The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: Personal growth

  • 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.

  • The Archive Impulse: Why I Keep Writing Even When I Should Rest

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Playing Chicken with Myself

    In my last article,Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape, I tried to untangle why I keep doing what I do — writing every day, stacking projects, refusing to stop even when stopping makes sense.

    I thought it was compulsion. Maybe it is. But as I’ve sat with it, I think there’s another layer to it.

    It feels like I’m playing chicken with myself.

    I stay up too late. I sleep too little. I keep pushing the line forward, daring myself to see how much further I can go before something breaks. And the strange part? I’m not doing it because it’s efficient or even because I enjoy it all the time. I’m doing it because regret is nipping at my heels.

    The Pressure of Time

    I’ve mentioned this feeling, this pressure, in my other articles,

    I’m getting closer to thirty. I’m not married. I’m not cushioned by a comfortable job. I make about $50,000 a year across two jobs — warehouse work at $23/hour, smashing rooms at $16/hour. I’m building my emergency fund, tucking money into retirement, tackling debt one month at a time, and finding small ways to make my ideas tangible: like printing my first ever stickers, and waiting for my hoodie with The Stratagem’s Archive stitched across it to arrive.

    Brick by brick, I’m building something of my own.

    And yet, I still feel those unspoken expectations pressing down:

    You’re running out of time. You’re falling behind. You’re worth less the older you get.

    Society whispers it louder to women — that men age into “distinguished,” while women age out of relevance. Maybe it’s not true for everyone. But it feels real. And that’s enough to make me push harder, faster, almost recklessly. All because I can’t shake myself from believing these scripts as though written in stone.

    Why I Don’t Stop

    The irony isn’t lost on me: pushing like this could shorten the very time I’m afraid of wasting. But when I measure my choices, I still land here:

    • I don’t want to die with a locked archive of things I never dared to try.
    • So I dare myself.
    • To print the stickers.
    • To launch the blog.
    • To write every day even when I’m exhausted.
    • To see what else I can do before the door slams shut.

    It’s not compulsion in the medical sense, maybe. It’s not just discipline or routine either. It’s something murkier. Something like survival. Something like what I’ve started to call the Archive Impulse — the stubborn need to leave something behind that proves I was here. That I was alive and made something that could survive me.

    A Dangerous Engine

    This impulse has given me things I’m proud of. The blog. The manifestos. The archive that keeps growing because I refuse to stop feeding it.

    But it’s also a dangerous engine.

    It eats my rest.

    It blurs my days.

    It makes me question whether I’m in control, or if the need to “do more” is driving me instead.

    Still, it’s mine. It’s the fire that didn’t go out. And even if it burns me sometimes, I’d rather risk the flame than live in the quiet regret of never striking the match. Something that Burning the Candle at Both Ends… For What? Has tried to figure out too.

    To Fellow Archivists

    If you’re reading this and you’ve felt that pressure too — that dare to do more before time takes the chance away — know this: you’re not alone.

    We might not all share the same rituals, or the same fears, but we share the weight. We share the stubbornness. We share the ache of wanting to leave something that proves we mattered.

    Maybe you call it something else. I call it the Archive Impulse.

    A Gentle Ask

    If this article resonates, if you’ve felt the same ticking clock or the same weight pressing down, I invite you to do three things:

    Like this post — it helps show this archive is worth finding. Share it with someone who might need to hear they’re not alone. Subscribe to join The Stratagem’s Archive — you’ll receive behind-the-scenes thoughts, experiments, and my newsletter Letters from the Void.

    As a thank you, subscribers also get access to Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists) — my early experiments, raw and imperfect, but alive.

    Every click, every return, every silent read helps this space grow. It shifts this archive from being just mine to being ours.

    Author’s Reflection

    I know I can’t keep daring myself forever without cost. I don’t know how to stop yet, but I’m trying to learn how to rest without feeling like I’ve failed.

    Maybe that’s the next dare.

    Until then, the Archive Impulse keeps me moving forward. One brick at a time. One article at a time. One stubborn act of creation after another.

    Thanks for reading.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • I Made Small Tangible Artifacts of the Archive

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    The Excitement Is Real

    A few days ago, I had shared in my post, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists), that I was working on something exciting, and I promised more than words. I promised proof — proof that this archive is alive, that it grows, and that I’m daring myself to do things I never thought I’d do.

    So here it is:

    Two manifestos — The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0, The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5.

    And now, four sticker designs.

    I finally have them!!! The extra $25 for express shipping was worth it!!!

    They started as experiments on Canva. Just sketches of ideas, small reflections made visual. But I decided to make them real. To hold something in my hands that wasn’t just another file on my laptop and I paid for express shipping so I could experience them sooner.

    Now they exist — 24 of each design, 96 stickers total. That’s it. Two sheets are already heading with me to work, to share with coworkers who’ve been curious about this project. The other 56 stickers are for anyone else who wants one.

    This isn’t merch. It’s not a launch. It’s my way of saying thank you. For subscribing. For reading. For coming back quietly, even if you’ve never left a comment. For letting this space mean something beyond myself.

