The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: Personal growth

  • From Writing 60 Consecutive Days Straight, Drops Back Down to 1:

    Does Starting Over Have to Suck?

    When I published a few days ago,What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?, I wondered what my next move should be—things were changing, evolving, and the closer I got to completing my personal goals, the more uncertain it felt.

    I hadn’t felt compelled, fueled by that stubborn rage to write, since hitting Day 60 of my publishing streak. After reaching Day 63, my mind quieted, my emotions found a fragile equilibrium.

    Early this morning, I published a new post, expecting to see the Day 64 streak notification on Jetpack’s homepage. I didn’t. I realized that because I had stepped away for one full day, my streak had reset to zero.

    It mattered. Those streaks weren’t arbitrary—they were medals, proof that I showed up, that I pushed through exhaustion, guilt, bitterness, and the darker voices that used to push me toward harming myself. They were proof that I survived one more day of feeling small in a world that often doesn’t care what you do, as long as you keep giving until there’s nothing left.

    As a gamer, the closest analogy I have is this: losing a streak felt worse than discovering a beloved game file was corrupted. Not a “new game” choice, one you pick intentionally.

    A corrupted file is beyond your control—everything you’ve built, collected, and earned is gone, and you’re forced to start over.

    That’s how losing my two-month streak felt. Except I wasn’t starting blind this time. I carried my experience, my knowledge, and my reflections into this new chapter of life. It was terrifying, but also… liberating.

    Starting over didn’t feel explosive or loud. It was quiet, subtle, and unsettling, like flipping to a new chapter in a book without realizing that something inside me had already shifted.

    After losing my streak, I had to pause and ask myself: does starting over have to suck?

    Not just with publishing, but with every aspect of life—The Stratagems Archive, my career, my personal growth, my goals.

    My time away from writing wasn’t about punishment or frustration; it was about listening.

    Listening to the void and the quiet, to understand why silence—after years of relying on rage and compulsion to motivate myself—scares me, yet keeps me grounded.

    I’m learning I don’t have to build myself or my space out of survival anymore. I’ve already proven I can show up for myself. People have invested their time in reading what I create, quietly sitting with it, and that is validation enough.

    I can show up because I choose to, not because I have to.

    Maybe starting over isn’t a punishment at all. Maybe it’s just the next save point I didn’t recognize yet.

    Reflection For You, Fellow Archivists:

    How often do we mistake starting over for failure, when it might just be an opportunity to bring what we’ve learned into a new chapter?

    Call to Action:

    If you’ve ever had to start over—whether in work, relationships, or personal goals—take a moment to reflect on what you’re bringing forward.

    Share your thoughts below, or jot them in a journal.

    Starting over doesn’t erase what you’ve built; it amplifies the wisdom you already carry.

    Other Void Related Reflections:

    Thank You For Making It to the End

    Here are some of the projects I’ve made during my time writing. Below are: 2 manifestos, 1 ebook manifesto, sticker designs, and a hoodie design, you could explore. Thank you for making it to the end of this post. I’ll see you all in the archives later.

  • Fighting on Your Own Terms: Debt, Defiance, and Building a Life That’s Mine

    Three months ago, I was in significant amounts of debt, wandering through jobs I didn’t like belong in, and trying to resist life’s pre-existing scripts. Today, I’m down by thousands and building a foundation for the life I actually want. Here’s the updates so far.

    Ainsi Bas Ma Vie: That’s How My Life Goes

    Three months ago, I wrote about the mountain of debt I accumulated before and after I started living on my own — over a huge deal worth of debt— and how it threatened to define my life before I even truly had a chance to shape it.

    Since then, I’ve chipped away at it, one payment, one decision, one stubborn move at a time. Today, the number is still daunting.

    It’s not gone. It’s still heavy. But it’s shrinking, and with every dollar, I reclaim a little more agency over my life.

    I’m terrified of debt because of how much it stops me from doing and experiencing things I want to do and try out.

