I used to live by invisible scripts.
Not written down, not spoken aloud — but followed, like choreography.
Wake up early. Be productive. Check in. Reply fast. Stay composed. Keep moving.
Smile when it’s expected. Don’t overshare. Don’t under-deliver.
No one gave me these rules. I picked them up like lint — from conversations, media, school, childhood. Somewhere along the way, they started to feel like survival.
But lately I’ve been questioning the value of following a script that no one actually asked me to read from.
Sometimes I wake up late.
Sometimes I take hours to reply.
Sometimes I forget to perform the version of myself that’s easiest to digest.
And the world doesn’t fall apart.
It turns out, control was more of a ritual than a necessity.
A way to feel less uncertain in a life that doesn’t come with guarantees.
These days, I’m trying something different.
I’m letting things be a little messy.
Not because I’ve given up — but because I finally believe I’ll still be okay, even when everything doesn’t go “just right.”
That’s a kind of peace I never knew I needed.
And it feels real.
Written in between moments that didn’t go to plan.