Stolen Chapter

She wore a silk dress of constellations sewn into her skin,
blue oceans in her eyes, too deep for words to swim.
Her laughter woke the child I buried below,
her chest was a home I was never allowed to know.

Her skin carried summer, all amber and grace,
her pupils bloomed wide when they first found my face.
Then the small girl inside her came laughing to play,
and pulled my own childhood out into the day.

Her fists gathered thunder when the world looked my way,
her lips held the lightning she dared not display.
She guarded young hearts, both velvet and might,
and the forest inside me went blazing with light.

I closed my tired eyes, still heavy with rain,
and saw warm windows glowing beyond all the pain.
Small feet filled the hallways; two shadows grew old,
grey threads in her hair, her smile lines turned gold.
The years wrote their stories in curves of her eyes,
while the youth made kingdoms beneath our evening skies.

I saw her learn to stand without hiding her frame,
no longer shrinking beneath inherited shame.
I thought if my touch ever reached through her gloom,
every wound in her garden would break into bloom.

So I loved her slowly, in whispers, from afar,
softening my voice when she drifted too far.
I kept her a seat where the waterfall descends,
beneath one bright rainbow that never quite ends.

Her claws found every wound till the old aching bled,
waking all of the ghosts I had buried as dead.
I stood in the wreckage, still reaching her shore,
for even through anguish, I loved her still more.

When our bodies met, our two heartbeats entwined,
like roots wrapped in darkness, her rhythm in mine.
A knot no blade could sever, no distance unbind,
where her sorrow met mine and our love intertwined.

Each fracture of truth turned our future to ash,
each betrayal a match, each promise a flash.
A shadow once taught her thunder to die in her throat,
yet a lioness stirred underneath every note.

I loved her in nothing, in blankets, in breath,
in laughter that made ordinary hours forget death.
Her head found its place like a missing puzzle part,
hidden under the couch, then returned to my heart.

I wanted each crevice, each chamber, each seam,
the girl and the guardian, the ache and the dream.
She felt less like romance than blood of my own,
like fate stitched her shadow through all I called home.

I would shatter each window, tear doors from their frame,
just to give our love oxygen, shelter, and flame.
But loving her truly meant loosening my hold,
letting her hand leave while mine turned cold.

She left, and I smiled through the blood on the floor,
because love does not cage what is pleading for more.
Now the book lies open, its last page still white,
our chapter unfinished, no ending in sight.

I had written our story till earth claimed our breath,
two names side by side in the stillness of death.
Now I save her that seat where the bright waters fall,
still waiting to learn if she returns at all.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

You Can Hear It If You Listen

A wildfire running through my veins,
in the dark of night, cruel and quiet.
A grief shaped like an open scar,
bleeding at the lightest touch.

A flinch in my skin, a silent flood,
where even a feather could draw blood.

I have a heart beating in my chest,
too fast and too loud to rest.
A pain so deeply buried inside,
no dream could hold, no place to hide.

I hold love in my heart,
glowing like fireflies in the dark,
hidden deep in the seams of my skin,
where no harsh word can reach within.

I hold hatred in my chest,
an abandoned kitchen with broken beams,
something bitter is left on the flame,
and I drink it down just the same.

I hold peace in my soul,
like sugar melting into bitter chai,
soft and fleeting, sweet then gone,
like it was never there all along.

I hold anger in my hands,
tight fists, I barely stand,
aching to break a glass that can’t bend,
like bones could cut what will not mend.

Alas… it’s grief. I carry it too,
for things unseen, for things I knew,
for something lost before it’s gone,
for a future that feels already wrong.

Empty and endless, a quiet ache,
searching for something I cannot take.

My heart still longs for something soft,
wrapped in cashmere, to hold me close,
a place I almost reach, but never to hold,
a touch that never stays when the world is cold.

Beyond the valley of despair,
a falling blade cuts through the air.
It waits for me when my eyes close,
in every wound I never chose.

So I stay awake, I stay aware,
while the blade hangs above me there,
afraid that peace will slip my hands,
like I’d lose what little I have.

But I’m not afraid to break apart,
not afraid of a withering heart.

I run, I shout, I sit, I cry,
and still I grieve, I don’t know why.

I turn my grief into something loud,
paint it bright, make others proud.
You hear the laugh, you see the light,
but miss the weight I hold inside.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

You Are Beautiful

In Farsi, we don’t say “you are beautiful.” We say:

،چشم‌هایت کهکشان است
Your eyes are a galaxy,
و من از همان‌جا
and from them
.راهِ بازگشت به خودم را پیدا می‌کنم
I find my way back to myself.

،لب‌هایت ضربانِ جانِ من است
Your lips are the pulse of my soul.
پوستت هجومِ خون
Your skin, a rush of blood
.در رگ‌هایِ دعا
through the veins of my prayers.

،لبخندت بادِ بهارنارنج است
Your smile is orange-blossom wind
که از باغ می‌گذرد
passing through the garden
.و خانه را بیدار می‌کند
and waking the house.

دست‌هایت گرمایی‌ست
Your hands are a warmth
که مرا
that gathers me
،وقتی از هم می‌پاشم جمع می‌کند
when I become undone,
مثل نانی که از تنور بیرون می‌آید
like bread lifted from the oven
.و دل را آرام می‌کند
and peace returning to the heart.

و بینی‌ات
And your nose
پیچِ سرنوشت است
is the turn of fate,
که هر بوسه را بی‌پرسش
leading every kiss
.به خانه می‌بَرَد
home.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

A Cup Full

You know the feeling, throat gone tight,
a dry hot day that makes the air bite.
Your voice is husk, your words turn rough,
each syllable a grain of dust.

That thirst has scraped inside my veins,
tongue raw as sand, lips split with pain.
A bud that bloomed too fast, too soon,
a cup that bled into sand by noon.

Eight of Cups, I left the door,
couldn’t feel empty anymore.
A ray held back, a guarded glow,
from hands that took, then let me go.

I became the cup that always poured
in empty jugs that never stored.
I gave and gave, then wondered why
my palms went numb, my skin turned dry.

When a heart makes hollow cups its home,
it drains you down to skin and bone.
Each drop, a wasted tear,
and runs the well for anyone near.

I filled my cup on nights I ached,
when no one came, when no one stayed.
I poured kindness into my own cup
from the love I held inside my heart.

So Queen of Cups, I stepped away,
to hold my cup, and learn to stay.
I wiped the rim, I rinsed the glass,
and saw the world like childhood, clear at last.

A cup full, steady, calm and near,
with hope, with patience, year by year.
I called it mine, I kept it true,
and stopped spilling where nothing grew.

I shared with cups that held their own,
not mouths that drank me to the bone.
Not cups with holes that couldn’t keep,
but hands that poured back, strong and deep.

The tides that meet with steady grace,
like ballroom steps in tidal play.
They ebb and flow, they don’t undo
no one drowning to prove what’s true.

Now my cup is tended with care,
a soul comes close and shares the fare.
If yours is low, I’ll share a sip,
but I won’t sink with every drip.

My cup is full, fresh and free,
claiming the love that I decree.
Come sit with me, don’t claw, don’t flee
I’ll pour in yours, so you can see.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

At 11:11

A warmth of a summer morning,
gripping the heart without warning,
like a trace of flowers in a spring breeze,
flooding the mind with memories of ease.

