The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: mental-health

  • Protective Measures: Learning to Guard my Time, Energy, and Worth

    Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.

    This Is a Daily Occurrence—It’s a Protective Measure

    I’ve always liked interacting with people. I’ve liked feeling connected, being part of someone else’s life, contributing, sharing. But over the years, I’ve been burned too many times to give people chances freely anymore.

    I’ve been the friend who gave willingly: my time, my energy, my support, my loyalty, and even my money. I was either your biggest supporter or your biggest annoyance, and I did it without question. I showed up, I helped, I invested myself. That was then. Now? Now is a different story.

    Work and Boundaries

    At work, I’m wary of new people. I used to take on the responsibility of training new hires because I knew the behind-the-scenes processes, and I could teach others efficiently.

    I couldn’t understand how being good at one task could translate into being competent in others, but I did it anyways.

    Over the years, I learned to read people quickly. I could tell who would do well during training and beyond, and who wouldn’t even try. My criteria were simple: proactiveness, accountability, and responsibility.

    Now, in a new shift, I don’t invest the same energy. People are disappointing. Some new hires frustrate me because of the way they handle their responsibilities—or don’t handle them at all. For instance, in the warehouse, instead of grabbing the necessary equipment and jumping into sorting freight, they pass the work off to others, letting areas pile up while the rest of us fall behind.

    They stand there, staring as though saying “someone has to do it,” but they won’t move. Watching that laziness frustrates me beyond words.

    I hate it. I hate them. And I hate the way it makes me feel compelled to compensate for their apathy.

    This isn’t just a work issue—it reflects the larger patterns I’ve experienced in friendships. I’ve had to be hurt and let down repeatedly to learn my values and what I’m no longer willing to tolerate.

    Reciprocity. Respect for my time, energy, and boundaries. A single word text saying “I’m busy” instead of ghosting for weeks. Proactiveness. Accountability. Responsibility. Basic qualities, yet so rare.

    The Breaking Point in Friendship

    Before walking away from a decade-long friendship, I tried to communicate my boundaries clearly. I told my “friend” I was busy working my two jobs and would respond when I could. He ignored it. He continued texting and questioning my silence. He claimed he valued our friendship and would be there when I needed him.

    Then I needed him.

    I told him about something unimaginable: that my family had been attacked and killed. The silence that followed from him lasted two weeks. Two weeks where I had shown the deepest vulnerability of my life and received nothing in return. He only responded when I brought up a trivial event—a convention we had planned to attend months after the incident.

    When we finally hung out, he clung to his girlfriend like I was a stranger. I told them I felt out of place, like a third wheel. Walking through that convention, I realized I wasn’t a friend to him at all. I was someone taking up space while he maintained his life elsewhere.

    He would travel for events, for fun, for other friends, but never extended the invitation to me. When I made time, spent my money, or sent gifts, it wasn’t about closeness—it was about keeping me within reach, yet never truly valuing me.

    And somehow, all of this made me the one at fault for being “too much.”

    The discrepancies were overwhelming. I started seeing red flags I had previously ignored. No one is perfect, and everyone has flaws—but I wasn’t willing to tolerate this anymore.

    I left, and in doing so, I protected my sanity and my peace. Blocking him and his girlfriend, deleting everything I had of them, was not cruelty. It was survival.

    Protecting Myself

    I’ve learned firsthand that people often give lip service instead of action. I gave second chances, over and over, until I was the one being hurt and used. I reached the point where it wasn’t just disappointment anymore—it was a strain on my mental and emotional well-being.

    I’d rather be alone than stay with people who make me feel lonely, worthless, or like I have to beg for scraps of attention. I’m not a placeholder. I’m not someone whose presence should be conditional on convenience or obligation. Protecting my peace is not selfish—it’s necessary.

    Feeling Out of Place

    Being used by people I trusted has made me question my own worth, my own value. Even with myself. Over time, I’ve realized that transactional relationships are part of life, but being valued only for what you give is exhausting. It’s another brick on a back that’s already carrying too much weight. My load feels heavy every day, protesting, “No more.”

    I’ve discussed this in other posts:

    My past, my identity, my relationships—but it bears repeating:

    Standing up for your boundaries and self-worth is a daily practice.

    It’s hard, especially when the wounds are still fresh and the bleeding seeps through the stitches you’ve sewn yourself. Showing strength to the world and then revealing vulnerability to someone who fails to meet you halfway can feel like punishment.

    Reflection and Takeaway

    Protecting your time, energy, and peace is not optional—it’s essential. There’s a difference between giving willingly and being used. Boundaries are not walls; they are statements of self-respect. You deserve to be surrounded by people who value you, who respect your limits, and who meet words with action.

    It’s okay to walk away. It’s okay to leave friendships, jobs, or situations that drain you. Doing so doesn’t make you bitter or weak. It makes you alive. It makes you intentional.

    Call to Action

    If any of this resonates with you, share it, leave a comment, or subscribe to follow along.

    Every like, share, and subscription helps this little pocket of the internet reach more people who are tired of the same old stories—stories soupy with compromise, forced into molds that don’t fit.

    Here, we value honesty, boundaries, and the courage to protect our peace while still showing up for ourselves.

    Remember: you are not too much. You are enough, and you deserve to be treated accordingly.

    If You Made It to the End

    Thank you for taking the time to read this daily prompt post to the end. I have little gifts for you to explore and made. No pressure, no clickbait, nor rush. Just a few manifestos, sticker designs, and other projects I have in the archives waiting to be seen.

    Otherwise, you could check out other posts I have below. I’ll see you, Fellow Archivists, in the archives later.

  • Thoughts From the Trunk of My Car—Again

    A Reflection

    Where Did Things Take a Turn

    Lately, I’ve been finding myself thinking in my car more often. In fact, I spend more time in my car than in my studio. My studio has become little more than a place to shower and leave my things: no resting, no downtime, no hobbies or new pursuits. Nothing. Most days, I nap for an hour or two, grab what I need for work, and end up sleeping in my car before my shifts.

    After publishing my recent post, “Bound by Compulsion: When Anger Got the Best of Me at Work,” I noticed how my blog has shifted. What started as a space to share what I was trying and learning has become filled with venting—anger, sadness, compulsion, feelings of worthlessness and never being enough. Even my writing feels like it has taken a turn.

    I Feel Like the Punchline of a Joke I’m Not Telling

    In another post, “Could We Talk About Relationships?” I listed a few personal requirements I want to fulfill before pursuing a relationship:

    • Have my own place, so no one can tell me what to do.
    • Earn enough money to support myself—and maybe someone else—if needed.
    • Make sure my job doesn’t consume my personal life: time with family, friends, a potential partner, or my own projects.

