Where do I stand? How am I doing? Where do I begin?

I’m trying something new—not just writing for myself, not just speaking my thoughts aloud or transcribing them into words. This time, I’m trying to share, perhaps even perform, these reflections for an audience. Even if no one visits my little corner of the web, even if the silence is total, it still helps. It helps me untangle the threads of my mind.

I thought I should keep it professional, but that doesn’t feel like me.

No, I crave something real, something raw—something that feels like me.

So, where do I stand?

Right now, the ground beneath me feels unsteady. Everything is shifting, and change has always scared me. The future looms, shadowy and uncertain, leaning into me with its weight.

Fear leans on me.

Change leans on me.

And I find myself floundering, unsure how to carry all this.

A year ago, it was worse. Back then, I was drowning in it. Therapy—an emotional gym of sorts—has made me stronger, steadier. Not perfectly stable, but better. Yet here I am, standing in what feels like darkness. I see doors, some closed, some ajar. Windows let in hints of light. Exits appear in the distance. But still, it’s so dark. Movement feels impossible; every step is an effort. Getting up feels like a mountain I can’t climb.

When I share my story with others, I package it neatly, wrap it in positivity, and hand it over with a smile. But the truth? I’m not okay. And yet, I keep going. I’m not even sure if I want to keep going.

It’s not that I’m failing; it’s that I don’t know how to keep moving forward. Opportunities are emerging, new doors creaking open, and that should feel good—it does, in a way. But it doesn’t feel like progress. It’s as though life hit the reset button, and I’m left standing in the ruins of what I thought would be steady ground.

A few things remain constant, but the majority is in flux. It’s so much to carry, so much to sort through. The past year brought wave after wave of upheaval, demanding my time, my attention, my energy. I gave and gave, and now? I feel empty. Completely empty.

I don’t know how to fill this void, or if I even want to.

Can I fill it?

Should I fill it?

Must I?

Do I even want to?

These questions churn inside me, unanswered and unrelenting. But maybe, just maybe, putting them into words will help me begin to find my way.