. I’ve wasted years trying on which personality fits me best. I am leery of loving myself, because what if she doesn’t love me back?

    Reality is not kind. It critiques me. It rationalizes with me like the devil on my left shoulder. It evaluates me by how quickly my metabolism works after I give in and have a snack. It betrays me. And I am afraid it will shatter my fantasy.

    And I don’t know if I can handle the truth right now.

    I don’t mean to sound dramatic. I am just a bit apprehensive. Like a jittery emoji. I am constantly on edge and can’t find it in me to trust what others say.

    I am scared of what I truly am. That no one will ever be fond of my soft spots. That I’ll always be an unfinished draft.

    But maybe being unfinished is its own kind of wholeness. Maybe not having it all figured out is simply another model of completeness.

    Maybe someday someone will love me not in spite of my rough edges, but because of them.

    Maybe who I am will change with the seasons. Maybe each day will be the start of a new chapter.

  • The Fear of Being Seen

    Image from iStock

    Let’s be completely honest here: we are all total narcissists. Whether it is the endless spirals of what-ifs and existential dread, all we do is suspiciously doubt ourselves like it’s our favorite hobby.

    Here are a few of the fears I am afraid to let see the light of day:

    I am haunted by my deep smile lines. I worry that they’ll expose how much I’ve lived, how often I’ve laughed, and worst, they will continue to deepen as I age. They are a confirmation that I am living, but I wish I could live without time leaving receipts on my face.

    I am terrified no one will ever really know me. Like, genuinely know me, the parts I bury under intentional captions, good lighting, a foolproof sense of wit. What if the world only ever loves my highlight reel?

    I am afraid that even if someone does fully see me, they won’t stay. That love is momentary, conditioned, and that one day the version of me they admired won’t be the version I am anymore.

    And the worst fear of all? What if I don’t even fully see myself? What if this constant chase towards self-awareness is just another one of my performances? What if I never find what I’m internally looking for because she doesn’t exist?

    But here is the paradox: these anxieties are the most raw and restless parts of me. They make me human. Maybe the aim isn’t to erase them, but to admit them out loud because every time I do, I feel a little more like the main character in my own story.

  • I’m Not Lost, Just Loitering in My Twenties

    Image from Alamy

    I’ve spent years trying to “find myself.”

    I started college already imagining who I would be on graduation day. I navigated student government and group projects and maneuvered how to responsibly delegate tasks to my peers while still being a great friend. I crossed uncharted territory with care even when I felt unorganized.

    And yet…here I am at 23, still wondering who I am.

    I’m still figuring out how to make friends at this age, because it’s hard, but it’s still significant to put yourself out there.

    I’m still powering through mean girls in the adult world.

    I’m still single (shocker!) and deciding what I want my love life to look like. I’m learning how to stop giving myself a thumbs down in the mirror and questioning if I even deserve that love life.

    I don’t know my favorite season.

    I still don’t like the sound of my voice or that my statements often sound like questions. I feel like I constantly need to confess that I am still figuring it out, but I so badly want to be unapologetic.

    I wish to take things day-by-day, but my brain insists on spiraling. I want to be intentional and spontaneous at the same time. I want to stop overcompensating for my insecurities.

    I want to live a life that is purposeful and desirable.

    The truth is: I appreciate my life. Much of my gratitude comes from acknowledging the unplanned and ugly moments that eventually became core memories.

    The story of my life is one of a kind, but is it a bestseller? Does it grant me as much pride as it should? Are my choices – good and bad – going to help me grow? Will it ever be enough?

    Will I ever choose to go easy on myself?

    Have I already lived out my prime? Did I miss it?

    What do I do when minor inconveniences feel like super catastrophes?

    How do I keep going when I’m facing so much difficulty? 

    Will I ever learn to be gentle with myself?

    The most complicated lessons I am learning are the ones that don’t have easy answers. I can’t Google whether I am pretty or slender enough. Instead, I have to figure it out alone – in the disaster zone that is my brain. These lessons can sometimes make me feel even more fragile.

