You know those days when you’re tired, but it’s not the kind of tired sleep fixes?
Yeah. That kind.
I was talking with someone (okay, fine — an AI, but a brutally honest one), and it hit me: my biggest blind spot isn’t that I’m not doing enough. It’s that I’m doing too much, for all the wrong reasons.
Overextension disguised as ambition
I’ve always had this need to keep moving.
If I’m not creating something — a post, a brand, a project — I feel like I’m falling behind. I tell myself it’s ambition, but honestly? It’s fear dressed up as productivity.
Starting things makes me feel powerful. Finishing them makes me panic. Because when something’s done, I have to face whether it’s actually good. And that’s terrifying.
So I keep jumping — from one new idea to another, from one burst of inspiration to the next — calling it “growth” when it’s really just avoidance with a to-do list.
The problem with making stories out of pain
Here’s the weird thing: I love turning my life into stories.
“HerHush.” “Dark Love Diaries.” “Off Script She.”
They’re my little universes — pieces of me disguised as art.
But somewhere along the way, I got so good at storytelling that I started living my feelings at a distance. Instead of crying, I’d “take notes.” Instead of healing, I’d outline content.
It’s not wrong to find meaning in pain. But I realized I was using creativity to process without feeling. Like I was narrating my life instead of actually living it.
And you know what? That kind of self-awareness gets lonely. You’re both the writer and the character, and sometimes you forget to just be a person.
My secret loyalty to chaos
I used to think I hated stress.
But the truth? I think I’m secretly loyal to it.
Chaos feels… familiar. It keeps me on edge, which weirdly feels like control.
When things are peaceful, I get restless — like I’m waiting for the next problem to prove I can survive again.
It’s twisted, I know. But when you’ve lived your whole life fighting, calm can feel suspicious.
So I keep creating small storms — overthinking, overworking, over planning — just to feel alive. But peace isn’t weakness. It’s alignment. It’s what happens when you stop auditioning for your own worth.
What I’m learning now
I don’t need to reinvent myself again.
I just need to stop abandoning the version of me that’s already trying to grow.
I’m learning to:
- Pick one thing and finish it.
- Redefine success as stability, not speed.
- Sit in stillness and not call it “wasting time.”
- Let peace feel normal.
Maybe that’s what healing actually looks like — not the big transformation moment, but the quiet decision to stay with yourself when the chaos dies down.
So, yeah. This is me owning my blind spot.
And maybe you have a version of it too — that part of you that keeps busy because stillness feels unsafe.
Here’s to learning that rest isn’t laziness, and that peace doesn’t mean the story’s over.
It means we’re finally safe enough to live it.
Her Hush 