    So far, I’ve only managed the first one. The other two dangle in front of me, taunting me, like I’m the butt of a joke I’m not telling. And that’s the joke—I’m still here at this job, even though 70% of the time I don’t want to be. (It depends on how loud the voices get that day.)

    Every time I think I’m making progress, I’m reminded I’m not. The proof is scattered all over my blog:

    • Could We Talk About Relationships?
    • Stuck in Traffic, Stuck in My Head: A Reflection on Control and Fear
    • Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape
    • Who Am I Fighting?—Turning This Burning Sensation into a Map
    • Can Sharing Honestly Be Enough? Reflections from a Blog with No Strategy
    • Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here—On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy
    • I’m Afraid of Wasting My Potential—So I Learn What I Can, While I Can

    Ninety articles in, and my main stress—my full time job, the exhaustion, the anger—is still the same. My body hasn’t had real rest in months, and part of me still blames myself for that.

    Can’t I Do Something About This?

    The simple answer is yes. The complicated answer is also yes—but finding another job that pays over $23/hour, offers benefits, and treats me like a human being has been brutally hard. Applications go out. Rejections or silence come back.

    The silence is always worse.

    Meanwhile, my current job devours my time. I regularly choose between sleeping or eating. I’m so tired I can’t fall asleep peacefully, and nightmares jolt me awake. Some days I fight myself: the part that wants the pain to end against the part that still wants to live.

    And yet—something tells me to keep going. In my earlier post, “Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here—On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy,” I wrote that living is the best form of revenge. To keep living, to turn things around, to let the people who doubted you suffer the fact that you’re still here.

    I want to be treated like the work I do matters. I want to believe I’m not expendable, worthless, pathetic, or failing at everything. But that’s the script that plays in my head every single day at work, and it’s exhausting.

    I’m Not Sure How Long I Can Keep This Up

    My anger, frustration, and patience are fraying at the seams. I want to work on my blog. I want to rest for more than two hours at a time. I want to go home at a decent hour and feel like my life belongs to me—not to debt, work, a chaotic sleep schedule, or constant self-doubt.

    I’ve been fighting systems and expectations for a long time. I’ve tried to define for myself what a rich and successful life does look like, giving the things I don’t believe in the metaphorical middle finger. But I’m so tired. I worry I’ll eventually become someone I hate: compliant, small, willing to accept scraps.

    For now, all I can do is push through my shifts, pour what energy I can into my own work, and try to carve something out of this mess. I don’t have a map. Every time I make one, Life throws another curveball.

    But as much as I hate being alive sometimes, I keep living—not out of pure hope, but because my presence in this world is an act of defiance.

    Closing Note

    If you’ve ever found yourself in a similar place—caught between exhaustion and the stubbornness to keep going—I’d love to hear how you’ve navigated it. Leave a comment, share your own story, or pass this along to someone who might need to know they’re not the only one still fighting.

    And if this reflection resonated with you, liking, subscribing, or sharing helps my work reach more people who might need to see that they’re not alone either.

  • Who Am I Fighting? — Turning This Burning Sensation Into a Map

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    I Felt The Fire Burning

    I was driving to work, listening to Indila — “Ainsi Bas La Vida,” “Dernière danse” — and the music lit something I’d been holding under a lid for a long time. As I got closer to the warehouse, an image from Attack on Titan (Eren, season 4) cracked through: “Fight — (you have to) fight back.” I felt the heat move through me like an engine starting.

    Only, unlike Eren Yeager, I don’t know who I’m supposed to “fight back” against.

    This is what I want to try to name out loud, here on the page: a burning that is almost anger, but not exactly. It shows up faster now than it used to. It presses. It demands.

    It’s loud enough to shove me into action sometimes — cleaning, working harder, writing more — and quiet enough that I can’t always point a finger. I’m tired, I’m approaching thirty, and stuck between things: time, debt, a body worn out from labor, a brain tired of pretending everything is fine.

    I don’t know who the enemy is. But I know the fight is real.

    The Cost of Anger Lashing Out

    Anger and spite have been my fuel more times than I want to admit. They’ve pushed me through long shifts, exhausting weeks, and situations that should have broken me. Spite is what got me up when I didn’t want to, what kept me going when I felt invisible. For a while, it worked — I could burn that energy and turn it into movement.

    But the truth is, it’s not sustainable. It’s not healthy. And it’s not really helping me anymore. Even after breaks, I don’t feel rested. I work two jobs, give up long hours, and stay up late just to steal back some time for myself. The cost is high: sleep is thinner, my patience shorter, my fuse lit before the match even touches. I haven’t slept well in weeks, and I can feel it — the heat comes faster, the snap is sharper, and it hits harder than it used to.

    That’s the part no one talks about when they say “anger fuels you.” Fuel burns out. And when all you’ve got is fire, eventually it scorches the inside just as much as the outside.

    And yet, the more I burn, the more I realize the target isn’t always clear. The anger doesn’t just flare at one person or one moment — it spreads, looking for somewhere to land. That’s when I started asking myself if maybe the enemy I’m trying to fight isn’t a single person at all.

    Maybe the enemy isn’t a person

    When I try to name the foe, it splinters into a dozen pieces:

    The job that pays but chews me up — the work that keeps my lights on while stealing my body. The debt that counts every missed hour and turns rest into a risk. The clock — always reminding me I’m “behind,” even when I’m doing my best. The expectation that I should already have “arrived” by now. The system that reshapes our time and energy into labor and coupons for rest we can’t afford. The numbness that wants to swallow the rage and leave only weight.

    None of those are as satisfying to fight as a single person. They’re diffuse. They are walls more than enemies. They are traps you push against and, sometimes, they push back.

    The fight you’re feeling might be a compass

    If the anger is a blunt weapon, consider this: the heat can also be a map.

    When you get furious at a commute, the map points at the commute. When you snap at a manager, the map points at the conditions that made snapping feel necessary. When music makes you feel bigger and angrier, the map is telling you where something is alive inside you — something that wants different ground.

    You don’t have to find the enemy immediately. You can follow the heat like a trail of breadcrumbs. Each flash of anger is a data point about what matters to you, what hurts, and what you might want to change.

    Ways to turn the energy into movement (not punishment)

    I’m not providing a list of “fixes,” and I won’t pretend a checklist makes this simpler. Still — here are small, usable options to try when the burning shows up:

    • Name it: Give the feeling a label — “cold rage,” “restless fire,” “sharp exhaustion,” whatever fits. One word can make it less shapeless.
    • Write it fast: Five minutes of furious, unedited writing. Don’t stop for spelling. Burn the page with the heat so it has somewhere to go.
    • Small targeted strikes: Pick one tiny thing that the map points to and act — look for a different shift, call HR about a specific hazard, set one debt payment goal this month. Small actions beat diffuse fury.
    • Channel it into work that isn’t punishment: Lift, paint, code, write prompts — use the energy to build rather than to punish yourself.
    • Grounding when it spikes: 5–4–3–2–1 grounding (name 5 things you see, 4 sounds, 3 things you can touch, 2 smells, 1 breath). It doesn’t solve the problem, but it buys you space.
    • Find one person: A single witness who understands you don’t owe a polished anything. Say the heat out loud to someone who doesn’t gaslight it away.
    • Make a cheap boundary: One small refusal (I won’t work extra on Tuesdays, I’ll leave at X time, I won’t answer texts after 9pm) can start to rebuild a sense of agency.