    I’m not shattering myself as some kind of excuse. I am constantly transforming. Continually finding my voice. I am continually filled with knowledge but never quite sure what to do with it. I am still learning how to be alright when everything feels all wrong. Everything is still coming to me. So I will leave you with this:

    Not everything you do or say demands to be picture-perfect. 

    You are constantly changing and each version of you is still deserving.

    You are still smart enough when you have the wrong answers.

    You are going to mess up. That is okay. Tomorrow is a new day.

    Life happens, and none of us survive it, so go easy on yourself.

    I don’t know who I am yet. But I know who I am becoming, and she’s learning to be kinder.

  • Someday, But Not Today

    Image from iStock

    To be totally honest, I don’t think I’ve ever been absolutely happy with myself. Each version of me feels unworthy until I undoubtedly morph into someone new. Everything is temporary after all. Maybe one day, I will appreciate my present self. But for now, I long for the Kaleighs of the past while wishing I could become someone new.

    Eventually, everything will finally feel perfectly aligned. I will wake up and stop cringing at old photos. Stop nitpicking my face in the mirror. Stop obsessing over what’s missing and start becoming proud of what is there. I will be proud, not just of what I have survived so far, but of who I have become.

    But right now? I scroll through my camera roll memories like I’m stalking the Instagram account of someone cooler. I glamorize the versions of me that once felt totally awkward and just as unsure as I feel about myself today. I’m convinced that I used to glow brighter, laugh louder, and love harder even though I remember crying in the bathroom at that party and leaving nights out with anxious pits in my stomach.

    The present never feels like enough until it becomes the past.

    Maybe the work isn’t in becoming something better. Maybe it’s in sitting still and realizing that this version of me deserves love too. Not someday when I’ve healed and gotten hotter. Now.

  • To Anyone Who Has Ever Felt Unsure

    Image from Getty Images

    There is something complicated about having it all together. Not because it adds new stressors, but because poise can be a facade. It is you, your self-doubt, and your goals against the world.

    We live in a fast-moving civilization that constantly progresses us to chase bigger outcomes. We are handed dopamine hits disguised as transformation. But what if you still aren’t quite sure what you want? What if the revitalized act of buying a new retinol became less about “recovery” and more about the excitement of trying something new. 

    This is a love letter to those facing uncertainty. To the planned auto-payment on your car. The natural deodorant with excellent reviews but melted like milk on your armpits at the gym (sorry!). To the lilac-scented candle that fumigates your kitchen after you disgustingly botched a 4-step alfredo recipe and now your kitchen smells like burnt cheese.

    When we over-romanticize too much and fixate on the end result, your life begins to feel less in your control – it becomes living in autopilot. It begins losing your present self in worrying that your future isn’t good enough. It’s falling further and further down the rabbit hole. But it’s not about being complete: it’s about being real.

    For me, my bedtime routine is one of the few times in my day in which I feel in control. We are taught to be perfect – that being human is a defect. But it is perfectly okay to be blemished and a little vain. It is not greedy to selfishly love yourself. You are healing yourself in a way that no influencer ever could.

    So if you’ve ever felt unsure about your career path, your five-year plan, your skin texture, your love life, or what milk you should use please remember that you are not alone. Uncertainty doesn’t mean that you are lost. It means you are paying attention.

    Sometimes, you don’t need a breakthrough. You just need a moment. Lighting a candle. Washing your face. Cleaning alfredo sauce off of your stove while listening to “Unwritten.”

    You don’t owe the world clarity in order to be taken seriously. You don’t need to be perfectly polished to feel powerful.

    Even if all you did today was survive (and scrub alfredo sauce off the stove) that is enough. You are enough.

  • Protecting Your Peace

    Image from iStock

    Protecting your peace means learning to show up for yourself – not by staying small, but by being scared and doing it anyway.

    I still have a lot of the same fears that I did as a child. They sneak up on me.

    But – I also started developing the self-assurance of the loudest, assertive kids who I desperately wanted to be.

    Protecting your peace is not about staying quiet.

    Most of us are afraid of public speaking. I stand at the front of a classroom, yap nonstop, and teach 8th graders without faltering each day – but, I am dreadfully nervous at places like the DMV or when it comes to making a phone call. Part of protecting your peace is acknowledging the things you are afraid of.

