I’ve always been someone who tried to do things the “right” way—study hard, show up, be responsible, care for others, play by the rules. It gave me a sense of structure, safety, even identity. But somewhere along the way, the “right way” began to feel more like a cage than a guide. I started noticing the cracks between who I was and who the world seemed to expect me to be.

It’s exhausting, trying to live up to ideals I didn’t choose. Ideals about how I should look, behave, work, feel, express love, parent, speak up—or stay silent. Even in spaces that claim to value authenticity, I’ve felt the pressure to perform a certain version of myself that fits within a narrow framework of acceptability. And while part of me has mastered that performance, another part—more tender and more real—has been quietly suffocating.

Unpacking these societal constructs has felt like peeling layers off skin. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable. Sometimes painful. But beneath those layers, I’m finding a version of myself that is softer, truer, and more connected to the world in ways I never expected. I’m learning to notice where I’ve internalised expectations that never truly belonged to me. I’m questioning what it means to succeed, to be enough, to live well.

This isn’t a story with a neat ending—yet. It’s an ongoing practice of remembering who I am beneath the noise, and letting that self take up space.

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