A figure, delicate and dazzling,
moving through the crowd’s gray gloom,
glowing like sunlight slipping through
a cracked wall in a dark room.

Oh, that fresh sprout of new love,
a childlike crush where the heart knows no bounds,
the race of blood at the risk of a glance
where even a tired soul relearns how to dance.

A shattered heart rewrites what peace is,
like a sweater rewoven, soft with fleece,
a leap again, where the waters lay
this time more bright, with warmth that may stay.

A different sensation, where the unknown feels real,
an old love song humming on a reel.
It holds tight, a passion that lingers
not like the cold that once locked your fingers.

A silence that carries unspoken words,
with eyes that hold their quiet worth.
And when new feelings strike her shaken soul,
her nose crinkles like ripples, soft and slow.
Her body speaking what her mouth won’t show.

Her freckles, scattered like sunlit dust,
little constellations of warmth and trust.
Her eyes like moss tracing the rim of a lake,
or sea glass after years of waves,
smoothed by time and softened with pressure
still holding the blue, only quieter somehow.

Oh, but a poet’s heart always learns love anew,
in the deepest gloom, it still blossoms through.
When pain once slept at the bottom of the barrel,
now I let it surface, and I won’t swallow the howl.

So you reach again, grip gentler than before
with hands that carried heavy hearts to the shore.
Yet this time you feel the delicate flower,
and you are here, in the honest hour.

Just before the clock rings its eleven eleven call,
the poet’s pen writes a wish on the wall:
for hearts to be healed, for the dark to fall,
and if not, at least, to be softer after all.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

The Lions of Iran

In a land where night is stitched to the street,
candles are raised where the living still meet.
No theatre here, just love we couldn’t save,
to lend a warm light to the ones in the grave.

Fathers move through rows of sealed up black,
a sound in the throat that the chest can’t pack,
hands counting zippers, throats torn raw,
as if a name could undo the law.

Mothers kneel where the dust won’t rest,
a child gone silent against her chest.
Their screams rise raw, torn and thrown,
as if grief could drag a soul back home.

Young lives taken before they grew old,
before they learnt what it is to hold
a fruitful year, a long soft day
their spring was stolen, swept away.

Birthdays missed. No knocking gate.
A candle saved for a later date.
Cake untouched. A plate left bare.
The world walks on like it wasn’t there.

In halls built for the work of hands,
gunfire speaks in metal commands.
Hospitals flinch. White walls turn red.
Mercy learns how to bow its head.

There is a second, narrow as breath,
before the door swings shut to death.
Fear like a needle under skin,
then stillness settling, fierce and thin.

They run with tears and do not fold,
they carry tomorrow like contraband gold.
Warriors rising, then lost from view
the ones who change worlds, then are forgotten too.

Women whose only crime was self,
to wear their name like honest wealth,
to choose their own face, their own breath
were punished as if freedom meant death.

Men with vows still warm in pocket seams
never reached the altar of their dreams.
Suits stayed hanging. Rings stayed cold.
And streets ran red where futures should hold.

And those who rule in robed deceit
sell heaven cheap for blood in the street,
promising brides beyond the grave
to make a killer feel brave.

The devil is clever. He does not roar.
He hides his horn in holy decor,
wraps it in cloth, calls violence prayer,
and teaches the knife to feel like care.

The land is vibrant, ancient, deep,
saffron, salt, and bones that weep,
old crowns, old songs beneath the storm
while dark clouds press their heavy form.

Poets and artists, mouths taped tight,
songs cut down to a thread of light.
Words become birds with stitched up wings
still singing under severed strings.

Each morning comes with the same held breath,
a hand on the heart, a quiet death,
reading lists like falling rain
begging the page won’t hold their name.

Then comes blackout, the throat of tar,
millions cut off from every star.
Not just no signal, not just no sound
a nation buried while still above ground.

A crime without punishment learns to grin,
rewarded most when blood pours in.
Streets are painted, thick and new
a colour nothing washes through.

Dreams rinse down in the drains and grates,
hope gets priced at the city gates.
Flowers turn frail before they bloom,
sunlight barred from the bud’s cell room.

But roots remember what boots forget,
and green is stubborn, hard to debt.
One day the air will return, made clean,
and the streets will learn what peace can mean.

Darkness won’t pardon what it planned,
so they learned to rise, to take their stand.
Their names turn to embers year to year,
and the lion keeps its fire burning here.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

The Outsider

In the mornings I wake with a sharper sight,
where people feel less real in the honest light.
They smile and nod to keep easy and bright,
swallowing truths to stay sealed and out of sight.

They fold their words before they land,
keeping the peace, a clasp of the hand.
A path I walked, I’d shrink and bend,
so nobody left, so things could mend.

Then grief waltzed in and tore the veil,
and left me facing what’s been frail.
A laugh that shakes with a quiet fear,
a love that breathes only when you stay near.

A tether tucked in a casual tone,
a small soft ache that follows you home.
And when you can hold yourself steady and whole,
you stop handing your peace to a room for control.

You don’t trade your silence to earn a place,
you don’t say yes with a borrowed face.
And the world shifts how it stands,
not with hate, but with trembling hands.

So yes, it is lonely, seeing this clear,
but I won’t go blind just to feel near.
I’d rather stand true, the outsider in the crowd,
than shrink my soul to say I belonged.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

A Fresh Turning Year

New Year’s Eve, and the air feels new,
not stainless, not painless, just honest and true.
The fear has released its grip on my throat at last,
and I’m learning to live without living in the past.

I’m learning to return back to me,
to pour my kindness where it’s meant to be.
A hand on my own back, steady and warm,
a shelter I built through a cruel storm.

My cup is not empty, not cracked beyond use,
it’s filled with laughter, with patience, with proof.
I give myself time, I give myself space,
and find my own home in a familiar face.

The ache still arrives like a tide in my chest,
but it doesn’t decide who I am or what comes next.
It lingers, it murmurs, it claws to be loud,
but I’m out of the wreckage, and I see clearly now.

So here at the edge of a fresh turning year,
I carry my heart a little gentler this year.
Not healed through lies, not numb like a stone,
just brave enough now to keep going alone.

And when I give love, it won’t bleed me dry,
it will pour from a cup that I’ve tended with love.
I’m moving ahead, though tender and scarred,
with life in my hands, and the will to guard.

Thank you for reading, happy new year.

Atash T.

A Quiet Christmas

Christmas morning, washed out bright,
a broken bulb dressed as holy light.
The ceiling stares, the air is flat,
like love was nothing more than that.

My mind replays you, frame by frame,
each memory lit with shame.
Your laugh, your touch, the way you sing,
now winter thinned, a discarded wing.

Rage rises up like petrol fume,
a match struck in a sealed up room.
It clings to hands, it coats my tongue,
the ghost of every song you sung.

You’re somewhere else, unwrapping new,
as if the old was never true.
As if my heart was just a stay,
a coat you wore, then tossed away.

I want to rip the rot out clean,
from every cell, from every scene.
Not to forgive, not to be cruel,
but to refuse your final rule.

