I think I eased into the land of living when, in 2021, surprisingly, in the midst of the pandemic. I was 21, still unsure about a lot of things, and still worrying about all things, but I felt like I’d lay my hustle down and set it aside. Me surviving is me hustling — to get through the day, to check off the to-dos and the expectations, and carry multiple loads that reach the heavens. It’s the nights I plop into bed feeling mentally exhausted, with each ounce of my bones aching in fatigue.

I used to believe that to be successful, you always had to be “on”. You had to be well put together in body, mind, and soul. You needed both beauty to charm people and the brain to show them there’s more than this pretty face. There was little room for mistakes, and less for vulnerability. What mattered was showing up and bringing results to the table each and every time.  I’m learning success goes beyond the numbers — it’s a balance between mind and muscle, brain and heart, art and science.

Those who know, know. Anxiety is like the best friend you never asked for and the critic over your shoulder that you just can’t shake. My anxiety is sometimes the loud, prominent, and nagging instigator behind self-betrayal. It’s saying no to things I actually do want, to the places I actually do want to go, or the opportunities I do want to explore. Like light dimming to make space for darkness, the inner Yes is shut down by the firm No of my Anxiety.