    These are not cures, these might not always be helpful enough. Although, they are ways to move the force so it doesn’t only burn you from the inside.

    You’re not crazy for needing this energy

    There is a voice in me that wants to make this a deficit — you should be calmer, more grateful, less volatile. But we live in a system that will try to pathologize any emotion that refuses its timelines. What you feel is a human response to pressure. Naming it and moving it is survival, not failure.

    I know the tiredness that sits under the heat. I know the guilt that says you don’t have the right to be angry because you “have it good.” That’s comparative guilt, and it’s a trick. Your experience is valid even if others have worse things happening. Survival doesn’t need a ranking system.

    A small experiment

    If you’re carrying this with me now (if your chest is hot, if you feel like you need to fight but can’t point the sword), try this:

    Pause and write one sentence:

    • “Right now I am angry at ______.” Fill the blank. It can be “my shift,” “debt,” “myself,” “no name.”
    • Write one tiny next step you could take in the next 24 hours — something you can do that nudges the system you’re fighting.
    • Do it, even if it feels symbolic. Notice the difference.

    If you feel brave, leave that one-sentence in the comments — one line, no explanation. If you can’t, that’s fine too. Keep it in your pocket.

    If the heat is too much

    If you ever feel like the anger is pushing you toward hurting yourself or someone else, please reach out for help right away. If you’re in the U.S., calling or texting 988 will connect you to the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. If you’re elsewhere, please contact your local emergency services or a trusted professional. You don’t have to carry this alone.

    Whether you found this in the middle of the afternoon or at 3AM when you couldn’t sleep, I’m glad you’re here. Take a breath. Take what resonates. Leave the rest for another night.

    To the fellow archivists reading late

    If you’re awake and holding this heat, know this: your fire is not a defect. It’s a signal. It’s a raw, honest engine that can carve a path out of whatever is pressing down on you — not because you have to be violent or perfect, but because you deserve more space to be whole.

    If any of this landed, I’d invite you to reflect for a moment: what does the heat point to for you? One sentence in the comments is enough. If you’d rather keep it private, you can reply to my newsletter; sometimes a single witness is the only thing that keeps the furnace from burning you out.

    I’ve talked about this anger turning itself on me in my post, Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here — On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy

    You are still here. That is the fight and the proof.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    Reflection on Fire

    When I first wrote this, I thought anger and spite were enough to keep me going. They did for a while, but they’ve also worn me down in ways I’m only starting to admit. I’m tired. My fuse is shorter. Even on days when I take a break, I feel like I’m still grinding myself into dust. Writing this now, I can see how much of that fire was survival, not healing.

    If you’ve carried this kind of heat too — the kind that feels like it both fuels you and eats at you — I want you to know you’re not the only one. This archive is proof of that. We don’t have to carry it alone, even if we don’t always know how to put it down yet.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    My Brief Reflections

    All of this fire, all of this energy, it needs somewhere to go. However, with no goal, no “enemy” to fight back against, and no direction, of course it’ll attack itself. It’ll burn the host instead.

    I think the worst part of this journey is the waiting:

    • Waiting to get out of debt (how long it’s been)
    • Waiting to hear back from a new career opportunity
    • Waiting to finish work that keeps taking and not so much giving equally in return
    • Just waiting and seeing nothing change or change has been incredibly slow

    That’s what this feels like for and to me—wondering when things will end or change or have something that’s mine that I can be proud of. And, yet, because of all of the waiting that I do, I have to give up something (sleep, eating, taking care of myself) in order to have something I built, that I chose to do, instead of someone telling me to do it.

  • More Than Muscle: Living on the Edge of Sleep

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Sleep? What’s That?

    There are hundreds of articles on how to “fix” your sleep.

    Avoid caffeine. Turn off your screens. Go to bed at the same time every night. Meditate. Drink tea. Don’t doomscroll.

    They all sound great, on paper.

    But what happens when your sleep is so broken that expert advice feels like a cruel joke?

    What happens when you sleep in the trunk of your car before your morning shift, and maybe—maybe—get 4 hours a night, if you’re lucky?

    What happens when the few hours that are supposed to be for “rest” are instead filled with racing thoughts, ideas you don’t want to lose, projects you’re building, blogs you’re trying to write, and the overwhelming awareness that if you don’t keep moving forward, no one else is going to pick up the slack for you?

    Because that’s the space I live in — a kind of gray area between rest and survival.

    And I don’t think I’m alone.

    I’m Not Just Tired. I’m Always Tired.

    I’ve got a light alarm clock next to my bed.

    I’ve tried turning off screens an hour before sleep.

    I’ve dragged myself away from sugar and caffeine, even though I pass vending machines full of it on my way to a full-time job that drains my body and a part-time job that drains what’s left of my time.

    But none of that changes the fact that I get up between 2:30 and 3:00 AM, just to make it to work by 4:00.

    None of that advice helps when you’re stuck between building a life and not letting your current one destroy you before you get there.

    Sleep, for me, is not restful. It’s a puzzle with missing pieces.

    And some days, the trunk of my car is the only quiet place I have to close my eyes — if only for an hour.

    The Real “Sleep Hygiene” No One Talks About

    Here’s what helps me most right now:

    • Giving myself permission to rest even when I feel like I haven’t “earned it.”
    • Letting go of guilt for being on my tablet at night, not because I’m wasting time, but because it’s the only time I have to create something that matters to me.
    • Being honest: I am an insomniac. My brain doesn’t have an off switch. I think, I worry, I plan, I build.
    • And sometimes, I just sit in the quiet because silence is rare in a life like mine.

    Even with these are the everyday of my life, I have this feeling that drives me to do things at sleep’s expense.

    Right now, I’ve been working hard on something that I’m excited to share more in my next newsletter; I can’t wait to share more when that newsletter drops, So, if you’re subscribed, you’ll get that newsletter directly in your inbox and be the first to learn the news.

    Even if you’re not subscribed, you can find this newsletter here in my Letters from the Void Newsletter page. Either way, I can’t wait to share what I have in store!

    I Don’t Have Sleep Advice — But I Have Sleep Empathy

    I won’t tell you to go to bed at the same time every night.

    I won’t pretend magnesium or tea or blackout curtains will fix your schedule.

