I’ve been slowly retiring from the business of being likable. Turns out, twisting yourself into a softer, shinier version just to be chosen is not the flex it once felt like.
These days, I’m more interested in speaking my own language - even if not everyone understands it. I’m letting myself be a little louder, a little weirder, a little less palatable. And surprisingly, things feel lighter.
Because the people who are meant for me? They don’t need subtitles. They don’t flinch when I don’t round off my edges. They stay, not because I made myself easier to love - but because I didn’t.
There’s real peace in that.
And a quiet kind of joy in knowing I’m finally showing up as me - and still being met.