    I never liked how all of my attention has to go to debt, it’s super draining, but at least I can see the near end of the pothole filled road I drove onto myself because of the choices I made over time. Though I’m slowly getting closer to smoother pavement. Just a little closer now.

    Choosing a Path That Feels Like Me

    Speaking of choices, growing up, I was told what my life “should” look like. Work in hotels — the backbone of our local economy. Join the family’s construction business. Learn Japanese. Take the safe route. Follow the script.

    I tried none of it. The roles didn’t fit me. I didn’t like crowds, didn’t thrive in certain structures, didn’t want my last name to carry me into someone else’s office. I wanted to forge my own path, even if I had no map.

    So I wandered through jobs and higher education—with how long I was in-and-out of school, I could have gotten my Master’s degree in something. Instead, I’m a University and community college “drop out.”

    I think I’ve written about how I don’t have a degree. Surprisingly, I have a Liberal Arts degree, but, to my knowledge, this degree hasn’t really helped anyone out.

    Plus, I don’t have the diploma framed, I don’t have it at all, so I don’t have that fancy paper saying I did go through higher education. Either way, to me, a Liberals Degree is useless, or I haven’t figured out how to frame this degree as useful, helpful, and to other people’s benefit. Oh, well.

    Anyways, the jobs I took were often in roles that others might dismiss, or outright scoff at: customer service, grocery work, fresh food — jobs without fancy titles or corner offices.

    Guess what? This is true to some extent, but this was my fault for barring myself from opportunities I could have taken when I didn’t bother looking for and applying to scholarships or internships to stick it out.

    The “Should have, could have, would have’s” of the world at play people, let’s hear it.

    These jobs weren’t glamorous, but they were mine. I was building a foundation with the tools I had, no matter how much I hated them and myself for working there.

    Rage, Rebellion, and Sanity

    Some of those jobs taught me one thing clearly: never put my sanity on the line for someone else’s frustration. People will take their anger out on the easy target — and I learned quickly I didn’t want to be that target.

    My current work — a warehouse job and a rage room gig — are dualities of that script.

    Work at the warehouse gives me so much energy to want to destroy things and want to break people, so much people piss me off, but I need to keep my cool here.

    In customer service at the rage room, people vent, but not on me. They break objects, not spirits. I get paid, they get release, and I keep my energy for building my future. It’s still work, but it’s aligned with my boundaries and my life philosophy.

    One Step, One Victory at a Time

    Like the protagonist in Indila’s Ainsi Bas La Vida, I’ve resisted a world that wanted to define me. Instead of picking someone to love who isn’t socially acceptable, I’ve walked a path that was messy, even if it’s slower, less glamorous, and full of obstacles.

    And, like Indila’s story in Ainsi Bas La Vida, there’s always risk, judgment, and uncertainty — but also the thrill of making choices that are truly mine.

    Every payment toward debt, every post, sticker, hoodie, manifesto, and careful decision is a brick in the foundation of the life I’m building. One that I own. One that I’ve fought for.

    The debt still exists, but it’s become manageable. Not gone. But every number represents resilience, agency, and the refusal to fade quietly because of someone else’s expectations.

    I don’t know when the journey will end, or if I’ll ever feel fully “done” with it. But I do know this: I’m choosing my fights, protecting my mind, and constructing a life that’s mine — piece by piece, step by step.

    Reflection

    If anything here resonates, I want you to take a moment and honor your own fight.

    Maybe you’re battling debt, following a path others don’t understand, or just trying to carve space for yourself in a world that wants to keep you small.

    Every little victory matters. Every decision that aligns with your values is a rebellion worth celebrating.

    If my words connect with you, consider liking, subscribing, or sharing this post. Every share helps others who feel stuck, unheard, or underestimated find this little corner of the internet — a space to remember that it’s okay to rage against the world’s expectations while building the life you truly want.

    Keep raging. Keep building. Keep shining.