    I will say this:

    If you’re out there, doing what you have to — surviving on broken hours and broken systems, napping in your car, working jobs that don’t care about your recovery time — you are not lazy. You are not weak. You are not failing.

    You are in survival mode.

    And survival mode takes energy that no sleep tracker or sleep coach ever talks about.

    What I’m Learning to Do (Even When I Can’t Sleep)

    • Lay still and breathe, even if I can’t sleep.
    • Stop punishing myself for staying up late working on something I love.
    • Use my rest days to actually rest, not catch up on tasks.
    • Say no to shame when I need naps or can’t focus.

    Some nights, I crash.

    Some nights, I lay in bed with thoughts like broken static.

    And some nights, I write things like this — because connection helps, even silently.

    Surprisingly, because my light alarm clock comes with white noise, when I listen to the sound of a crackling fire place (we have no snow nor need for chimneys where I’m from) I get drowsy.

    I try to fight it, to stay up and finish my projects, but there’s something so soothing that my body can’t help but wind down and my mind doesn’t resist as much as it normally does.

    The Fuel Isn’t Discipline — It’s Compulsion

    People tend to say I’m disciplined. That I’m “driven.” That it takes serious focus to do what I do — five days in a warehouse, two days breaking things in a rage room, and somehow still finding time to train, write, and live.

    But the truth is, this isn’t discipline. It’s not habit. It’s not some motivational poster brought to life.

    It’s compulsion — plain and ugly.

    I don’t choose to wake up between 2:00 and 2:45 every morning. I have to. If I leave my studio after 3:30, even by a minute, my brain starts clawing at me. Telling me I’m late. Telling me I’ve already messed up the day. Even though I’m still hours early for work. Even though I’ll still get parking.

    And if I don’t park in my spot — or at least facing the same direction I always do — the spiral starts. I sit in my trunk, trying to rest, but my mind won’t shut up. It keeps replaying the mistake. Telling me I’m slipping. That I’m falling behind. That I should’ve tried harder. That this is why I’m not where I want to be. That I’ll never catch up.

    Sometimes, I argue back. Sometimes, I try to reason with the voices. But they’re loud. They’re cruel. And they sound a lot like me.

    When Routine Becomes a Cage

    It started as structure — something to keep me grounded. A way to manage my internal chaos.

    But somewhere along the way, it became something else. If I publish a post late, skip a workout, or forget to push the door three times after locking it, I can’t just let it go.

    My mind builds a case against me. One small thing goes off track, and I convince myself that everything’s wrong. That I’m wrong.

    I wish I could tell you I’m past that. That I’ve figured it out. But I haven’t.

    What I am trying to do — even if I suck at it — is be kinder to myself. To remind myself that not every moment has to be perfect. That being five minutes later than planned isn’t failure. That I’m not the sum of all the rituals I couldn’t complete.

    But it’s hard.

    Because kindness doesn’t come naturally to a mind trained in self-blame, but I keep trying to show myself a little more kindness. Mostly, with the hope that it’ll put the voices in my head at ease to let me rest without feeling so drained.

    A Harsh Kind of Comfort

    Still — and this is the part I hate admitting — the routine does give me something.

    Even when it hurts to keep up. Even when I’m running on fumes and cursing the alarm at 2:15 AM. Even when my back aches from work or my writing feels like it’s running dry. There’s comfort in the ritual. Not joy. Not peace. But order.

    When the rest of the world feels unpredictable, when my body’s tired and my mind’s spinning, the routine is the one thing that stays the same. It doesn’t care how I feel. It doesn’t ask if I’m okay. It just says: this is what we do.

    There’s a kind of safety in that — in not having to think, in just going through the motions. It keeps the chaos outside the gates, at least for a while. And when everything else feels like it’s slipping, sticking to the routine lets me believe — even just barely — that I’m still in control.

    But it’s a harsh kind of comfort. It costs me. It takes pieces. And I know I can’t live like this forever.

    I just don’t know how to stop without everything falling apart.

    If You’re in This Too…

    If your sleep is wrecked and your life doesn’t fit into a neat little productivity box, I see you.

    If you’re burning out while still trying to build something, I know that edge well.

    You’re not lazy. You’re not broken.

    You’re just tired — for reasons that advice columns can’t fix.

    And if this post made you feel seen?

    Even a little?

    You’re welcome to like, share, or even subscribe if you want to support more writing like this. Not for me — but for us, the ones who don’t always know how to rest, but haven’t stopped trying.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    A Note For Fellow Archivists

    If any part of this piece resonates, I’d love to invite you to pause for a moment and reflect on your own journey.

    • What part of your story feels messy, uncertain, or unfinished right now?
    • Where are you weary, wondering, or wandering?
    • What small reminder do you need today that you don’t have to fit neatly into anyone’s expectations?

    You don’t have to share your reflections out loud — sometimes it’s enough just to notice them for yourself. But if you’d like, you’re always welcome to write them in the comments, or even send them my way privately. This space is here so that we can remind ourselves and each other: you’re not alone in this.

    If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.

    If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.

    As a first gift, new subscribers also receive The Stratagem’s Manifesto — a small compass I wrote for fellow archivists who are still learning, wandering, and resisting the pull to disappear.

    However you choose to engage — silently reading, reflecting privately, or joining in the conversation — you’re part of this archive. Thank you for being here.

    Check Out The Rest of the “More Than Muscle” Series Below

    More Than Muscle: What I Eat to Survive—Built on Stubbornness and Spite

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    More Than Muscle: My No-Gym, No-Excuse Home Setup

    More Than Muscle: Becoming Strong on My Own Terms

  • What If Becoming Better is Making Us Worse?

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    My Journey into “Self Betterment”

    I’ve tried so many things in the name of becoming a better version of myself that it’s been a ridiculous journey. You name it and this isn’t the full comprehensive list:

    • Cold showers.
    • Journaling.
    • Intermittent fasting.
    • Lifting weights.
    • Meditating.
    • Waking up early.
    • Tracking habits.
    • Therapy (though I didn’t know how to be honest back then).
    • Stoicism.
    • Buddhism.
    • Financial planning.
    • SMART goals.
    • Praying.
    • A lot of it!!!

    And for a while, they worked, I felt healthier, stronger, and able to take on the world—until I couldn’t anymore. Why weren’t they working anymore? Great question! The insight I got was pretty simple and straight forward in my opinion.

    These habits weren’t helping me improve my life at all.

    Things would spiral out of control, my anger and resentment and bitterness and my envy would arise whenever I wasn’t keeping up with those habits like so much “Successful people” preached doing.

    When I couldn’t keep up, I vehemently hated myself to the point I would berate myself, tears streaming down my face, red and livid, and I couldn’t stand hearing my own voice.

    When I missed a day, I felt like I was falling apart. That my life was being uprooted again because I had no solid foundation to plant and grow my own roots in where I could be proud, not ready to burn myself at the stake.