So I breathe through a thread of air,
and name the ache that’s living there.
Not love returned, not pity’s crest,
just a heart still beating in my chest.

And if the day insists on cheer,
I’ll let it pass, I’ll let it veer.
A cracked bell still can mark the hour,
a winter field can hide a flower.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

After Dark

I wear a borrowed grin each day,
a stitched up mask I don’t betray.
I dance through light, I play my part,
a feather smile, a heavy heart.

But midnight tugs the seam undone,
and down comes all I thought was done.
The house turns hollow, stripped and bare,
a vacant cave that keeps my breath.

The clock ticks loud through empty rooms.
Grief takes my throat and will not rest,
a coiled black ribbon, cold and tight,
a quiet hunter in the night.

Rain on my mouth, rain on my skin,
a tide that pulls the dark back in.
I fold and shake, I split, I sway,
and drown in what I hide by day.

Pain turns to threads beneath the skin,
it slips through cracks I can’t defend,
like stamps pressed down on unsent letters,
like splinters tucked beneath the bone.

It lives in bone, it bites the nerve,
a burn that follows every curve.
A bruise I keep where no one sees,
a private ache behind my jaw.

Yet morning rises and so do I,
with swollen eyes and rinsed out sky.
A candle down to its final breath,
still giving light though nearly dead.

And somewhere past these ruthless nights,
beyond the wrong and jagged bites,
a steadier hand, a kinder turn,
the one safe place my heart can rest.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

A Universe in Her Eyes

Her eyes carried two different skies,
one dusk, one dawn,
a galaxy split in half
and still perfectly whole.

Her skin, soft as silk,
taught my heart how to hold,
the first lesson of loving a woman,
written without ink.

Her lips were warmth with a pulse,
her touch a quiet nod,
her smile, a hug from home.

And when she sang,
the night held its breath,
and birds sang where there was no forest.

I held the hands that were never mine
fragile to a sigh,
as if gentleness alone
could steady a glass flower
already cracking at the edges.

But some things are borrowed
and still feel like home.
Borrowed home still ruins you.

One day the music stopped.
Not a slow goodbye.
No leaving the key.
Like a hand wiping a table.
Like the past had no weight,
lifted from its roots
and thrown away.

Now,
where her song used to live,
where her hands once tangled with mine,
where a language was built from breath,
there is only the shape of absence,
a hole the size of the universe
carved straight through my heart.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

Little Star

The night speaks of its own darkness,
ink and hush,
swallowing the memories of what once was.

And then
a little star.

Silent.
Unbruised.
Existing,
tethering the dark in place.

Protection once wore the shapes of fists and fences,
latches and bolts that bite,
walls that learn the language of fear.

But there is a gentler way to keep the light,
where a windbreak turns back the night,
for the smallest star in the darkest sky.

Little star did not lead,
only shone,
and the path dawned,
where hope had shut the door.

Courage arrived in tiny stardust,
sewn into ordinary moments,
a glow left on the heart that once was
after brushing past her orbit.

Somewhere inside,
a window keeps blowing open
to a life that almost was,
a nurture still felt
like arms remembering a weight they can’t hold.

So the presence lingers
at the rise of night.

Because when the night returns
to claim its throne,
I have seen how one little star
can teach a whole sky
to hold.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

The Warmth I Kept

My heart is warm,
an ember held against the winter breath,
refusing the easy gate of ice.

My heart is warm,
not surrendered to the chains around my throat,
not hung up in the cellar, forgotten,
only faithful to its own light.

Grief came as a tide with claws,
lifting the floorboards of my home,
leaving a bitter flavour in every whisper.

I became a house after fire,
blackened beams,
a deafening silence,
and still
one room held the light.

Love asked much of me,
love took its due,
love left marks like constellations
on the soft interior of my ribs.

Yet cruelty isn’t where I reside,
and the doors to my home remained open.

I learnt the art of a hardened shell,
to keep the warmth without surrender,
to hold tenderness like a diamond,
etched,
unaltered in its purpose.

My heart is warm,
held by the quiet knowing
I stayed true.

Thank you for reading,

Atash T.

1. One idea I’m learning

2. One truth I’m recognising

3. One win in health & fitness

4. One thought I’m unpacking

5. One hobby I’m building

6. One thing I’m watching

7. One thing I’m owning

8. One thing I’m grateful for

One Idea I’m Learning: Inside the Mind of a Sapiosexual

It has been a few months since my last newsletter. Things have been chaotic, and for someone with ADHD like me, translating racing thoughts into actual writing feels like trying to shove a tornado into a small pot. By the time the words land on paper, my brain has already moved on to the next topic.

Still, even in the mess of everything, I’ve learned a lot. My brain hasn’t stopped running like it’s a survival marathon with no water breaks. I remember sitting with my girlfriend after a gentle argument, where she was burnt out, and I was once again rambling about some chaotic brain dump of ideas. I’d been going on for hours, and as the closest person to me, she usually takes the full hit of every new philosophical tangent or unsolicited TED talk I spiral into. That night, she was low on sleep, exhausted from work, and I was squeezing her last functioning brain cell.

That conversation made me pause and I realised something was not right with me and the situation. Unless I’m in a social setting where I’m consciously engaging, I don’t really talk about myself, specially not about what is really going on behind the curtain. And when someone does take genuine interest in that part of me, I get intensely involved, whether it’s a friendship or a relationship.

So I ran through my past connections where the spark faded, where it shifted from connection to performance. I am not talking about just the sexual spark, but intellectual and emotional reciprocity. I ended up venting to ChatGPT (of all places), and in response to how I described my patterns, it said, “What you might be describing is often called being sapiosexual.” And I thought... what the hell is that now?

That triggered a deep dive.

I always thought craving intellectual intimacy was just part of being human, but turns out, not everyone feels that way. My need for stimulating conversation, shared learning, and debating isn’t everyone’s version of intimacy. But for me, it is the core of intimacy.

As I kept digging, I realised that what I thought was a basic expectation in connection actually falls under the umbrella of sapiosexuality. I became intrigued and thought that maybe there are forums or communities where people like me go to bounce ideas, learn, debate, obsess. So I went looking.

Google was great. Reddit? Not so much.

The r/sapiosexuals subreddit was a mess. Most of what I read turned me off the label entirely. So many people posting about it were egocentric and lacking basic emotional intelligence. The vibe wasn’t “let’s expand our minds”, it was “let me tell you why I’m smarter than everyone else I’ve dated.” I wanted to bleach my brain by the time I finished reading for the night. I don’t like labels to begin with, and now I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to identify with this one.

Yet, the curious nature of my mind send me back.

After work the next night, I saw a comment recommending the book Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay by Mira Kirshenbaum which is a relationship book about clarity. I started the audiobook the next day, and to my surprise, it resonated deeply. Not just in terms of staying or leaving a partner, but understanding patterns, needs, and how to avoid repeating the same mistakes. That post led me to another about cybernetics, which led me to message the original poster from Germany, and we ended up talking for hours. An actual connection. Idea exchange. No egos. No intellectual power plays. Just learning and debating.

That was the moment where the light switch turned on in the chaos.