    Building One Brick at a Time

  • What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?

    What Direction Will This Go?

    That’s been the question — one of many — I’ve been wrestling with since publishing The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In. It’s only been a full 24 hours since that post, but when your mind never rests, it can feel like days of circling the same thoughts.

    Lately, I’ve felt frustrated. Not because I’m unhappy with The Stratagem’s Archive or what I’ve built here — far from it. I’ve written every day, fought for every minute I could spare, and turned stubborn rage into creation. But now, the spark that once drove me feels dim.

    The words still come, but they don’t echo anymore.

    It’s not a lack of ideas. I have more than enough of those. It’s that I don’t feel excited to write them. I’ve been walking the same path, and the scenery hasn’t changed. I don’t like the current trajectory. I don’t like how it feels to move without wonder.

    In The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In, I wrote about shining light into emptiness — shouting into the void and getting nothing back. That feeling hasn’t gone away. The progress has slowed, the spark has dulled, and I’ve begun to wonder:

    What if I stopped shouting? What if I just listened instead?

    Maybe that’s what I need. Not more words.

    But silence sturdy enough to hold the ones I’ll write next.

    I don’t know how long I’ll step away, or what form The Stratagem’s Archive will take when I return. But I know this much: what got me this far can’t take me further. And that’s okay. Growth often begins where repetition ends.

    This isn’t the end. It’s a pause — a necessary one.

    To everyone who has read, shared, subscribed, or quietly returned to read again: thank you. Every click, every like, every minute you’ve given me has meant more than you know. I didn’t think anyone would ever find this little corner of mine, but I’m glad to have been proven wrong.

    While I won’t be posting for a while, I’ll still be around the archives — cleaning, updating, and letting the silence settle in for once. Maybe in that quiet, I’ll finally hear what comes next.

    Until then, I’ll see you all in the archives later.

    Reflection Question for Readers

    When was the last time you stopped creating, chasing, or producing — and simply listened to what silence was trying to tell you?

    Call to Action

    If you’ve been following The Stratagem’s Archive, consider liking, sharing, subscribing, sitting quietly, or revisiting your favorite posts while I’m away.

    Leave a comment about what post resonated most with you — your reflections help me see what the void is saying back.

    Thank You For Reaching the End

    Revisit Prior Posts Below

  • The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In

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

    When I first wrote this, I was so excited that the light I was flashing into the void was reflecting back — that the quiet whispers I uttered in the dark were slowly being heard. People were reading the things I wrote about, and I felt confident to keep publishing, developing my own voice, and seeing where The Stratagem’s Archive could go.

    Every post, every thought, every hit to the publish button was an experiment — trial and error, but in a safer way, with low stakes but high personal rewards.

    Now, the excitement feels darker. Colder. As though the void is done playing games and is closing in on me.

    No matter how much evidence I’ve built, collected, no matter how much progress I’ve made — 100+ posts, 4 newsletters, 4 sticker designs, 2 manifestos, 1 ebook manifesto, 1 personal hoodie, and 10 very much appreciated subscribers — this brick of doubt is difficult to fight.

    Even with all the rage and restlessness I have, I can’t use the same energy to uproot this doubt like ripping out a weed or walking away from bad friendships.

    That’s the shitty thing about doubt; once it gets its claws into you, the void knows it has control over you. It can corrupt your mind with simple, innocent-sounding questions:

    “What do you have to show for yourself after all this time?”

    Maybe I’ve Outgrown a Part of Myself

    This doubt is familiar, to be honest. I felt it when I hyper-analyzed my decision to walk away from people who didn’t value me, when I permanently deleted apps I didn’t use, when I let go of the “just in case” excuses I leaned on for so long.

    I knew parts of me needed to die as I pushed forward and shed burdens off my plate. It’s possible the void feels like it’s closing in because it’s saying I’ve outgrown something.

    The problem?

    I don’t know what I outgrew.