    It took me years to reflect, years to stop and reconsider what was going on. Then, it hit me; maybe the issue wasn’t that I was lazy, undisciplined, or doomed to be stuck.

    Maybe the problem was this:

    Self-improvement became a prison when it stopped allowing me to be human.

    The Rigidity of “Better”

    Since starting my journey to be a “better version of myself” back in University, now as I currently am, I noticed that the Self-help culture started sounding like this:

    Wake up earlier. Don’t make excuses. Keep going no matter what. Grind harder. Be grateful. Don’t complain. Smile. Fix your mindset. Work out. Read more. Meditate. Eat clean. Keep up. Don’t fall off.

    It sounds motivating, it sounds like good advice because taking care of ourselves is important—however, it becomes just another script to follow, just another thing to fail at, if we don’t fit the mold like the people peddling the advice expect, the we’re still the failures.

    Even religion sometimes feels this way too: all structure, no grace. At least, from personal experience and interactions with certain people, this was the impression I got.

    I’ve been the type of person who wouldn’t bother much if people, especially in religious settings, were too unforgiving and came across as, “you’re going to hell,” swearing at people and being graceless, then go to pray as though they didn’t mistreat someone for having different beliefs and practices.

    It took me some time to realize that we all contradict ourselves. We all fall short, no matter the setting, beliefs, or practices we follow.

    And, honestly, I could stand to have more of less systems to tell us we’re broken, that we’re failures, if we don’t already tell ourselves this because I do and I stopped doing a lot of these things, these habits, myself.

    I’ve been wondering how much we need room to breathe, since life is already stifling a lot of us as it is.

    To ask: What if I’m not failing? What if I’m just tired? What is this habit really doing for me if things are falling apart and I still have to pick up the pieces?

    When I Miss a Day, I Feel Like I’m Falling Apart

    I was learning to code recently—something I’ve wanted to do for years.

    I stayed consistent for a month, even through exhaustion. But then I hit a wall. I struggled, and I stopped. Just like that.

    Then I heard my inner critic come back with a vengeance, it was so loud:

    “You see? You’re slipping again. You’ll never keep up. You’ll always be the failure you always were and will never get out of your shitty situation.”

    That voice used to win. But now? I’m learning to ignore it.

    Why?

    Because I’m working two jobs, sleeping in my car most mornings to get parking before my warehouse shift, battling back pain that shoots down my leg, trying to eat on a schedule that barely allows for rest, and still—still—I wake up and try again.

    That’s not failure, though it feels like it. That’s survival. That’s strength. Even if it might not seem like it, like I’m slowly killing myself and I’m refusing to stop.

    Even when I have nothing left to give, I can still:

    • Stretch for one minute
    • Sit in silence before I pass out
    • Let my body sleep when it’s ready
    • Forgive myself for what I couldn’t do today

    It doesn’t make me lazy.

    It makes me human.

    I Don’t Want to Be Like “Them”

    There are people out there who seem to have it all figured out—wealth, health, perfect routines, business ventures, large platforms. Some of these individuals, in my eyes, tend to mock people like me: the ones with 9-to-5s, who don’t have a “hustle,” who didn’t invest when they were 16, who are still figuring things out at 28, 29, or 35.

    And yet… I don’t want to be like them.

    They flex success, but rarely acknowledge how much help they had.

    They show certainty, but never talk about the cost.

    I don’t want to pretend to be okay just to look like I’ve arrived.

    I don’t want to shame people into growth by making them feel behind because it’s a shitty feeling added on top of other shitty feelings for not being further along in our own supposed journeys.

    I want to live in a world where being kind to yourself isn’t seen as weakness, but also not being used as a crutch.

    Where becoming better doesn’t mean becoming someone you’re not and becoming like someone else you might not even like or agree with.

    Where falling apart doesn’t mean you’ve failed—it just means you need to rest, adjust, and try a different approach. (Very much like what From Software’s games had taught me to do and apply it in real life).

    The Truth I’ve Learned (The Hard Way)

    You can try every method, practice every habit, and still feel empty inside if you’re doing it from a place of self-loathing instead of self-respect.

    I’m not saying self-improvement is bad. I’m saying it needs space for failure, adjustment, and rest.

    You’re allowed to:

    • Take a break
    • Miss a day (or a week)
    • Not be perfect
    • Not feel like doing it
    • Not optimize every second of your life
    • Question the rules
    • Do things your own way
    • Stop when it hurts

    You don’t need to build a life you hate to prove that you’re capable. You’re already capable, it’s just in ways where trends don’t approve, while you’ve experienced your own kind of Hell and are still marching through.

    Final Thoughts

    I’m still figuring this out. Any of this.

    I still struggle.

    I still feel like a mess everyday.

    I still feel angry, bitter, tired, alone, and afraid that I’ll never “make it.”

    But I’m learning that the goal isn’t to become perfect.

    It’s to become real.

    It’s to build a life that’s sustainable—even in the dark.

    Even when no one’s clapping.

    Even when it’s just you and a blog post at 4 AM, hitting publish, hoping someone understands.

    So if you’re trying—and struggling—to become better, but feel like it’s making you worse…

    You’re not alone.

    You’re not broken.

    You’re just tired.

    And that’s okay.

    So if you’re trying—and struggling—to become better, but feel like it’s making you worse… then it’s time to rest, re-evaluate your situation, and try a different approach, wouldn’t you agree? Just remember this, even for a brief moment:

    You’re not alone.

    You’re not broken.

    You’re likely very tired of a lot of things.

    And it’s okay to realize and say, even to yourself, that, “something isn’t working,” but I can make adjustments as needed because it’s my choice, not because it came from someone else telling me how “wrong” I am.

    If this post resonated with you…

    Did any part of this sit with you?

    If you’ve ever felt the same — or even something close — you’re not alone.

    I’d love to hear what came up for you, if you feel like sharing. Whether it’s a quiet “me too,” a story of your own, or just a thought you’ve been holding, the comments are open — and so am I.

    No pressure, no performance. Just space

  • Burning the Candle at Both Ends… For What?

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    What’s It All For?

    There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t just sit in your bones—it weighs heavily in your soul too.

    The kind that lingers after clocking out. After another post. After another attempt to build something—anything—that feels like yours.

    I’ve been burning the candle at both ends.

    Warehouse job. Part-time job. Training. Writing. Living. Driving. Sleeping. Socializing. Being human.

    And the fire still isn’t enough to light the way forward.

    Sometimes, I wonder: Is this blog another distraction?

    Another scream into the void disguised as “content”?

    Another attempt to feel less alone that goes unnoticed?

    I’ve published nearly 70 articles since June. Some get read and others not so much. I see the quiet readers—and I appreciate them, but I can’t help but wrestle with a deeper question that haunts my already overactive brain: What am I building towards?

