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The Ache of Forgetting

There is a quiet kind of grief that lives inside so many of us.
It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t demand. It just lingers—soft and heavy. A silent ache that surfaces in moments of stillness, in the pause between all the doing. It’s the part of you that whispers, “Something is missing, but I can’t explain what.”

We wake up, scroll, consume, perform. We play the roles we’ve been taught: partner, parent, achiever, fixer, good girl, strong man. We chase dreams that aren’t ours, beliefs that aren't ours, expectations that never quite satisfy.

And somewhere along the way…
we forget who we are.

Not on purpose. Not because we’re weak. But because the world around us is built to distract us from our essence.

We learn to value image over intimacy. Performance over presence. Productivity over peace.

But the soul—
The soul never forgets. It waits.
It pulses underneath it all, softly calling you home.

This blog is not here to give you ten steps to fix yourself. You were never broken. This is a remembering—a sacred unraveling of everything that is not you, so you can finally feel the truth of what is.

Childhood: The First Truth

Before the world got loud, you knew.
You didn’t need a mantra to know you were worthy. You didn’t need validation to shine. You ran barefoot in the grass, painted your dreams across walls, asked wild questions without shame.

You weren’t performing. You were just being.

You cried when something hurt. You laughed from your belly. You danced without rhythm because the music lived inside you.

But slowly, and quietly, the forgetting began.

Someone told you that your feelings were “too much.”
That your dreams were “unrealistic.”
That being loud, curious, or different wasn’t “appropriate.”

So you shrank.
You learned that approval had a cost.
You realized being loved sometimes meant being less of yourself.

And in that moment—
a divine spark was buried beneath layers of performance, perfection, and protection.

But it never left you.

The Masking Begins: How We Learned to Forget

Society teaches us how to blend in before it teaches us how to belong.

From a young age, we’re taught to follow rules not because they align with truth, but because they maintain control.
We sit still. We memorize. We’re graded on how well we repeat, not how deeply we feel.

We begin to trade curiosity for compliance.

By the time we’re adults, many of us are walking around in beautifully crafted masks.
Smiling on the outside, hollow on the inside.
Successful by the world’s standards, but spiritually malnourished.

We confuse our career with our identity.
Our trauma with our personality.
Our wounds with our worth.

And it’s not our fault.
We weren’t taught to trust our inner world—we were taught to fear it. To silence it. To outwork it, outperform it, outsmart it.

But the soul doesn’t play by those rules.
It’s ancient.
It’s infinite.
And it will wait until you are ready to remember.

The Breaking Point: When the Soul Can’t Pretend Anymore

There often comes a moment when the old life just… stops working.

It may look like depression. A heartbreak. A health crisis. The loss of something you thought you couldn’t live without.
Or maybe it’s subtler—a persistent emptiness you can’t ignore anymore. A whisper growing louder.

This is not the end.
This is the threshold.

The soul doesn’t want you to collapse—it wants you to come home.

And often, the collapse is the homecoming.

We fall apart so we can fall back into ourselves.
Into truth.
Into breath.
Into simplicity.

You may feel lost during this time—but in truth, you’re on the most sacred path there is:
The journey of remembering.

It’s messy.
It’s not linear.
But it is real.

And in a world obsessed with illusion, realness is a revolution.

The Remembering Begins: Returning to Self

The remembering doesn’t always happen with fireworks. Sometimes, it begins in silence.

A walk in nature where you finally feel the trees.
A journal entry that bleeds your truth onto the page.
A moment of deep breath where the pain moves through you instead of around you.

You begin to notice the stillness beneath the chaos.
You hear the voice inside—the one that was always yours but got drowned out by the noise.

You begin to shed what was never you:

The need to be liked.

The fear of being seen.

The habit of numbing with distraction.

You stop chasing and start listening.

To your body.
To your heart.
To your knowing.

This is sacred work.

You start meeting yourself in the mirror, not with criticism, but with compassion.

You stop fixing and start feeling.

You stop hiding and start honoring.

And slowly, the mask begins to fall.
Not because you forced it—
but because you no longer needed it.

You remember what freedom feels like.
You remember what your soul sounds like.
You remember that your presence—your being—is the gift.

Who You Really Are

Let’s be clear.

You are not your job title.
You are not your follower count.
You are not your trauma, your mistakes, or the version of you someone once decided to love conditionally.

You are not the story that says you’re not enough.

You are breath.
You are consciousness in form.
You are the stillness behind every thought.

You are the child who once believed in magic, still alive behind your tired eyes.
You are the elder within, holding timeless wisdom in your bones.

You are the dreamer.
The feeler.
The infinite one learning to live in a temporary world.

You are not here to fit in.
You are here to remember—and to remind others.

This is what awakening truly is. Not floating away, but returning to the ground of your being.

Coming home to the simplicity of truth.

The truth that you are already whole.

A Call to Remember

So now—
Will you remember with me?

Will you put down the weight of who you were told to be and meet the miracle of who you already are?

Not with force. Not with shame. But with gentleness.

Sit with yourself.
In silence.
In softness.
And ask:
What have I forgotten that my soul is ready to remember?

You don’t need to have all the answers.
You only need to be willing.

Willing to pause.
Willing to listen.
Willing to feel.

Because remembering isn’t an event—it’s a sacred unfolding.
A practice. A path. A reclamation.

And every time you choose truth over performance…
Stillness over noise…
Presence over perfection…

You come closer to the self you never truly lost.

thoughts...

If you’ve read this far, it’s because your soul recognizes the truth in these words.
Not because they’re mine, but because they’re yours.
They’ve always been inside you.

This is your invitation.
To let go of the roles.
To lay down the masks.
To meet yourself—not as a project to fix, but as a presence to honor.

You are not late.
You are not behind.
You are right on time for the remembering.

And in remembering yourself,
you help the world remember, too.