There are people out there whose brains fire the way mine does. And it was honestly one of the most hopeful discoveries I’ve made in my recent self-growth journey. I’d been feeling isolated in how I think and process. Most conversations in my life have felt like breadcrumb trails, with bursts of stimulation followed by disappointment. Either someone sparks something interesting then derails it with a conspiracy theory that sends me reeling, or it’s a theory dump from someone who refuses to be questioned or challenged, and I’m just nodding along thinking about what it would feel like to throw myself out the window. That frustration has been showing up everywhere, in my friendships, relationships, family, even at work.

But over the past few months, something changed. I started tossing my ideas onto that same subreddit. Some got picked apart, some sparked debates, and some led to conversations that made me feel like I had a place again. I’ve learned more in the last few months about politics, history, biology, psychology, and technology than I ever have in my life and that is just from trading thoughts with strangers who are also eager to learn and share their learnings.

So here is a takeaway lesson:

Craving depth doesn’t make you overbearing. It means your mind is wired to build intimacy through meaning and you are allowed to want more than surface level scraps.

One Truth I am Recognising: The Nervous System Timeline

Ever since starting this newsletter, I’ve been on a very intentional journey of individualisation and healing. It has opened my eyes more deeply than ever before to the way I interact with people, the world, and myself. There have been some incredible perks:

• I no longer see the world through the foggy lens of fear

• I’ve developed a level of self-awareness that allows accountability to guide me instead of my reactions

• I can now tell when my responses are coming from trauma, not truth

• I’m starting to understand the difference between love and trauma bonding

• I can spot projection and patterned behaviours for what they are

• I’ve learned that boundaries are not the same as being a dick

• I’m translating hypervigilance into regulation

• I’m learning that calm does not mean apathy

But with all of that awareness came a difficult side effect. I started to feel more isolated, angrier, and more blunt. I stopped filtering myself altogether. And while that might sound good on paper, the truth is more complicated. Because what actually happened is that I began self-isolating, I pushed people away and I became emotionally sharp but socially disconnected. At times, it felt like I was going backwards, just in a different way.

After a long self-reflection session and more learning, I came across a concept called the biopsychological rebound effect.

Essentially, what I realised is as I began to exit my trauma based fawning response and step into empowerment, I also began releasing a lot of suppressed anger. The more my awareness grew, the more dissonance I felt. I started to look back and ask myself as to how did I tolerate so much for so long?, and that dissonance triggered a mental shift where I went from appeasing to defending.

According to recent neuroscience research, this is actually part of the healing process. As your amygdala and prefrontal cortex begin to rebalance, your emotional brain (amygdala) can overfire temporarily while the logical brain (prefrontal cortex) is still stabilising. That’s why, in the middle of healing, people can feel more emotional, more volatile, or even like they are “getting worse” when in fact, the brain is reworking the entire operating system.

As my nervous system began to recalibrate this week, I noticed myself slowly returning to a baseline. My empathy returned, my need for control faded, and my sense of compassion began to mature. I finally understood what people mean when they say “healing takes patience”, because your brain will misfire several times before it finds its rhythm.

I came across a recent 2024 study that helped me make sense of what I was going through. The paper is called Resilience to Stress and Trauma: A Narrative Review of Neuroimaging Research By Egan L.A., H. R. P., & Gatt, J. M. which is a meta-analysis of 38 human neuroimaging studies exploring what resilient brains look like under long-term stress and trauma.

Before or Early Trauma Exposure

The longitudinal studies scanned people before trauma exposure (eg. police recruits, medics) and found that smaller hippocampal volume or lower prefrontal activation at baseline predicted greater PTSD symptoms over time. Essentially they identified that early phases reflect volunerability, where the nervous system is primed for hyperarousal, poor regulation, and survival focused behaviours (i.e. the fight or flight phase).

During Recovery or Therapy

The intervention fMRI studies showed participants receiving therapy like Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) or exposure therapy had increased activation in the dorsolateral and ventromedial PFC, anterior cingulate cortex (ACC), and ventral striatum (VS) followed by decreased activation in the amygdala. This is where suppressed anger or grief surface which is not a relapse but a part of the healing.

After Therapy or Long-Term Resilience

The exposed and healthy groups in structural and resting state studies showed larger PFC and hippocampal volumes, stable activation of control networks, lower amygdala reactivity and balanced connectivity. This is the pinnacle point of healing where brain has rewired to maintain regulation and flexibility.

My take away from this is that healing is less like a straight road and more like rewiring an overloaded electrical system. Some circuits will spark. Some will flicker. Others will short out entirely before anything stabilises. Each surge of emotion, each internal explosion, is not failure, it is recalibration. So when I swing between aggression, grief, and patience, I remind myself now that that this is healing, it’s the brain rewiring itself from survival to stability.

One Win in Health & Fitness: Losing 35 Pounds with Zero Meal Prep

Even with my brain sabotaging me and my bachelorette lifestyle enabling it without shame, I’m talking living on fast food, Uncle Ben’s rice, and canned tuna; I have still managed to lose 16 kilograms (~35 lb).

This weight loss and fitness journey has been one of the most mentally challenging aspects of my self-growth process. I constantly find myself struggling to stay consistent or keep myself accountable long-term. So this week, I sat down and asked myself of what was different in my early 20s when I used to compete in bodybuilding and lived and breathed health?

Besides the fact that I’m now older and my bones crack like glowsticks every time I move, I realised two major things had changed.

First, I am an achievement driven person. If I don’t have a goal in front of me, something I can chase and measure, I tend to throw that goal in the “not important right now” basket.

Second, the people I had around me back then were also active and health-focused. They showed up for themselves, and I felt naturally motivated to show up for myself too. There was accountability, not just to me but between us where we fed off each other’s energy.

So now, it is time for the solutions. For the next month, I’m doing two things:

1. I’m choosing a goal that actually feels meaningful, something substantial enough that I’ll want to move towards it.

2. I’m investing more energy and compassion into the new friendships I’ve made with people who are also active and health-minded. Because having people around you who match your drive makes all the difference.

One Thought I’m Unpacking: The Mirror of Extreme Ownership

Over the past months I’ve been sitting with a concept that’s been quietly shaping how I lead, live and show up in my personal relationships which is the idea of Extreme Ownership, from the book by Jocko Willink and Leif Babin.

The principle of the book is simple but also very confronting because what you learn is that you are responsible for everything in your life. All of it. Even the uncomfortable parts, even the stuff you didn’t directly cause, and even when someone else has dropped the ball. It doesn’t mean that you blame yourself for everything, it just means that you take ownership of how you respond, adapt and lead through every situation, even if it’s difficult.

The book is strangely not written by a super successful billionaire but by US war veterans who have made grave mistakes in their missions in the middle east. The level of accountability and ownership is uncomfortable to read. There is an example in the book where there was a blue on blue (allies) friendly fire during the Iraq war where Jocko’s SEAL team was involved. Jocko called a debrief and instead blaming others he stated:

As a result of this, his team respected him more, command trusted him more and he shifted the culture around accountability for his SEAL team.

As someone who always felt like I’ve had to claw my way through survival mode, this book hit a nerve. In my role at work, I’ve realised how often leadership is about what you allow and communicate and not just what you do. If you’re silent when something slips, that is still considered a decision you’re accountable for. If your team fails to meet a standard, you own the standard. If communication breaks down, you own the repair. It’s very confronting but has helped me develop a level of self-confidence and self-respect that I have never felt before.

