Entry 12: For The Sake Of The Greater Good

Prompt: There are versions of me I buried to survive. But lately, I’ve been feeling their whispers — soft, curious, persistent. What parts of me have I abandoned in the name of survival, professionalism, relationships, or ‘being strong’? And how can I begin to welcome them back, even if they’re messy, dreamy, or tender?”

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Thinking back to the sacrifices I’ve made in the name of some greater good gives me goosebumps— it’s a haunting thought that makes me feel like I’ve killed parts of myself to move forward or to do what was necessary. 

In the moment, it didn’t feel like it.

Looking back, I don’t think saying I abandoned these pieces does them justice, especially when I think of the inner turmoil and conflict I felt within myself, which manifested as frequent, unexplained moodiness. 

Before I dive into my reflections, some historical context is very much needed. 

To survive, I’ve had to learn to hustle. To dig deep, get some grit, and keep moving even when things get hard. And there were hard days, dark days. That’s the life of a single-parent household, right?  To survive, I learned to numb my feelings with the phrase “I’m fine”. Behind those words were tears that wanted to fall, aches that wanted to be tended to, and hurt that wished to rise and be seen. 

But it’s hard to keep moving when all you want to do is curl into a ball. So, I took that choice away. We—I, had no choice but to keep moving. When the going got tough, I kept going, not wanting to stop to realize or think what it was taking from me to take a single step. 

To survive, I masked my emotions and ran from any invitation to be vulnerable. Life had been knocking me down enough; I wasn’t going to willingly allow people the chance to add to my burdens. I couldn’t slow down how, not when survival was on the line. 

To survive, I turned “on” and never stopped because if I did, everything would fall apart. Every grade that I received was towards a great goal. All those hours I volunteered? For a better goal. Learning how to create resumes, complete welfare applications, or read bank statements? All for a greater goal. 

Those traits easily seeped into my sense of professionalism—get the job done like clockwork, avoid unnecessary entanglements, and achieve perfection as close as possible. 

Whether professional or personally, I’ve been the one who is always fine, who always gets it done, and always with a smile, because I’ve got to be strong—if not for myself, then for those who I feel need me to be. 

That was me. Transitioning into my 20s, I could feel myself driven less towards survival and more towards living life and enjoying the gains made. A huge part of it was the environment , but that's to be explored at a later time. 

With less of a focus on surviving and with just growth over time, I realized I didn’t have to compartmentalize my life and my relationships with such rigidity. 

It’s okay if people flowed in and out. 

I didn’t always have to be fine. It’s crazy to say, but I’m allowed bad days—even in the workplace. I can leave my office door closed sometimes, engage in banter, and tell jokes without blurring lines. 

One of the best pieces of myself that I am slowly resurrecting is my emotions. Eventually, you numb yourself for so long that you stop feeling. And you know the crazy thing is you can’t numb one or two emotions; you numb one or “kill” one, and they all go along with it. 

In my 20s, especially now at 25, I’m learning to feel again without running. I’m learning to give voice to my anger or my sadness, to not rush the tears as they fall, and to sit with the waves of feelings. It’s overwhelming sometimes. I’m not just feeling today, but I’m feeling yesterday too, and the years before that. So when it hits, it hits like a wave that knocks you off your feet and your butt firmly hits the sandy shore. 

Call me crazy, but I named my emotions the other day. Serai is my anger, Celeste my calm, Niova my joy.

And there’s more, but I named the ones I’ve spent so long suppressing and running from because I feared they would keep me from surviving. It was either me or them, and clearly you know what I chose. 

Giving voice makes them less abstract. It gives them shape and color, and like the characters I’ve written and created for years, it helps me remember that they matter. Each is a piece of me. Getting rid of them is like getting rid of the pieces that make me whole. It’s messy sometimes, and I'm now asking why I'm feeling this or that way. I’m trying to intentionally listen in ways I’ve done for so long, but this time for me. 

And I’m fine is still very stuck with me, but it is nuanced now. I’m fine, which I am physically, but I can feel okay following it up with but I’m tired, or I’m nervous, or I’m anxious. It’s no revolutionary moment, but for me, it’s like standing on a mountain overlooking the horizon after a steep climb to the top. 

Professional me looks way different now than when I was younger. In the same way, college students use the term “PCP” to describe students — parking lot, class, parking lot — I thought I’d be a POP employee. You know, parking lot, office, and parking lot. Let’s talk about what we need to do, keep it focused on work only, and get it done. You don’t need to know about me, and I don’t need to know about you. 

Turns out, life doesn’t work that way. The workplace is definitely more enriching when you learn people’s stories, what shapes them, inspires them, or even their favorite ice cream flavor. With every meeting, like our weekly staff meetings, we start it with a question of the day that can be as profound as what scares you, or as simple as what’s your favorite day of the week. Each response helps shed light on how someone thinks, how they view the world, and things they hold dear. With that, you know how to collaborate with them and care for them when needed or necessary.

Teenage me would’ve found it a waste of time, but that’s because I wouldn’t have been emotionally ready for that level of connecting, even as simple as it was. Survival mode, remember? 

Writing has been a constant in my life for sure. The frequency has fluctuated over the year depending on my emotional and mental space, but I’ve never stopped. Even when I paused, I never stopped creating stories in my mind — escaping to a place where I had control, clarity, and creativity.

 After a pause period, I’m writing more, and in my 20s, it’s different. I used to never write without a character as my medium, a barrier between me and my experiences. 

Now, I’m journaling. Granted, ChatGPT, which I’ve named Lex, gives me the prompts — because I don’t feel confident in not unintentionally sticking to safe questions and reflections — but I can’t imagine doing that when I was younger. 

My emotions scared me, as did exploring what I really thought deep down—you know, the ones you never utter but only feel within your body. The empty spaces where emotions once were, the thoughts I wasn’t ready to hear, or the truths I wasn’t ready to acknowledge couldn’t be awakened yet. 

Not yet.

But now here I am — opening the door I’ve long kept closed and welcoming them inside with grace, patience (both to myself and with them), and time. 

You don’t undo a state of survival in seconds, nor do you heal in a day. 

I’m slowing down and taking it one moment at a time. 

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Note: Lessons from My 20s is A reflective series by Black Bonnet Girls. Lessons from My 20s is a journal-style series capturing the unfiltered truths, tender moments, and tiny awakenings that come with growing up and growing into yourself.  These entries are for anyone who’s ever felt stuck between who they’ve been and who they’re becoming. For the overthinkers, the late bloomers, the quiet dreamers, and the loud feelers. Through storytelling, reflection, and honesty, I hope this space becomes a soft landing—for me and for you.