    I started writing for me — to get every thought out of my head and into the world. If people read it, liked it, shared it, or even subscribed, that was a bonus.

    Now? It feels different. Off. I can’t explain it, but I wish I could.

    I don’t know what topics excite me anymore. I don’t know what moves me. I feel emptier than angry and restless. I feel like a fraud, and I can see the end of the life I want — free from financial burdens, full of chosen creative work, less stressed — but the path to it has blurred.

    I feel stuck, like Alice in Wonderland. I could pick any road and still reach where I need to go, yet every choice feels like a trap. Each decision feels like a noose.

    What Now?

    I don’t have answers yet. What I do know is that I don’t want to be invisible anymore. I don’t want to be ignored, and my mind refuses to accept that small progress is still progress.

    But maybe the void isn’t the enemy. Maybe it’s space being cleared for the next version of myself. Maybe what feels like silence is just a new beginning taking shape.

    Maybe I don’t need to fight the void this time.

    Maybe I just need to stop shouting into it, and start listening.

    A Reflection for You

    If you’ve ever felt like your creative work, your efforts, or your life in general were disappearing into a void — you’re not alone. Maybe it’s not failure. Maybe it’s growth disguised as emptiness.

    Take a breath. Look at everything you have done, no matter how small it feels. You’ve built something, even if it’s invisible to the world right now. You’ve shown up. You’ve persisted.

    And maybe that’s enough to start listening to what comes next.

    Call to Action

    If this post resonated with you: sit with it quietly, reflect on your own journey, and take a moment to honor yourself. Or, if you know someone who might be feeling this way, share it with them.

    You can also:

    • Like if you’ve ever felt the void closing in.
    • Subscribe to follow along as I figure this out alongside you.
    • Share this post if it might help someone else in the same place.

    Even small acts of acknowledgment matter. Even small lights can push back against the 

    Other Reflections

    Here you could check out how these thoughts started and progressed over time. Showcasing how this isn’t a one off thought, but an ever present and persistent one.

    Thanks For Making it This Far

    Here are the evidence, my little artifacts that I’ve made over these past few months. Every piece a beginning, the first footprint marked in the sand, and with room to grow. They’re my way of saying thanks for making it to the end and feel free to check them out.

    Feedback is much appreciated as I’m in this weird limbo right now. I got no idea what’s up from down, left from right, but all of this is here for your viewing irregardless of my current suspension.

  • A Mini Ebook for Action: Introducing The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0

    Hey, Fellow Archivists,

    I am pleased to share something else I’ve made—similar to what I’ve made with my earlier Stratagem’s Manifestos—this one being more proactive.

    Introducing here is The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0. Not the full ebook I teased before—this one is smaller, faster, sharper.

    A brief collection of reflections you can actually do something with, not just read and forget. Short, simple, actionable. Try it, test it, see what sticks.

    Each piece is meant to hit where it needs to: shake habits, spark thought, push you to act. Life doesn’t wait, and neither should your growth.

    Everyday is an opportunity to embrace a personal scientific method: hypothesize, theorize, experiment, record data, prove or disprove whether something worked for you.

    You could try again with the same problem or move on to another issue. Archivist’s choice. You get a say in how you want things to be different. Never forget that.

    This mini manifesto is live, ready for you. Dive in. Reflect. Move. Build something real.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0: A Companion Ebook

    Let me know your thoughts, be it in the comments or directly to my email at whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com.

    I would love to know what you thought of this live personal experiment of mine, what stuck with you, stood out to you, or could have been better.

  • Where Do Frameworks and Tools End and Our Thinking Begin?

    Tools Are Supposed to Help Us, Right?

    I’ve tried just about everything in the name of “self-improvement.”

    Apps, challenges, journals, lessons — all promising clarity and control.

    But after all that effort, nothing in my life was actually changing.

    I wasn’t lazy. I wasn’t unmotivated. I was simply outsourcing my thinking.