In my personal life, it has turned a mirror that I never wanted to look at. I’ve experienced abuse, betrayals, emotional warfare and no, I didn’t cause those things. But I did stay too long, I did tolerate the pain and forgive. I did keep trying to fix what wasn’t mine to fix and I avoided taking ownership of my exit, my healing and my boundaries. That part is definitely on me.

The book outlines a few key principles:

1. Extreme ownership: the leader is always responsible. Full stop.

2. There are no bad teams, only bad leaders: a high performing team is created by a high performing leader.

3. Believe in the mission: if you don’t believe in what you’re doing, your people won’t either.

4. Check your ego: ego is the enemy of growth, clarity, and team cohesion.

5. Cover and move: departments, people, and teams must work together. No silos.

6. Simple plans win: if your team can’t explain the plan, they can’t execute it.

7. Prioritise and execute: don’t panic, step back. Pick one problem. Solve it. Repeat.

8. Decentralised command: everyone must understand the mission well enough to lead on their level.

The more apply principles of this book, the more I notice a change in my confidence. After every conflict, I reflect and stop looking outward for people to do better and ask myself what I could better to achieve the outcome I need and want.

One Hobby I’m Building: The Hands That Taught Me Growth Never Ends

Lately, I’ve been deeply inspired by my grandmother. She’s 79 years old now, and I almost lost her to COVID-19 five years ago. Since then, her entire support system has shifted. With her children and grandchildren living in different countries, busy with work, and many of her friends and family passing with age, she had to find new ways to stay emotionally and mentally active. So she picked up a paintbrush and started taking art lessons.

Only a year later, she hosted her very first art gallery. Her work was exceptional. Her styles ranged from abstract to realism, each piece filled with feeling and depth. I was speechless. My grandmother has always been someone I look up to for her empathy, her strength, her quiet achievements, and the kind of unconditional love that grounds you even when the world feels unstable.

At the same time, I’ve been learning more about neuroscience and how the old belief that we become “set in our ways” as we age is completely outdated by science. Our brains can rewire, retrain, and adapt at any age. Neuroplasticity is real and watching my grandmother’s journey proved it to me.

So I made a decision. I’m no longer going to let my talents go to waste. Even in the areas where I’m not “naturally gifted” like art. I want to engage the parts of my brain I’ve neglected. I want to explore, experiment, and rebuild. This is me returning to drawing.

Here is one photograph from her art gallery:

One Thing I’m Watching: Superman 2025

I booked Gold Class tickets for me and my girlfriend while she was here in Australia to watch the Superman 2025 movie and I didn’t expect to get emotional and have to think deep but here we are.

This version of the Superman movie wasn’t about your typical Superman, saving people, whilst looking hot in his cape. The movie felt like a pyschological case study where Clark wasn’t really saving the world for the people to be awe of his charm but because he was doing it while battling moral exhaustion and the isolation that stems from never feeling understood.

What stood out most to me was the power of restraint. Kal-El struggling to stay soft where strength would be an easier option and choosing anger when it’s justified. The whole movie felt like the Carl Jung’s theory of the shadow self, the parts of us we suppress in order to be accepted. Superman is the personification of that suppression; he is godlike, but trained from very young to smile, stay small, to fit in so the world won’t turn against him. And like the Carl Jung’s psychology, what we suppress doesn’t disappear, it waits and eventually, it emerges. For Superman, this emergence was grief, loneliness and a deep longing to be seen for he is beneath his performance.

Watching the movie I couldn’t help but to also think about the current state of the US. A country that projects power but underneath it all is fractured, overextended, and scared of losing control. The theme of restraint, internal struggles and the fractured identity plays out not just in the character but as a quiet allegory for an empire on the brink of burnout.

One Thing I’m Owning: The Conditional Growth

This month, I had to confront a painful truth, that sometimes I confuse insight with intimacy. I tell myself I’m offering love, when really, I’m trying to shape someone into something safer, more predictable, more aligned with how I see the world.

I kept believing it was about accountability and that I was offering honesty, reflection, and growth. But when I sat with the pattern, I realised it was control wrapped in fear. And the slower growth came, the more I pushed, analysed, and dissected; all while standing on a moral high ground built on vulnerability and self-awareness.

The truth is, I’m scared of softness and vulnerability in myself because I always end up hurt. So I demanded depth, while making safety conditional without even realising. But love isn’t a psychology textbook. It’s rupture, mess, and repair.

So I’m owning the part of me that chased “truth” just to avoid rejection. The part that tried to earn love through perfection. I’m learning, slowly, that I can hold my insight without using it as a knife; and that everyone needs room to fumble, not just perform growth.

One thing I’m grateful for: Forged in Flame

This week I’m grateful that no matter how many times I’ve broken, I’ve never shattered. There is always a part of me that refuses to stay down even when it’s not so graceful. Although my resilience comes in forms of rage, numbness, and data sheets, it still keeps me from remaining face down on the ground for too long. I never tap out.

I’ve stopped expecting myself to be the beacon of positivity for people who don’t return the light, because I’m not that. But what I really am is relentless and that is something I finally value in myself.

I will crawl forward if I have to, bleeding, burning, aching but as long as I’m still feeling, still trying, and still growing.

I am grateful for the fire burning inside me, no matter how dim it gets. Because eventually, it turns to blaze and when I rise, I set the whole fucking sky on fire.

1. One idea I’m learning

2. One truth I’m recognising

3. One win in health & fitness

4. One thought I’m unpacking

5. One hobby I’m building

6. One thing I’m watching

7. One thing I’m owning

8. One thing I’m grateful for

One Idea I’m Learning: AI Powered Geotechnical Engineering

For the past 8 years, I gave everything I had to corporate Geotechnical Engineering. My value was reduced down to KPI percentages and how many projects I could drag across the finish line under-budget usually by sacrificing 4 to 5 unpaid hours a day to meet deadlines that were, quite frankly, delusional. All of it just so I could breathe easy enough to pay my mortgage.

But at some point, I couldn’t breathe anymore. I lived and breathed work until I fully burned out. Corporate life is like a spider web and once you’re tangled in ego, status, and chasing recognition for someone else’s mission, it’s hard to get out. You tell yourself you’re building a legacy, but really, you’re feeding someone else’s. I stopped showing up. I lost my fire. And then... I escaped the web.

It wasn’t until I joined a friend’s startup that I realised that I wasn’t lazy. I wasn’t broken. I was just… bored.

Turns out, people with ADHD don’t suffer from a deficit, they suffer from being in the wrong environment. Repetition without meaning kills creativity and I had been buried in it for years.

At the startup, even with less job security and more risk, I could finally see the impact of my work. Every improvement I made mattered to me, and to the business. That lit a fire inside me again.

I started automating systems as the Operations Manager. I deep dived into AI integration, streamlined tasks, and actually deleted myself out of the role in some ways because that was the point. Efficiency means freedom and from there, I started building the Geotechnical & Civil Engineering division of the company with the director. This was a a blank slate with no more legacy systems and no more spreadsheet spaghetti.

Here’s the biggest lesson I’ve learned:

Geotechnical engineers lose hours every week to clunky, ancient systems that feel like punishment.