    I’m frightened of publishing my writing. Part of that anxiety is the fact that I know people won’t care about my personal essays. I love writing so I am not really scared of it. Instead, I am afraid of contrast – of knowing that some parts of me are unlike others.

    I’m afraid of having hobbies – I’m also concerned that I am not interesting enough. Again, my concern is merely what people think. I’m concerned that I am either too much or not enough. I’m afraid of feeling dull.

    But these simple fears aren’t going to bring me any peace.

    The best way to “protect your peace” isn’t to stay silent or afraid. It is to bashfully conquer those fears at your own sheepish pace while continuing to strive for validation – but, this time on the inside.

    Sometimes I am frightened to walk down the street… because I feel like I don’t look good enough. To walk. As I dread, I don’t have time to awe at the other pedestrians.

    I never learned to ride a bike for the same reason. Then one day, I got embarrassed. And sometime after – about ten years later – I finally did it. It doesn’t matter.

    When I tell others that I like to read, I doubt myself. No one expects me to read Shakespeare for pleasure, but getting lost in a Booktok murder mystery doesn’t feel charming anymore.

    Protecting my peace means letting myself become engrossed in the book, anyway. Because I like it.

    Protecting your peace means reading what you love, walking how you please, and living to impress no one but yourself.

  • Let Them Wonder About You

    Image from Jobeth McElhanon on Pinterest

    There is a quiet kind of power in not having to explain yourself.

    Not everything that happens in your life demands a social media post to justify it. You aren’t indebted to anyone. Sometimes, the most magnetic thing you can do is to leave room for some silence. Hold yourself back, and let them wonder.

    Let them wonder why you controlled the urge to text back immediately.

    Let them wonder why your selfies hit different now.

    Let them wonder why your laugh feels lighter, like you stopped carrying some heavy burden.

    Let them wonder why you’re glowing.

    Reclaim the driver’s seat in your own journey.

    My mom explains everything. She will describe why she bought a certain brand of paper towels like she is trying to sway an apprehensive jury. She will apologize for trying new recipes, even if everyone adores it. I love her more than words can convey, but watching her justify every small choice like someone is going to question her hurts me. I’ve inherited this trait, too.

    It makes me realize how women are taught that being misunderstood is dangerous. That silence equals guilt. That mystery is selfish.

    We are trained to narrate everything. To perform. To clear up anything that makes us seem complicated. But some things are just for you. Some chapters are meant to be lived, not illustrated through a live-stream.

    Mystery isn’t coyness. It’s about clarity. It’s about what deserves to be shared, and what doesn’t. It is knowing that your evolution is sacred, and doesn’t require an audience.

    In college, I was bullied out of a sorority that I loved by someone I thought was a friend. Not in that obvious way with locker shoves and “you can’t sit with us.” It started quietly with eye rolls when I spoke, with group meetings that I wasn’t part of, and jokes about my eating disorder. When I made the decision to leave, I started narrating myself constantly. Not in a “woe is me” sense, but I thought if I explained myself enough, I could change the way they saw me. But I couldn’t.

    It took me a while to realize: over-explaining is like reopening a wound. You can’t keep hurting yourself hoping someone finally sees how deep the wound goes.

    Sometimes you outgrow the need to prove you’re okay. You just are. And that implicit, but wholehearted confidence? It invites people to lean in. Dig deeper. Re-read your captions. Explore signs of what has changed.

    Let them.

    Because while they are working at trying to decode your silence, you are busy becoming someone you didn’t expect. 

    Let them wonder.

    You’re not meant to be understood by everyone.

  • To Those Who Have Lost Their Spark

    I hate when someone starts to dim.

    Not because they aren’t good anymore, they are. Sometimes they are sharper than ever. But something has shifted. Their sentences feel hesitant. Their rhythm is off. You can tell they are holding their breath as they are speaking. As if their life has peaked before it has truly begun.

    I once wrote about becoming the wrong version of myself. Losing your spark is what happens when you live that way for too long. You go quiet inside because the version you are performing doesn’t feel like home.