    The Mighty Network Experiment

    I joined The Daily Stoic’s Mighty Network app for their Spring Forward Challenge 2025 — a two-week program to clean up every part of your life. Room, car, home, phone, even your habits. I was excited to finally join a community, to do something that felt constructive.

    And for a while, I did enjoy it. I joined the “Tame Your Temper” course too because, truthfully, I have one. I wanted to be a good student of Stoicism. Then, like a light switch, I stopped.

    The app just sat there on my home screen. I’d scroll past it daily, but never felt the need to open it again. I wasn’t avoiding it — I was just… done.

    At first, I thought that meant I’d failed. But something deeper was stirring in the background. I wasn’t burned out. I was waking up.

    The Realization

    The challenges and courses weren’t bad. They were designed to guide me — to give me structure and show me a path. The problem wasn’t the tools. The problem was how I used them.

    I was following instructions without questioning whether they fit my life, my habits, or my values. I’d become a student again — memorizing, not learning. Regurgitating, not applying.

    It’s a familiar pattern, isn’t it?

    When Learning Becomes Substituting

    I moved on to other self-improvement apps — like The Alux app, which focuses on the “five pillars” of a good life: finances, emotional health, intellect, relationships, and physical well-being. The lessons were solid, but they all shared one flaw:

    They told me what to do, rarely why, and never how to think for myself.

    Then, one evening during a quiet five-minute meditation — right before my alarm (fittingly called “Thunder Bringer”) went off — it hit me:

    The real work doesn’t happen in an app.

    It doesn’t live inside someone else’s framework.

    It happens here — in the silence, in reflection, in the moments when you ask:

    “Does this even make sense for me anymore?”

    Frameworks can guide, but they can’t think for you. They can’t teach discernment — only experience can. Once you learn enough from a tool, the real challenge begins: knowing when to put it down and trust your own judgment.

    That’s when growth stops being theoretical — and becomes real.

    Practicing Autonomy with Money

    One framework that truly helped me was Ramit Sethi’s “I Will Teach You to Be Rich.”

    It taught me how to manage my money and start building my version of a rich life.

    I’ve been aggressively paying down debt, investing consistently, automating my finances, and slowly rebuilding my emergency fund. I don’t follow Ramit’s percentages to the letter — I adjusted them to fit my situation.

    I prioritize paying off debt first. My “guilt-free spending” comes from simple pleasures: home-cooked meals, protein shakes that don’t wreck my stomach, donating to my local animal sanctuary, or treating family to dinner.

    That’s the key difference now: I learned from the framework, then made it mine.

    When the lessons became habits, I didn’t need the framework anymore.

    And if Ramit ever finds this — thanks. You taught me to stop chasing financial perfection and start living intentionally.

    What’s Next Now?

    Am I saying we should stop learning? Of course not.

    Some lessons take years to reach us, others appear only when we’re ready.

    But I noticed something important after stepping away from all the apps, videos, and podcasts.

    My life was still the same on paper: same full-time job, same debts, same exhaustion. I still hate how draining work feels, I still get angry and worn down, and I still fight with my own thoughts.

    But the difference is — I’m not looking outside myself for permission to change anymore.

    Philosophy and self-improvement didn’t teach me my values or boundaries. I learned them through hurt, betrayal, ghosting, and years of being a placeholder in other people’s lives.

    No course told me to stop drinking — I did that alone in 2018 when I realized alcohol wasn’t numbing anything, only amplifying it. That’s when I started listening, not to experts, but to my own silence.

    So, Are Frameworks Worthless?

    No. They’re not.

    They’re useful — until they’re not.

    Every framework has a shelf life.

    Use it, learn from it, but know when to outgrow it.

    Because if you’re just keeping a daily streak alive, or checking boxes to “stay consistent,” you might be moving — but not necessarily growing.

    Take a Step Back and See What Happens

    The question is: When was the last time you stopped following a system and started thinking for yourself again?