    If not towards freedom… then what?

    These thoughts are familiar companions and they can bring up interesting things whenever I don’t think much about things. Letters from the Void Newsletter go into such thoughts, just to think and reflect, and the start of potential conversations too.

    The Illusion of Progress

    I feel like I’m in the Red Queen’s Race—running twice as fast, twice as hard, just to realize I’m still in the same place. Worst still, if the progress I’ve been making (with my blog) was another means of “taking my mind off of things in my life?”

    Saving, writing, training, surviving.

    My body is breaking down while my spirit tries to rise.

    This isn’t laziness. This isn’t a lack of passion.

    It’s just that when every direction still feels like someone else’s road, your own steps start to lose meaning.

    Fighting for Space That’s Supposed to Be Mine

    I have my own living space now.

    But I’m still on someone else’s schedule. Someone else’s payroll. At someone else’s mercy.

    So I ask myself every day:

    • Why do I keep pushing?
    • Why write when it feels like I’m invisible?
    • Why train when I’m already sore?
    • Why try when nothing seems to come of it?

    The answer is brutal, but honest:

    Because I don’t know how to stop.

    Because something inside me still believes there’s more than this.

    This Isn’t Just Hustle — It’s Survival

    I’m not a success story. Not yet. Or maybe not ever.

    But I’m not a failure either. I’m building something out of broken pieces, from sheer boredom, from always asking myself year after year, “Is this it? Is this all life has to offer me?”

    So, I decided, after many years of doing nothing, I finally took action. Not to impress anyone, except maybe myself.

    But because I have to. Because I’d rather live with calloused hands and a tired heart than live as a ghost in someone else’s story. I’ve lived through this narrative long enough that it was time for a change.

    This blog, this life, this path—it’s not neat. It’s not polished.

    It’s scattered like the notebooks on my floor, the thoughts in my head, the aches in my body.

    But it’s mine.

    So What Am I Really Looking For?

    Maybe… not success.

    Not fame.

    Maybe just a little room to breathe.

    To be.

    To exist in a world that moves fast and rewards flash over fire.

    Maybe I’m just trying to prove that I can live without needing someone else’s permission.

    Maybe I’m not alone in that.

    To Anyone Else Burning Out Just to Stay Afloat

    If you feel like this too—this deep, quiet war between exhaustion and hope—I see you.

    You’re not broken because you feel too much.

    You’re not weak because you’re tired.

    You’re not lost because the road is hard.

    You’re still here.

    Still standing.

    Still building.

    And that counts for something.

    Keep the fire alive. Burn for yourself.

    Even if the world doesn’t notice—

    Even if it never claps or calls your name—

    You’re still worth every damn step forward.

    For the Wondering. The Wandering. The Curious. The Weary.

    If you’ve ever felt like you’re running twice as hard and still getting nowhere—

    If you’ve questioned what you’re building, or why you keep going—

    If you’re trying to carve out a life that’s yours in a world that keeps trying to define it for you…

    You’re not alone.

    This space welcomes you in.

    Not to fix you. Not to sell you answers. I don’t have any for myself.

    But to stand beside you in the dark while you light your own way.

    Read. Reflect. Rage. Rest.

    Whatever you need—come as you are.

    Leave when you’re ready. Or stay, and build with me, share this with someone who might be in a similar boat, and doing so allows other like us to find this little pocket of the internet.

    Did any part of this sit with you?

    If you’ve ever felt the same — or even something close — you’re not alone.

    I’d love to hear what came up for you, if you feel like sharing. Whether it’s a quiet “me too,” a story of your own, or just a thought you’ve been holding, the comments are open — and so am I.

    No pressure, no performance. Just space

    If You Are Indeed Curious

    You can check out my other articles or my newsletters just to see what else I talk about. Other than that, I’ll see you next time, fellow archivists.

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    What Good is “History” If There’s No Future?

    A Quiet Door I’ve Left Open Ajar

    When a Raise Feels Like a Golden Prison

  • More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    Strength isn’t just about bulging muscles or how much you can lift. It’s not about fitting into some Instagram-perfect mold or checking off a list of “womanly” or “manly” boxes. For me, real strength is something deeper — the kind that makes you stand tall when the world expects you to crumble. It’s the fire that keeps you pushing through pain, doubt, and all the noise telling you you’re not enough. This is how I’d define strength. Not just the physical, but the grit, rage, and pride that build me — every damn day.

    Not Your Idea of Strength: What I’m Really Fighting For.

    I’m not here to fit into anyone’s idea of “strong.” I’m here to be my kind of strong.

    Not just the physical kind — though yeah, I want that too. I want to feel so solid in my own skin that I forget what low self-esteem or doubt even feel like. I want my presence to scream, “I’m here, I can handle my shit”, instead of, “look at that weak, stupid bitch”.

    Growing up, I never asked to be born a girl. I was taught to not cause waves and the things I like(d) were mostly masculine — in fact, I was often told to be quiet, to hold my tongue, to not start things I couldn’t finish. I was expected to fit into a box I never chose.

    But I Refused to Stay Small

    I wanted strength that went beyond appearances — strength to stand tall when everything inside me wanted to collapse. Strength to keep going when my body ached and my mind was exhausted. Strength to say, “fuck this bullshit”, that’s been handed to me just because of my gender or my past.

    I’m proud of the scars on my arms, the callouses on my hands, the pure stubbornness that keeps me fighting even when it’s easier to give up. I’m proud of the fact that I’ve carved out my own space in a world that often tries to minimize people like me.

    This kind of strength isn’t pretty. It’s raw, messy, and sometimes it’s downright ugly. But it’s real. And it’s mine.

    If you’re tired of being underestimated, tired of being the “weak link” in someone else’s story, maybe you’ll find something here too. Maybe it’s time to stop shrinking yourself to fit what others expect and start owning your space, your voice, your story.

    I’m not perfect. I’m angry, messy, and still figuring things out. But I’m here. I’m fighting. And I’m not going anywhere.

    Maybe that’s where real strength begins.

    So here’s to owning your strength, whatever that looks like for you. Whether you’re wrestling with life, pain, or people who underestimate you — don’t let them define your power. Be proud of every scar, every hard-earned callous, and every time you choose to stand when you could have fallen. Because real strength? It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being unbreakable on your own terms. What does strength look like to you?

    If you’ve ever felt underestimated, misunderstood, or overlooked—this one’s for you. How do you reclaim your power?

    If This Resonated…

    Subscribe to the blog — I write about survival, dreaming, burnout, and why we keep going. Leave a comment — even just one word. I’d love to know what this stirred in you. Share this post — maybe someone else needs it too.

    You could also check out my first newsletter, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything. Or check out my PDF as a thank you from me to you, The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    No spam, no pressure, just sharing things I’ve made since starting this project of mine.

