Yin and Yang

There are nights when I feel like I’m living in the space between a breath in and a breath out. Suspended. Aware. Unsure if I’m holding on or letting go. Of what? Of a thousand and one things at the same time. And the little bit of sanity in me tells me this is what it means to be human,stuck etween two truths, carrying light and darkness in the same ribcage.

Some mornings, I wake up feeling weightless,as light as a chick’s feather. Like I can perceive the possibility radiating with the early morning sunlight. I clean my space, I write beautiful words, I feel God’s mercy on my skin. and in my life. I think to myself and say it out loud in front of my mirror, “Maybe, just maybe, I will make it. No,im’m quite certain” On those days, I’m proud of my resilience. Of how far I've come. I look in the mirror again and nod gently, like I’m silently thanking the girl who never gave up.

But then there are days when I wake up and even the air is too loud. The light bulb feels like judgment. I scroll through my phone and everyone seems to have it figured out. Everyone is publishing, travelling, speaking, impacting, making some fat figures. And myself…I’m still trying to convince myself that my words are worthy. That my story matters. That I am not running out of time.

There is this duality in me. Always. The girl who wants to change the world and the girl who is terrified that even her own world might never notice her. The girl who prays with sincerity and the girl who forgets what peace feels like. The girl who comforts others like second nature, but sometimes wishes someone would just look her in the eye and ask, “Are you okay? Really?”

I am both. I am always both.

It’s weird how grief can take a seat in your bones without needing permission. How joy can make a brief appearance like an august guest, while sorrow builds a whole house inside you. I have laughed with my friends while grieving silently. I have written heartfelt advice to others on nights when I couldn’t even feel my own soul.

And it’s not hypocrisy. It’s not drama. It’s just… life. My life. Maybe yours too?

Ill never stop thinking abd talking about how often I’m told, “You’re doing so well,” and how often I whisper back, “If only you knew.” I think about the books I’ve read at pivotal moments—books that understood me before I could understand myself. Books that gave my fears a name. Books that reminded me that pain can be art and silence can be strength. I want to write that kind of book someday. A book that holds people when no one else does. But sometimes I wonder if I’m even allowed to dream that big. If my voice will ever echo.

Yin and yang. Darkness and light. That is how I’ve always lived. In the constant pull of opposites. And maybe I’m tired of trying to silence one side in favor of the other.

It's almost the middle of the year, while my folks talk about the zeos sitting in their bank accounts. I'll tell you what I have achieved. I stopped editing my mess. I began living honestly,loyal to myself and my soul. Letting people see the full picture. The cracked parts. The blooming parts. The girl who is still learning that even unfinished stories deserve to be told. I let myself off the slack. Breathed in moments when the world seemed to have been asphyxiating.

Again here I am,standing in the middle of my contradictions, trying to stitch a purpose out of the chaos. If you’ve ever felt like too much and not enough at the same time, this is me telling you: you’re not alone. We are many. We are complex. We are the aching proof that beauty and brokenness can live side by side.

This is my yin and yang. This is me.