    This is my challenge to you — especially if you’re deep into the world of self-improvement, philosophy, or productivity hacks.

    Take a step back. Pause.

    Put the app down, skip the next lesson, and just think.

    Ask yourself:

    • What have I actually learned from this?
    • What can I apply without guidance?
    • What can I let go of now?

    You might find, like I did, that the noise starts to fade — and your own voice starts to return.

    I still hate parts of my life. I still get angry. But that anger taught me to stop tolerating bullshit. That exhaustion taught me that my effort matters. That loneliness taught me how to stand on my own.

    No app could’ve taught me that.

    Only life, and my willingness to really learn, could.

    Reflection for Readers:

    If you’ve been chasing self-improvement for years but still feel stuck, maybe it’s not because you’re failing — maybe it’s because you’ve learned all you can from your current framework. The next lesson might not be in a course or app. It might be waiting in your own reflection.

    If this resonated with you — or if you know someone who’s caught in the same cycle — share this post with them.

    Like it, subscribe, or pass it on to someone who’s ready to start thinking for themselves again.

    Subscribers get access to my Letters from the Void Newsletter before everyone else, behind-the-scenes looks into reflections and projects and progress, and access to my two manifestos.

    You could check them out here with this link for a preview of what it would be like becoming a Fellow Archivist below:

    Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists)

    I’m glad you took the time to stop by and sit with me a while. It really means more than I could ever express with words. I’m working hard to provide physical stuff to give as a thank you. It’s going to take time, and I’ll let know when they’re ready.

    Start Here With Other Reflections:

    If you liked this article, then you can check out the first post reflecting how self-improvement imprisons us, and how experience shapes us more than “habits and lessons” ever could empower us, in these posts below:

    Or you could check out the archives by clicking on these links below. I’ll see you all there later. Thank you.

  • From Financial Pursuit to Connection: How Plans2Action Became The Stratagem’s Archive

    The Shift Started With a Name Change

    Three months ago, when I first started my blog, it was originally known as “Plans2Action.” I don’t know how I got it in my head—maybe because I realized that every day I sat in traffic, I wasn’t getting paid passive income outside of my retirement and investing accounts—but I had the great idea that, when I created my first ever blog, it would help bridge that passive income gap.

    At the time, it was an idea that got me to write whatever came to mind and hit publish.

    I had no service, no book, no merchandise to sell, so this was pretty ambitious for someone starting at ground zero. I had no idea how I was going to bridge this elusive money gap, but that wasn’t going to stop me from trying.

    The Persona I Started With

    In the beginning of this journey, I stopped myself from trying to figure it out…

    “Plans2Action’s” persona that I tried crafting it around was the “villain hiding in plain sight.” I was using Google Gemini to help me and I was struck with inspiration to write like a villain laying out their plans of chaos, routine, and being an inconvenience to everyone.

    I hated it.

    I know that I’m not a hero type, but calling myself a villain or a mastermind in training would turn my mood foul. It grew stronger when I made it through my first week of writing and I wasn’t getting much views, likes, subscribers, or shares.

    Yeah, I know, sounds delusional, right?

    I felt my soul getting crushed by another outlet outside of my mind-numbing job and the expectations of what “success” is supposed to look like.

    I wanted to quit. I had quit a lot of things before:

    • wrestling after a knee injury and fear of my “teammates,”
    • supporting the Invisible Children program,
    • quitting BJJ due to finances being tight and a back injury from working too much and poor lifting mechanics,
    • and I had been a job hopper after staying for 6 months to 3–8 years with each job.

    Every time I stopped something, I grew numb that I’d never stick with anything, and I hated myself for being a quitter.

    “Winners never quit and quitters never win” hammered into my head until it was engraved as my default mode of thinking.

    I’m a quitter. I’m a loser. I can’t do anything right. This blog is already a failure because I am a failure. What evidence do I have that says otherwise?

    With writing? Even though no one was reading my early work, I realized I was publishing from a desperate lens, not an open or welcoming one.

