It takes a lot of work. To be who you’re supposed to, to who you’re supposed to. To do what you’re supposed to, when you’re supposed to.
And sometimes, you might catch yourself mid-conversation, mid-scroll, mid-reading, mid-work—and suddenly feel that you’re watching yourself say and do things that sound right, look right, and aren’t.
Aren’t real, at least. Can’t be felt.
You might realize that it’s been easier to stay numb. In going out, and surrounding yourself with more numbness. In staying in, and sinking into more loneliness. But you’ll know there’s something, some deep, unnamable thing, that sits just beneath the surface.
Something you’ve gotten really good at avoiding, but can’t quite name.
In all those cases, the cage is the same: performance.
It’s relationships built on you performing a version of yourself that isn’t real anymore. A version that maybe never was.
It’s showing up for the familiar friends, and laughing at things that aren’t funny, asking questions you don’t care about the answers to, pretending to be excited about someone’s promotion when inside you’re thinking “but you hate your job?”
It’s also not showing up—because there’s nothing, no one, to show up to. It’s pulling away from people you genuinely love, but can’t pretend to. It’s searching for people and things to care about, and coming up empty or overwhelmed.
Here’s what you should remember: It is possible to outgrow yourself, and still be trapped in the bones of your old life.
Stepping out of that space can feel like losing everything. But it should also birth a question: were those connections, those expectations, that life, ever real, if they required you to be fake?
And what’s the point of being stuck to them, if you’re suffocating?
The price of waking up is the dream. The in-between is scary. Lonely.
But when you start, the key is to keep going. Don’t put the pillow back over your head. Sit there in the silence, for a few moments. Breathe. Listen. Be, in the dark. There will soon be a cue to get up. Listen for it. Trust it. Go there.