    Other than that, I will see you all later in the archives.

    The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

  • The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.

    I want to rest, but I’m fighting to stay awake.

    I hear the voice of freedom beckoning me.

    It whispers, “One more line. One more idea.”

    And I can’t pretend to turn my back on it again.

    I’m Awake When The World is Asleep

    I often stare at the walls of my apartment; my light clock shines dimly on my face in the darkness. When it’s a tough night, I’ll struggle to sleep, then I look at the time and sigh heavily.

    It’s almost midnight. Again.

    I have to wake up at 2 a.m. if I want to find parking at the warehouse. That gives me maybe… an hour and a half of sleep if I try right now.

    But I won’t.

    Because something in me needs to write before the noise eats me alive.

    I know it’s reckless. I know its not sustainable, I’m tired — not in a poetic way, but in the real, physical, almost-broken way that makes your bones feel heavy and your thoughts turn against you. But if I don’t get these words out of my head, I’ll drown in them.

    Writing to Outrun the Thoughts

    The thoughts always come when I’m still and in motion, in the silence and in the noise.

    They tell me I’m a nobody.

    That I should be grateful to have any job — even one that eats my time and grinds down my health, mind, and soul.

    Because I don’t have a degree, or an impressive resume, or experience, or friends in high places who could help me out, I’m not valuable or worth anything enough to anyone else, and I don’t have a business either.

    That without this job, everything I’ve built would collapse under its own weight — rent, bills, debt, fear.

    But I keep writing. Because it’s the only thing I have that feels like mine.

    The Promise I Chased

    When I started this blog, I believed — truly believed — that I could turn my words into something sustainable. Not viral. Not a brand. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to build an escape hatch in case I got let go.

    Because that’s always possible, isn’t it?

    One shift cut. One bad quarter. One policy change. One injury or accident. One manager who decides I’m expendable.

    I thought maybe — just maybe — if I wrote enough, showed up enough, shared enough, someone would see me. Maybe I could earn a few dollars. Maybe people would support my work.

    And now, nearly 60 posts in, I find myself wondering:

    Was I wrong to believe in that idea?

    Was hope just a softer kind of trap?

    Questioning the Value of My Voice

    Who would pay to read this?

    What value have I created for anyone but myself?

    Those questions haunt me more than failure does. Because failure would at least mean I tried something big. But this? This feels like being stuck in-between — too tired to dream, too stubborn to quit.

    I work two jobs.

    My second one — a part-time gig at a rage room — helps me scrape by, but it could never support me if I lost my full-time warehouse job. That one is the anchor — and I’m terrified of what happens if it slips.

    Why I Moved Out (Even When I Couldn’t Afford To)

    I moved out not because I had to, but because I needed to.

    I didn’t want to keep leaning on my family. I wanted to learn how to stand on my own, to feel what it’s like to be fully responsible for myself. But no one tells you how hard independence really is when you have no safety net and no time.

    Even now, I don’t want to be a burden — not to them, not to anyone.

    But I feel like I’m at the mercy of everything outside me: schedules, bills, landlords, loud neighbors, shifts, exhaustion, bad sleep.

    Some days, I’m just surviving.

    Some days, not even that.

    My family supported my decision and claim I’ve grown since I moved out. Though, I wonder if they only see what they want to because, I don’t verbally share much of what’s going on with them, they tell me to appreciate what I have too. Even if it sucks, even if I hate it, it supports me, right?

    The Far-Off Promise

    And yet… there’s a whisper I keep chasing.

    It speaks to me in the quiet moments, when the city sleeps and my heart still believes in something more. It’s the promise of freedom. Of having time. Of waking up when my body’s ready, not when a schedule demands it. Of creating because I want to — not because I’m scrambling for escape.

    It’s the whisper of choice.

    Of rest.

    Of building a life instead of barely surviving one not meant for me.

    Somewhere, deep down, I still believe I might reach it. Even if it’s far off. Even if no one’s handed me a map.

    No One Is Coming to Save Me — But I’m Still Here

    No degree. No connections. No fancy job titles.

    But I’m still writing.

    Still working.

    Still showing up to my own life with a pen in my hand and a fire in my chest.

    Because if no one is coming to save me, then maybe I’ll save myself — word by word, post by post.

    This blog isn’t a business plan. Not anymore.

    It’s a record. A living document that says:

    I was here. I felt all of this. I wanted more. And I didn’t go quietly.

    To Anyone Else Still Dreaming

    If you’re stuck, tired, or holding onto your dream by a thread — I see you.

    If you’re working two jobs and still not making it,

    if you stay up late to feel human again,

    if you’re doing your best not to be a burden,

    if you’re chasing something no one else sees —

    you’re not alone.

    You’re not broken for wanting more.

    You’re not selfish for needing rest.

    You’re not lazy, or ungrateful, or too much.

    You’re just human. And the world isn’t set up for people like us.

    But we’re still here.

    Still writing.

    Still alive.

    That means something.

    If This Resonated…

    Subscribe to the blog — I write about survival, dreaming, burnout, and why we keep going. Leave a comment — even just one word. I’d love to know what this stirred in you. Share this post — maybe someone else needs it too.

    Or you could check out my newsletter here: Letters from the Void Newsletter.

    No spam, no pressure, just another thing to share. Or you could reflect on these few questions below if you’d like.

    1)What post of mine stuck with you—and why?

    2)What would you want to see more of?

    3)Would you support this space if I offered a way to?

    Now, that everything’s been said and done, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

  • Do You Really Want to Know?

    How are you feeling right now?

    There exist two sides of a story in this life, right? But what if we aren’t on either side, but are somewhere in the middle hanging in suspension? In a space people don’t talk about much unless, “they’ve made it?” What about those of us still navigating through this space though?

    Do You Really Want to Know How I’m Feeling?

    How am I feeling?

    That’s a loaded question. Because I’m not quite sure. I’m not angry. I’m not numb. I’m not happy either. I’m just… here. Existing in a kind of muted state, where everything still functions but nothing feels particularly real or urgent.

    I’m aware that I’m emotionally burnt out, physically spent, worn down, yet I have this extra energy to keep writing.

    There’s a strange kind of terror in not knowing what you feel. Like the compass inside is glitching — not spinning wildly, but just… stuck. Unmoving. It’s not sadness, exactly. It’s the awareness that I’m emotionally disconnected until something extreme, like anger, drags me back into myself.

    Right now, I’m sitting in my cluttered apartment. There are dishes in the sink, clean clothes waiting to be folded, a bed left undone. And instead of doing any of that, I’m typing this. Or I’ve been fiddling with my lock-picking set for a while. Something about misaligned priorities — or maybe just redirected energy — feels easier than confronting the basics of daily life.

    It’s not dramatic. It’s not catastrophic. But it is unsettling. And maybe that’s the most honest answer I can give right now.