    This had been the wake up call that slapped me awake that I didn’t realize had whacked me to widen my eyes and thinking.

    From Desperation to Curiosity

    Somewhere between my first and second month, something shifted. I stopped trying to make my blog sound like a performance and started letting it sound like me.

    I stopped writing to “capture” attention and started writing to connect.

    That’s when Plans2Action stopped feeling like a name and started feeling like a costume I didn’t really like wearing.

    I wasn’t laying out villainous plans; I was recording my life, my observations, my frustrations, my curiosities, and my hopes.

    This wasn’t about action for action’s sake anymore. It was about strategy, thought, and reflection — not just “plans” but the archive of someone actively becoming something more than they ever were.

    Why The Stratagem’s Archive

    I can’t remember how I came up with The Stratagem’s Archive as my new name. I wanted to have “archive” in it, though I guess Plans2Action was lingering when I discarded it. Even though this sounds like some Helldivers fan page, it became something I ran with and grew.

    And it sounded cool to me.

    Eventually, the name clicked because it gave me permission to treat my blog as a living library rather than a sales funnel.

    It gave me the space to be messy, vulnerable, and honest without forcing everything into a neat conclusion.

    And ironically, when I stopped chasing clicks, the writing became easier, the posts more authentic, and the small but steady growth began to happen naturally.

    Takeaway

    This blog has become my record of showing up — even when no one was watching, even when my stats plateau, even when it would be easier to give up.

    It’s proof to myself that I can build something slowly, imperfectly, and on my own terms.

    And maybe that’s the real shift: not just rebranding a blog, but rebranding how I see myself. Not as someone who quits, but as someone who’s still here, building a portfolio, proof that I was done with letting fear rule what I did and didn’t do.

    A Gentle Ask

    If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Truly. Every like, share, or comment helps this little corner of the internet reach more people who are tired of cookie-cutter stories and want something real.

    If this resonated with you, consider subscribing or sharing this post with someone who might need to hear it.

    New subscribers get direct access to my newsletter, “Letters from the Void”, access to my manifestos, and behind-the-scenes projects I’ve been working on from the trunk of my car and in the dead of night.

    When others are typically asleep, I’m awake in the stillness.

    You’re not just reading words on a screen. You’re part of this archive, too.

    Other Reflections Below

    I’ve reflected on other things regarding finances, feeling worn down, and never enough in these posts below. Exploring them will show you more of the archives, and potentially help you articulate something you might have had trouble thinking on.

  • 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.

  • Letters from the Void: What Have I Got to Lose?

    No One Asked, But I’m Doing It Anyway

    Hey there, Fellow Archivists,

    I’ve been working on something behind the scenes; something different than my usual posts, stickers, and even hoodie: my first ebook.

    Let me be real: I’m not an expert. I have no degrees, no viral content, and no corner office either. And, you know what, that’s okay.

    What Do I Have?

    It’s okay to not have a lot of things because what I do have makes up for it. I do have:

    • Stubbornness
    • Spiteful rage
    • A refusal to stay the same
    • A willingness to try
    • A curiosity to see what I’m capable of

    That’s what this ebook is: me starting something anyway. Building anyway. Learning as I go anyway.

    Here’s a Tiny Peek:

    “This is the question I asked myself when life got loud enough that I couldn’t ignore it anymore: What have I got to lose?

    It started as a whisper, a thought I brushed aside while I kept grinding through the motions of work and just surviving another day. But it simmered. By the time my grandpa’s funeral came around, it was shrieking in my head.

    He wasn’t old. Too young to be gone. I half-expected him to sit up and laugh like it was some bad joke. But the casket closed, and it was final. No more birthday lunches, no more music, no more teaching me how to cook. Just memories—and the weight of the regrets he had confided in me while he was still here.”

    Who Is This Book For?