The risk filled nature of the industry makes it stuck in the past. Everything needs to be foolproof, but in the process, we’ve stopped evolving. I thought, what if I built a system that actually thinks like I do, instead of forcing myself into one that was clearly designed by someone who’s never done fieldwork on 3 hours sleep with red dust in their lungs?

Enjoying your own work. It feels like revolutionary concept right?

So instead of brawling with my brain and falling into the procrastination pit while juggling 10 spreadsheets and field logs that look like they’ve been dragged through dirt, I’m now directing my focus on learning Python and AI integration to develop a tool to do things my way:

1. Snap a photo of handwritten field notes (dirt stains and all)

2. Feed it through a Python script

3. Let AI structure and format the data

4. Auto-generate logs, summaries, even basic report drafts

5. Maybe even develop draft cross-sections

But what about liability? Data privacy?

Here’s where the corporate is stuck:

• Quality Control: Their QA/QC workflows are too rigid to change.

• Liability: you give an AI tool to someone with no understanding of soil behaviour, and a critical thinking mind, they’ll probably end up designing something they shouldn’t even touch.

• Skill Gaps: Let’s be honest here, some engineers spend 2 hours figuring out how to rotate a PDF. Training whole teams to use AI responsibly? Yeah, I’m good.

• Contractual Constraints: some clients (like government bodies) require strict data handling and security that can’t risk AI exposure.

• Mindset: “If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.” but truth is it is broken though and we’re just used to the pain.

But here's the thing, every single concern above has a solution.

• Don’t feed full project documentation into AI, you feed AI data.

• You build custom scripts that do QA/QC checks in addition to human quality control systems.

• You still review everything manually.

What you don’t do is keep wasting time copy-pasting moisture contents into spreadsheets until your soul erodes.

My goal isn’t to sell this, this is to protect my energy. I am planning to build a tool that will serve me and my future team and to streamline what I hate so I can focus on the parts that actually utilises my brain, the interpretation and analysis. Because time, focus and mental clarity are priceless and for me, that's a treasure I will be guarding.

One Truth I am Recognising: No One’s Coming, It is All On You

I’ve done therapy on and off since I was 18, about five years straight back then, and again more seriously over the last two years. Something I’ve finally recognised is your psychologist mirrors who you show up as.

If you come in with ambition, focus, and a hunger to grow, they’ll challenge you. If you come in just to vent, they’ll give you that space. If you come in and say you want to heal but don’t show movement, they won’t drag you. They’ll sit beside you and reflect the very thing you’re choosing, stagnancy.

My first long-term clinical psychologist taught me day to day self protection and survival. But the core of my internal world, where the rot had set in remained untouched. I had mold in the foundation and I was too busy managing symptoms to see it. So I changed direction and I found a trauma-informed therapist and told myself:

That thought scared me more than any trauma I’d been through. Not the abuse, not the betrayals. The scariest thing was the idea that I could stay bound to the people who once controlled me, just by doing nothing.

So I showed up for myself. I pushed my therapist to push me. I made it a rule for myself that every session must end with a meaningful homework and that it includes full truth, no sugar coating and no protecting of people who have hurt me. That’s when therapy stopped being progressive and started becoming precision surgery.

I had to look at my behaviours, with passive aggression, control as protection against fear, and clinging to people who hurt me because I feared being alone; and when I stopped avoiding that mirror, something cracked open inside my brain.

My therapist described my traumas and behaviours like metaphor, she said:

Your mind is like a conference table. You sit at the head, and every emotional reaction, trauma part, or behavioural pattern sits in one of those chairs. The ones who act out are usually stuck at age of your schemas/traumas and your job is to bring your adult self to that table, not just let the child self take over.

And I slowly started learning that, one session at a time, I began walking out of her sessions and immediately putting the tools into play. There was no time to wait, I wanted to become the adult at the table, and I wanted to start running the meeting.

A few months in, something shifted. I couldn’t even explain it. A friend asked me how I was and I just said:

I had so much unprocessed grief, stress, and pain inside me that I felt like something snapped, but in a positive way. The world that once felt dangerous now felt like something I could move through because I started trusting myself and I was in control of me.

It felt like I unlocked a hidden part of my brain, I started seeing people’s pain, their masks, their tactics with clarity. I was able to just sit with people close to me, clock the manipulation or emotional chaos, and not get pulled into it. I started saying “no” calmly, draw a boundary, and not collapse in guilt afterward. That’s not easy when you’ve been a people pleaser your whole life, it almost feels like a foreign language. But the more I did it, the more I became confident in myself and learnt:

Regulation is a practice, not a switch.

I used to think standing my ground meant being louder and more aggressive and maybe a little more defensive but the real power is in the pause. It is the moment when you are able to see the whole pattern and just react to the part that hurts.

My methods for madness became:

1. Notice the feelings and sensations in my body (tightness, numbness, adrenaline)

2. Identify the trigger (a phrase, a tone, a facial expression)

3. Connect it to the trauma (abandonment, dismissal, fear of failure)

4. Pause and breathe

5. Patience until body catches up to the mind and becomes regulated

6. Reaffirm boundaries without feeling the need to explain myself

This week, I stopped explaining myself to someone who doesn’t hear me. That is my new superhero power.

One Win in Health & Fitness: The Spicy Ribs Diet

I’ve been in full stingy survival mode, no heater, no dryer, just pure stubborn grit in the middle of an Australian winter. It's been 4°C in the house some mornings (~39°F), and yes, I’ve been shivering in my duvet cave wondering why I do this to myself. But still, I’ve been managing to get up by 6 AM most days and get to work almost on time. That is progress, not perfection.

Now here’s the shocker, despite smashing a 5 pack of spicy chicken ribs from Hungry Jack’s nearly every day, I’ve still been losing weight consistently. Probably because I only eat once a day. Either way, it feels good putting on clothes from 2 years ago and realising they’re now too big.

Now my biggest hurdle is confidence. I need to drag my ass to the gym, not for punishment or aesthetics but because movement resets my brain. I just need to get out of my head and start.

One Thought I’m Unpacking: Where Freud Ends Is Where Jung Begins

This week, I stumbled across a video on Carl Jung that changed the way I understand trauma. Not just in theory but in how I’ve personally been processing it for the last few months without even realising.

For years, I’ve approached trauma work primarily through a Freudian lens, as many of us do. The framework was simple, identify repressed memories, speak the truth of your experience, access the emotion, release it and heal. That method has its place and power and it helped me make sense of my past and gave language to pain I used to carry in silence.

But Jung offers a different pathway, one I hadn’t fully considered until now. Where Freud’s approach digs into the unconscious to bring pain to the surface, Jung’s philosophy sees trauma as a disconnection from the self. Not just wounds, but fragmentation; and his focus wasn’t on emotional release alone, but on reconnection to true self. His process of individuation is about reconnecting with the whole self even the parts we’ve abandoned and work towards moving forward with a deeper sense of identity and internal balance. This resonated with me deeply.