    This is for those who feel like they have gone quiet. Not out loud, but somewhere inside:

    You still show up.

    You still smile.

    You still do the work. You still say the right things. You still nod at the right time.

    But something is quieter now. Not on the outside, but inside where your spark used to live.

    Maybe it’s burnout. Maybe you’re experiencing heartbreak. Maybe it’s the slow destruction of always trying to be everything for everyone.

    Or maybe you’re just tired of explaining yourself.

    I get it. It is a canon event — one of those inevitable turning points. Full of expectations and preconceived notions. The “build your brand” formula. This blueprint can crush even the strongest voices if you let it. You don’t even know what you’re doing until you reread your own work and think: Who am I? Where did I go?

    Either way, your once-bold voice has started whispering. Waiting on the edge, and wondering if it is even welcome anymore.

    It happens gradually, and I just need to say:

    You are not broken.

    You are not dramatic.

    You are not fading.

    You do not have nothing to say.

    You are in a hazy, in-between space. An area where rest looks like withdrawal, and healing looks like a lull. That does not mean you’ve timed out. It makes you human.

    So if this is you somewhere in between animated and exhausted: I hope you find your way back. Not to content. Not to “personal gain.” But to your voice. The one that hums when everyone else sings. The one that sounds like home.

    So give yourself a break, not more pressure. Not deadlines. Stop adding things to your agenda because you feel like you should.

    Because your sparkle isn’t gone, just buried underneath too much strategy. And when you are ready, even if your voice feels shakes, let it speak again. We still want to hear you.

  • Be Someone You Care About

    Image from StockCake

    There are days I treat myself like a second thought. I push through my exhaustion like it’s proof of my strength. I dismiss my needs with a light joke. I scroll until my eyes sting, then doubt myself through my FOMO. I fear my own body, prefer anxiety over joy, dread responding to texts, and call it “self-control” or “being chill” when really I am trying to escape myself.

    Somewhere along the way, I learned how to show up for other people. To check in, remember birthdays, send “let me know if you need anything” texts and mean it. I genuinely care – just not always for myself.

    But here’s what I’m learning (slowly and awkwardly):

    It’s not enough to just be someone.

    You have to be someone you care about.

    Not in a trivial, “treat yourself” kind of way (although that can be valuable too). But in a real, reliable, honest way. The way you would care for a friend who is quietly unraveling. The way you would talk to someone you actually like.

    Ask yourself how you’re really doing, and actually wait for the answer.

    Ask, but don’t interrogate.

    You don’t have to be your best self all the time. But you should be your softest witness. And your most cherished place to land.

    So today, I am practicing.

    Caring for me like I would someone I love.

    And trying to become someone I don’t regularly abandon.

  • Be Yourself: Everyone Else is Taken

    Image from Pexels

    I used to think “being myself” meant being the most likeable version of me.

    The girl who recognized the right references. Who said the right things at the right time. Who could adapt her vibe depending on who was in the room. She wasn’t fake necessarily, just tailored and practiced. Curated. Processed, like an Instagram post that only needed one little fix.

    But somewhere along the way, the performance became exhausting.

    Trying to be chill when I am spiraling. Acting unfazed when I care way too much. Grinning and acting fine when I am actually crumbling inside. And I began to wonder: If I am not even allowing me to be me…who is all this for?

    It is easy to say “be yourself.” It is tough to actually do it. Because what if people don’t like the real you? What if the real you is too much? Or not enough? Or too eccentric, or nutty, or loud, or boring, or soft in places you were told to be hard?

    But here is the thing I am gently learning: being someone else does not protect you from rejection. It just assures you’ll feel alone even when you’re accepted.

    The right people will never ask you to shrink. They won’t flinch when you get real. They won’t back away from your softness. They will take you in. They’ll reflect it back.

    Being yourself isn’t about being impeccable. It is about showing up, blemished and all. It is about reclaiming whole parts of you that you used to hide because someone once made you feel like they were bizarre.

    And maybe it’s not even about becoming anyone new.

    Maybe it is about fully remembering who you were before society told you who to be.

    Because everyone else is already taken. And honestly? You are already incredible as you are.