I don't know who I am.
At least, not the real me.
Not the version I want to show the world.
Not the version my mind paints when it's quiet.
Not the person who wakes up hopeful or scared or tired.
I'm a collection of fears and questions and contradictions.
I want to be brave, but I'm scared of failing.
I want to speak, but I'm afraid I'll be misunderstood.
I want to live, but sometimes all I do is survive inside my head.
Overthinking has been my constant companion.
It's the shadow that follows me everywhere, whispering doubts, spinning scenarios, building walls.
But here's what I'm starting to realize:
Maybe not knowing who I am is just the beginning of finding out.
I don't have to have all the answers right now.
I don't have to be perfect or fixed or whole.
I just have to keep moving forward, even if my feet feel heavy and my mind noisy.
Maybe the real me isn't a final version.
Maybe it's a story still being written messy, confusing, but mine.
And maybe that's enough.
Because even in the chaos of my thoughts, there's a small voice that says:
You're more than your overthinking.
You're more than your fears.
You're more than the sum of your doubts.
You are human.
And that is enough to start.