Over the past month, I’ve noticed a quiet but persistent shift in myself. It hasn’t been a loud transformation more like a subtle reconstruction. I’ve found myself reconnecting to parts of me that I used to suppress, the assertive voice, the angry part, the side of me that wants internal stability and power without apology or feeling guilt. For a while, I confused that shift as becoming desensetised or emotionless but reading about Jung’s philosophies changed all of it and I realised that this wasn’t a setback; it was a step forward toward wholeness.

What struck me most is how well Freud and Jung complement each other when viewed as a sequence rather than a conflict. Freud creates the access point; Jung offers the integration. One method is about digging inside your brain and the other is about rebuild stage.

During therapy I spoke of my traumas and learnt day to day tools in dealing with them but Jung’s theory validated the internal work I’ve been doing outside of the sessions that involved the spiritual and identity growth that can’t be captured or visualised.

It turns out that healing doesn’t always feel like a breakthrough, and sometimes it’s a quiet return to parts of yourself you forgot were ever yours to begin with because they were lost in chaos of your childhood.

One Hobby I’m Building: My Career Is My Craft

Most of my usual hobbies are on pause right now; my Twitch activity is dead, my tools are dusty, and my motorbike is giving me side-eye in the garage. But learning never stops for someone like me. These days, my hobby looks a little different, like this newsletter, coding lessons, and building with OpenAI.

It’s a strange but beautiful shift, when your work aligns with your purpose, learning stops feeling like after hours chore and starts becoming a form of hobby.

That said, I’m also learning to not be on overdrive 24/7. Sometimes the most advanced operating system we need is nature, sun, wind, and connection. With that said, for the next four weeks, I’ve got a very special person visiting me from the US and I will be manifesting my time and energy in being present, making memories and feeling the world around me rather than having my head buried into books and research.

So if you catch me quiet online, I’m probably being loud with life.

One Thing I’m Watching: A Dangerous Method

I watched several movies this week, but one stuck with me, A Dangerous Method, a psychological drama exploring the complex relationship between Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud, with the brilliant but often overlooked Sabina Spielrein at its core.

The story commences with Jung polished, married, and ambitious, taking on Sabina as a patient. She arrives severely traumatised and dysregulated, but over time, we witness her growth and evolution. The film powerfully demonstrates Jung’s theory of transformation in action, as Sabina moves from hysteric to a grounded, intuitive woman who later becomes a respected figure in early developments of psychology.

But the movie doesn’t avoid Jung’s contradictions and mistakes. It presents his theory of the "shadow self"; the polished psychologist alongside his inner turmoil, including his sexual infidelity and repression. This duality felt like a direct reference to Jung’s own concept of the shadow self, the parts we hide and repress, even from ourselves.

Freud, on the other hand, is portrayed as guarded and somewhat limited by the scientific and political climate of the era. He openly criticises Jung’s spiritual and symbolic thinking, but there is a moment where he says, “the world is not ready.” That line hit me and it felt less like disagreement and more like strategic suppression as if Freud agreed with Jung on some level but decided to play it safe in a field not ready to evolve.

Sabina is the silent revolution of this movie. Her journey symbolises how healing can’t just be about diagnosis and management of emotional symptoms but it also has to include intuition, embodiment, and integration. She doesn’t just “get better”, she transforms and she does it with growth, not avoidance.

One Thing I’m Owning: Not My Shame To Carry

This week, I caught myself slipping into guilt again, that familiar feeling that shows up whenever I start pulling back from someone after my boundaries have been pushed one too many times. For a moment, I doubted myself and thought that maybe I was being too harsh, that I should soften, or that I was the problem.

But the truth sat quietly at the bottom of all that noise. I have already explained myself clearly, repeatedly, gently, and firmly. I have expressed my needs, my values, my hurt and yet, somehow, what gets received is always filtered through the lens of someone else’s narrative.

That was a turning point and a lesson. I realised I am not being cold, I am being clear. I am not shutting down, I am choosing not to collapse into old patterns. This isn’t withdrawal; this is self-respect in progress. I’m no longer reacting out of fear, and I’m definitely not here to perform emotional softness for the sake of someone else’s comfort. What others may label as distant or cold is simply me protecting my peace with communication and clarity.

I will no longer abandon myself just to preserve someone else's narrative. That is not my shame to carry.

One thing I’m grateful for: A Page From The Ashes

Something strange happened this week, I had so much to write about for this newsletter like, reflections, ideas, boundaries, systems but when I got to this section, I blanked. I couldn’t think of a single thing I was grateful for and that threw me.

I could have written about my cats again and how they are always comforting, and how Chocolate snuggled under my feet every night like clockwork, but I didn’t want to repeat myself. That’s not the point of this newsletter. the point is to challenge my thinking and to hold myself accountable to noticing growth and softness where it actually lives, not just where it feels familiar.

It took me almost an extra day to finish this newsletter. For a moment, I genuinely thought maybe I was losing my emotional side, and maybe the part of me that feels deeply and empathises easily, the part that makes me who I am, was slipping away.

But then something unexpected happened. By sheer coincidence, a close friend of mine ran into my ex fiance. The one I was with for nine years. The one who discarded me without closure and twisted a false narrative to anyone who would listen. The one who used fear, control, emotional abuse and manipulation to keep me around every time I tried to leave. Some people still believe his story but most don’t, unless they are delusional or wrapped in his manipulation.

This is where I need to be honest. When I left that relationship, I didn’t leave for love. I left because I was in despair and pain, I left because I was exhausted. Because staying felt like drowning, and leaving felt like jumping into a blazing fire. I entered something new while I was still bleeding, and it hurt. It created new pain for me and the people involved but it taught me something I never could have learned if I had stayed.

If none of that had happened, if the heartbreak and confusion and split between two lives had not unfolded, I probably would have stayed. I would have kept reducing myself to a support system for someone else’s emptiness and lack of sense of self. I would have kept calling emotional abuse loyalty. I would have kept thinking love looked like someone cleaning my car the morning after shattering my nervous system the night before.

This week I realised that I am grateful for all of it, the pain, the chaos and the messy decisions. Because it brought me here where I can reflect now. I feel angry, but I don’t hold resentment. I remember, but I don’t carry the weight. I know what I want, I know what love is supposed to feel like, I know what I will never accept again, and I get to heal through creativity.

This week I am grateful that I made it out. I am not just alive anymore but I am becoming whole, one day at a time.

1. One idea I’m learning

2. One truth I’m recognising

3. One win in health & fitness

4. One thought I’m unpacking

5. One hobby I’m building

6. One thing I’m watching

7. One thing I’m owning

8. One thing I’m grateful for

One Idea I’m Learning: Reverse Engineering Success Routines

Feeling stuck in my growth, I’ve been diving into the routines of powerful people in the world. Their names kept coming up in conversations over the past few weeks. I’m talking about people like Elon Musk, Barack Obama, Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, and Nikola Tesla.

Ignoring controversies, I focused on their success and drive to learn how they track accountability and stay grounded. Every successful person has a “weekly check-in,” whether it’s ruthless task reviews, performance micro-management, value-based reflections, or “think weeks.” Inspired by this, I created my own weekly framework tailored to my goals and need for growth.

This all started with a moment that completely derailed me this week. My new boss, who scaled his business like a madman over the past year, hit me with a deceptively simple request. After our chat about my lack of visible fire, he said:

“When I come back, I want you to decide on three things.”