    Letter from the Void

    If any of this resonates, I write more like this in my ongoing project, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.— it’s my newsletter with thoughts from the quiet spaces, where clarity sometimes hides. You’re welcome to sit with me there, too.

    If you’re not ready for that but still want to leave a trace, drop a one-word comment: how you’re feeling — or maybe just “here.”

    Or if this reminds you of someone in your life, maybe show them this. Sometimes feeling seen or recognizing bits of ourselves in something outside of us can make it seem we’re less alone.

    You could check out my other work if you’d like. No spam, no pressure, just an invitation to sit with something that you might be feeling and I might have been able to put it into words. Sitting at the edge of the void wondering if someone hears us whisper, and maybe someone did. One day at a time.

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here:

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Keep Writing — Your Freedom, Time, and Sanity Are on the Line

    Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?

  • The Burden I Carry is Freed: I Started Blogging As I Had No One to Talk To.

    Why do you blog?

    Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, choking on my own thoughts. I had no one to talk to, so I turned to a blank page instead. Since then, I’ve written over 50 blog posts — not because I had a plan, but because I needed to feel something.

    — The Archivist

    Blogging My Way Out of Silence

    Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, suffocating under fluorescent lights and the weight of my own thoughts. I felt like I was disappearing — not in a poetic way, but in that quiet, invisible kind of way where no one asks how you’re doing, and you stop knowing how to answer if they ever did.

    So I started blogging.

    Not because I had a plan. Not because I thought I’d be good at it.

    But because I had nowhere else to put the things that lived in my head.

    I Blog Because I Wanted to Feel Alive

    For years, I kept myself small. I buried my curiosity beneath jobs, routines, silence. I didn’t think anyone would care what I had to say, so I stopped saying anything at all. But something in me couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

    Blogging became a way to write myself back into existence.

    To prove — if only to myself — that I was here. That I am here.

    That I’m not just a forgotten footnote in a story I didn’t ask to be part of.

    From Warehouse Floor to Digital Garden

    Since I started, I’ve written over 50 articles, shared thoughts on dozens of different topics, and published every single one without pretending to be an expert. I wrote because I needed to. I wrote for 18 days straight. I built a digital garden to house the chaos. I made a manifesto — something I could hold in my hands and say: “This is mine.”

    I have 4 subscribers.

    One comment.

    200+ scattered likes and visits.

    It’s not viral. It’s not monetized. But it’s real.

    And that’s more than I had before.

    The Burden I Carry Is Free

    I named this post after a phrase that kept haunting me: The burden I carry is free.

    All these thoughts and feelings and desires I hold — they don’t cost anything. No one asks me to carry them. But they’re heavy. So heavy.

    Blogging gave me somewhere to lay them down.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m too much.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough.

    Sometimes I feel like I’ll explode from overthinking, and sometimes I feel absolutely nothing at all.

    And still, I write.

    Music That Speaks When I Can’t

    There’s a French artist I found recently, Indila. Her song “Parle à ta tête” loops in my ear like a mantra. I don’t even know French, but something in her voice feels like she’s talking directly to me from across time and the sea. I might not be struggling with fame, but I do know that the performative aspects of living is unbearable.

    Let me live as myself— free to express, explore, to know I am alive as I feel deeply, unapologetically, and real. Not as a fake, not as someone who might eventually be lost to time, not even making it into the cliff notes of life. This is my mark, this is my proof that I was here, and I wonder if anyone else feels this same pressure to perform, even if we aren’t under the same spotlight as celebrities, we still are on the world’s stage after all.

    I’ve been listening to “Monster” from Epic: The Musical, too — and it hits deeper than I expected. It echoes that internal voice that tells me I’m selfish for wanting more, broken for feeling differently. Like I should be grateful, quiet, small, and I’m a monster for thinking otherwise.

    But then I play “Legendary,” also from Epic, and I remember:

    There’s still a part of me that believes in more.

    There’s still a part of me that hopes and I shouldn’t be ashamed of wanting more or being conflicted all at once. The dissonance is real, yet what happens when we want to break free from our shells, free from what is in exchange for what could be? Is that really being foolish or are we seeing something we can’t ignore anymore?

    Even I haven’t figured that out, but I lean towards, “Yes — I saw something and I want more of it in my life. Is that so wrong?”

    Blogging for Survival, Not Fame

    Originally, I hoped this blog might help me make a little money. Just enough to buy time. Breathing room. A chance to chase my curiosity full-time. But I found myself torn between writing honestly and writing for clicks.

    I’m not a content machine. I’m not a brand. I’m just someone with a lot of feelings and a need to be heard.

    But I still want this to grow. Not for fame or appeasing the algorithms — but for connection.

    Because I know there are others out there like me, staring at a blank screen, or walking their own version of a warehouse floor wondering if anyone else feels this lost and full at the same time.

    If that’s you — I see you.

    Maybe You’ve Felt This Too

    • Like you’re disappearing, slowly.
    • Like you’re carrying too much and no one knows.
    • Like your thoughts are too loud, and your world is too quiet.
    • Like you’re terrified of dying before you’ve ever really lived.

    If so — you’re not broken. You’re not alone.

    There’s nothing wrong with wanting more. Or needing a way to be seen.

    Where Do I Go From Here?

    Ain’t that the kicker — I don’t know myself exactly.

    Maybe I’ll offer a zine. Or a newsletter. Or something small you can hold onto when your own thoughts get too loud. I have a PDF you can look into as well.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    Maybe someone will read this and decide to start writing again or start that something they said they’d do someday.

    Or for the first time.

    Or simply whisper, “Me too.”

    That’s enough for me right now.

    I don’t write because I have the answers or I’m an expert at anything.

    I write because I need to remember I’m still here.

    And maybe, if you’ve read this far, you do too.

    Want to Support or Connect?

    If any part of this resonated, you can:

    Subscribe to the blog — I share honest, raw reflections like this often. Buy me a coffee (Coming soon?) — Support helps me keep creating without forcing performance. Or leave a comment — I’d love to hear your story too. Even a simple, “same”, is enough for me to know someone gets it and I’m not always writing into the oblivion alone.

    You’re Still Here — And That’s Enough.

    Thank you for reading this. Really.

    I don’t know who will find this post, but if you’re reading these last words, just know — I’m glad you’re still here. And I hope you keep going.

    Your thoughts matter.

    Your voice matters.

    And maybe, just maybe — your story’s only getting started.

    Below are other articles you could check out, just because. No pressure, no need to rush, just options to explore. From this part of the void to yours, until next time.

    — The Stratagem’s Archives

    What post of mine stuck with you—and why?”

    “What would you want to see more of?”

    “Would you support this space if I offered a way to?”

    You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Keep Writing — Your Freedom, Time, and Sanity Are on the Line