    This book is for anyone who’s:

    • Tired of being stuck
    • Over being underestimated
    • Done waiting for someone else to give them permission to start

    It’s not about looking perfect or “crushing it.” It’s about showing up. One small, stubborn step at a time.

    I’ll be sharing snippets, chaos, and updates as I go. For now: it’s happening. Doubt doesn’t get a vote. Not again, even though it’s a familiar companion in my life.

    Thanks for being in this corner of the internet and writing void with me.

    —The Stratagem’s Archive

    A Call-to-Action

    Follow the chaos. Keep checking back. Keep in mind, those who are already subscribed will get these updates first and straight into their email inboxes before everyone else. If you’d like to get these updates before anyone else, then subscribe to catch the next post before it disappears into the void.

    Other Newsletters From the Void

  • Writing Challenge Completed—29 Hours Later—Here’s The Breakdown

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    I stepped away from writing for 29 hours, and instead of losing momentum, I found rest, rhythm, and a lesson in sustainable consistency.

    What I Learned From My Own Challenge

    When I set myself the challenge to step away from writing for 24 hours yesterday, Challenge Unlocked: Taking a 24 Hour Break From Writing (and My Blog Stats), I thought it would be brutal.

    Writing has been part of my daily rhythm for months now, and the idea of cutting it off felt like I was about to starve a part of myself. And yet, I wanted to test whether I could actually rest without collapsing into guilt.

    It didn’t go as planned.

    I didn’t stop for 24 hours — I stopped for 29.

    The First Hour: Temptation

    Within the first hour, I was tempted to grab my iPad and check Jetpack. My brain screamed, “You’re going to fall behind! What if someone finally finds your blog today? What if you miss momentum?” But instead of giving in, I decided to redirect that energy.

    I cleaned the bathtub, scrubbing away calcium buildup until it looked brand new — something I hadn’t done since moving in six months ago. It was strangely satisfying, like I was scrubbing my own headspace clean too.

    Finding Rhythm in the Pause

    After the bathtub came the dishes. Then I took my car to the mechanic, spent hours with my family, brought my Ma back to my apartment to relax, and ended up at Cheesecake Factory for a late lunch with my parents. We actually stayed off our phones, told stories, and I ate everything on my plate for once.

    Back at my apartment, I stayed up playing, “Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice,” while I let my parents rest for an hour or so. Later, I swapped out my shower curtain and discovered black mold growing on the old one — a quiet hazard that I’d been ignoring. Now, it’s gone.

    And somewhere in between playing Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice and hearing my family laugh over stories, the temptation to write faded. I didn’t feel the compulsion of needing to miss it.

    The Outcome

    What I thought would be a white-knuckle fight turned into a rhythm. It wasn’t hard once I committed. I didn’t feel empty; I felt lighter. I wasn’t dragging myself forward anymore, I was actually living.

    I came back recharged, not restless. For the first time in weeks, my writing didn’t feel like survival. It felt like choice.

    The Lesson

    Consistency is important — but consistency doesn’t mean never resting. It means showing up sustainably. Stepping away for 29 hours didn’t break my streak. It gave me the breathing room to keep going beyond day 50, day 100, or however long I choose.

    I didn’t fail my challenge. I redefined it.

    Reflection for You

    Maybe you’ve felt the same pull — the guilt of stopping, the fear of losing ground if you pause, the voice that tells you momentum is everything. But what if rest is part of the momentum? What if stepping away makes you stronger when you return?

    If any of this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Drop a comment, share this post with someone else who pushes themselves too hard, or subscribe if you want to follow along as I keep experimenting, reflecting, and raging against the small boxes the world wants us to stay in.

    Your support — silent or loud — helps others find this little corner of the internet, and it reminds me that none of us are really fighting alone.

    Gifts From Me to You

    Below you will find 2 of my manifestos, access to my newsletter(which subscribers receive personally first in their inboxes), and tangible gifts that I’m striving towards becoming reality. All which you can check out if you feel like. Thank you again, and I’ll see you all later browsing the archives.