That was it; he didn’t say what or what he expected me to decide on. Just that, and then he left, leaving me alone with my brain in an existential spiral. I’ve been stuck on this for days, not because I didn’t know what to decide, but because I realised that I didn’t know what I wanted. I’ve been drifting without purpose, finding purpose in others’ dreams and calling it “drive” and “direction.”

Considering the big changes in my life over the past 4 years, from seeing myself as a future mother, a partner, and stability in the corporate world to a future of uncertainties, I’m directing a ship without a destination. Basically, the perfect recipe for an identity collapse. Seems like Pinterest lied to us all.

Then it hit me:

Growing up with decisions made for me, and having no control over my own sense of self, I never learned how to choose. So when someone challenged it, I felt terrified.

That’s where these 8 accountability lists came from, with a purpose for structure when everything feels untethered. They are partly inspired by Tim Ferriss’ 5 Bullet Friday newsletter, partly from late-night journaling spirals, and mostly from a depth of despair to stop living on autopilot.

So if you’re reading this and feeling called out, good. Let’s have an existential meltdown together, but do it with intent.

One Truth I am Recognising: The Empty Blueprint

The hardest truth I’ve had to swallow is that for years, I’ve been finding meaning in other people’s lives and in society’s expectations. I became a professional dream borrower, living off borrowed blueprints and recycled ambitions. The problem is, there was never any room left for my own growth. No blueprint that I built myself, no direction that actually came from within me.

Now I’m trying to rebuild purpose from the ground up. Not a recycled version of who I used to be, but something entirely new. Something that holds my values close while still feeling aligned with the person I want to become.

Some days, I wake up ready to take on the world. Other days, I feel like a forgotten potato left in the pantry. Motivation comes and goes. Most of the time, it goes. Just like the people who said they were here for me but only stayed while I was valuable to them.

This lack of purpose sits at the core of my self-sabotage. I hold myself back, miss opportunities, and convince myself I’m not ready. Not because I’m incapable, but because I’m afraid of failing. More than that, I’m afraid of being seen as a failure, which is ironic, considering I’m already an expert at disappointing myself.

One Win in Health & Fitness: Chronically Tired

I used to be a hardcore bodybuilder for six years. I still love the peace and meditation of clanking weights and the pain it gives me. But back then, I trained purely for aesthetics; I competed, and my entire focus was on how I looked, how much muscle I built, or how visible my six-pack was after scarfing down a box of nuggets out of paranoia.

I’ve grown from that mindset, forced by life and putting on 50 kg (~110 lb). For now, my biggest health and fitness goal is much simpler: wake up at 5 AM and not hate myself.

My sleep routine is an absolute dumpster fire and has been for the past four years, ever since a failed and emotionally abusive relationship wrecked my mental health. But even in that chaos, there’s been progress. I’ve gone from 111 kg (~244 lb) in late 2024 to 97 kg (~213 lb) now.

I’m starting to recognise that a healthy brain relies on physical input. That means giving my body the right fuel and moving it regularly so it does what I need it to do. I’m learning that health is about sustainability and definitely not six-packs, but consistency.

This week’s lesson: Big changes start with boring steps like drinking water, going to bed on time, then repeating that again.

One Thought I’m Unpacking: Leaders, Lies and Art of Distraction

Since the Iran and Israel conflict ignited, and seeing the role Donald Trump played in shaping those dynamics, I’ve become obsessed with how world leaders operate behind the media curtain. The way they manipulate narratives, redirect public focus, and turn the loudest headlines into carefully planted decoys genuinely blows my mind.

I’ve been diving deep into political behaviour and media framing. Right now, I’m listening to the audiobook of The Art of the Deal by Donald Trump. There is a lot to learn from how he uses media, image, and distraction as tools. I’ve only just started, but the patterns are already glaring.

What I’m noticing is that the stories we’re fed on the front lines are rarely the real story. They are strategic distractions and spotlights designed to stir emotion, while something else moves quietly behind the scenes.

I know some of these thoughts might be controversial, but honestly, I’m past the point of caring. I’m not here to be agreeable. I want to provoke curiosity. If it gets people thinking for themselves, then I consider it job done.

But that’s a story for another newsletter entirely.

One Hobby I’m Building: Main Character Energy, But IRL

Streaming used to be my creative lifeline. Grand Theft Auto V roleplay gave me space to act, create stories, and escape through characters, but also to escape my pain and reality. Right now, it’s on pause while I work out a balance in my life. My ADHD medication wears off by the time I feel like performing for my community, and honestly, so does my will. The emotional cost always feels heavier than the return.

Now, I’m channeling that chaotic creativity into this newsletter. It’s my new outlet a place to push my writing skills and untangle the thoughts in my head.

Life shifts, passions evolve, and sometimes the things you love need to be temporarily set aside to focus on what matters most. Right now, that’s not content or characters. It’s me, my identity, and my purpose.

Game of the week: Civilization VI

I’ve been deep in Civilization VI this week. There’s something oddly satisfying about testing my patience, pushing myself to read more, and improving my ability to strategise with whatever random empire I’m given, although I’m yet to win a game.

One Thing I’m Watching: Tears Over a Cartoon

When I first saw it pop up on my Netflix homepage, I assumed it was just a silly animated film for kids. But as someone who doesn’t cry much, especially over movies, I had to hold back a lot of tears.

K-Pop Demon Hunter, an animated cartoon, turned out to be filled with hidden messages about trauma, repression, and the struggle between authenticity and performance. In my interpretation, the demons are metaphors. They represent repressed emotions, unhealed grief, and the guilt and shame we carry. They are literal shadow selves, sad and chaotic, disowned parts of us fighting to be seen.

In my opinion film leans heavily into Jungian psychological theory, particularly the concept of the shadow. It explores emotional suppression, identity, and the masks we wear to survive under societal expectations. I also recognised strong themes presented in the movie of control, abuse, healing, and the long road back to wholeness through self-confrontation and forgiveness.

“To treat the part, you must understand the whole” - Healer Han

One Thing I’m Owning: Didn’t Quit, Just Stalled

I’m a natural problem-solver. It probably pisses people off more than it helps because after they finish venting to me and I’ve validated their pain, I usually hit them with, “So how can you fix this?” or start listing solutions.

But here’s something I’ve only recently admitted to myself: accountability and consistency are the final boss. No shortcuts, no quick wins. It takes resilience, patience, and the kind of stubbornness that refuses to give up even after slipping.

I’m great at starting things. When something is new and demands my full attention, I’m all in. I give it everything. But keeping it going? That’s where it falls apart. Right now, my goal is simple: get the engine running and let it warm up. It doesn’t have to be perfect.

More than anything, I want to be accountable to myself. That means tracking where I fall short, recognising what works, and creating space between my needs and the things I’m grateful for even when they feel impossible to see.

One thing I’m grateful for: Emotional Support Loaves

No matter how low I feel inside, my two cats remain the most consistent living beings in my life. Whether they’re kneading on my belly or purring like car engines, they remind me that home is never truly empty when there’s a loving four-legged soul around.

I love waking up to Chocolate (my female cat) kneading on my belly, it’s strangely grounding, especially on days when everything feels too heavy inside my chest. In those moments, they remind me that I’m still a person worth curling up next to.