    If you’d like one, let me know in the comments or send me an email at whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com. I’ll respond as soon as I can and will figure out how to ship them.

    The Spark That Started It All

    While I was playing around with Canva to make my stickers using the AI tools, I asked myself two questions before printing these:

    • If not now, then when?
    • If not me, then why not me?

    I’d put things off, never follow through with some projects, then hate myself for chickening out. It would be the typical, “I have time to do it later,” lie then never do it out of fear.

    Then I’d go to the other extreme and be like, “If I could do this, then why can’t I do that?” And I’d push myself to do something purely to see if I could be the one to finish a project. For example, The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0 was made in a day, The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5 took less than a week, and now I’m working on an ebook. All to see what I could do.

    That’s how these stickers came to be. I have other designs I’m saving money for, below are what they look like that I’ve made for my blog, to have, and to share:

    Next print
    Next print
    Next print

    These new sticker designs encapsulate the reality behind my blog and how it was made. It was born from boredom, written by rage, and held up by spite.

    Nothing more, nothing less.

    If these little projects of mine are well received, then I’ll do what my coworker asked me to do and see if I could sell these on my blog and at my part time rage room job. I told him these were gifts first and foremost, then I’ll see if I’ll follow through with monetizing them through work.

    For now, I’m just excited that something of mine is real, in my hands, and ready to share. Something I’ve never, ever, done before. Although, I’ll probably hold off with shipping just stickers because they’ll easily get lost through the shipping facility.

    Maybe I’ll reconsider the sending the thank yous with only a sticker once I can make more stuff: keychains, book markers, and/or printing out my manifestos for more weight. I’ll have to see how this goes, now that I thought it through.

    I’m practically daring myself to try new things out and these sticker ideas, tangible and intangible, are the first step in doing something new.

    And maybe, just maybe, trying something new is how the rest of this archive will keep growing too.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    Call to Action:

    If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Whether you’re a subscriber, a silent reader, or just wandering through for the first time, you’re part of what keeps this archive alive.

    Subscribers get early looks at new ideas, experiments, and the strange little things I’m building here — manifestos, reflections, and the occasional gift (like stickers) shared through my newsletters, Letters from the Void Newsletter, first before everyone else. It’s my way of sharing the process, not just the polished or structured parts.

    If you’d like to join, you can subscribe wherever the button is on the page. If not, that’s okay too — coming back to read is more than enough. Either way, I’m grateful you’re here.

    Update Note:

    My hoodie came in!!! This one was a personal thing, so yeah.

    Also, my hoodie came in!!! Paying the extra $25 for express shipping was worth it! Thank god I was home in time to receive it, I wouldn’t want anyone taking my package because it’s out in front of my door. If I had a way of dealing with package pirates while away, then no one would take things that doesn’t belong to them again. But it didn’t come to that.

    The hoodie is a personal thing that I wanted, so I don’t know if I’ll branch out with these just yet.

    I liked how it came out, and I can wear it in my apartment. Not ready to show my family what I’ve been spending my money on, let alone share them my blog. That’s a whole different dare I’m not willing to do just yet.

    I’m still looking for someone to help me make book markers and keychains that are affordable and good quality. I’m not in a rush, though knowing someone would help make those become reality too.

  • Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Resting is Easier Said Than Done

    In my last article, Writing for 40 Days and Nights: Time for a Break, I said that I was going to take a break. That I was going to finally give myself time to recover from, not only publishing for 40 consistent days, working on my downloadable Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5 and making sticker drafts you can find here, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists), in, what, less than a week? Yeah, less than a week to finish.

    As much as I want to hibernate for a month, my mind is buzzing with more ideas, more things to sit with, more things to process than I can keep up with. It’s not bad, though, it can be a lot to juggle.

    Sometimes I feel as though I’m holding myself hostage to the grind of writing and publishing, but also wanting to answer for myself, “what else can I do?”

    The only way I know how to answer this question is to take action — keep writing, keep thinking, keep breaking myself because it’s the only way forward.

    Sometimes I think that doing the things that I do are simply out of habit. However, I started wondering that it might be more than habit, discipline, or motivation fanning these flames.

    I Don’t Have a Diagnosis

    This feeling doesn’t feel like it’s OCD — at least, I don’t think so, without a proper diagnosis. But it’s close enough that the shadow it casts follows me everywhere.

    I live by certain rituals, routines, and rules not because I want to, and not because I’ve mastered discipline, but because I feel like I have to.

    Without them, I spiral. Hard. And there’s no way to swim against a current made to drown me.

    When Routine Becomes a Lifeline

    Every morning, my life is dictated by a checklist that I didn’t write with freedom — I wrote it with survival.

    I wake up between 2:00 and 2:45 AM, leave my studio before or exactly at 3:30 AM. If I don’t? My mind sounds the alarm:

    “You’re late. You’re slipping. You’re behind.”

    Even when I’m hours early for my shift, even when I still get a parking spot — if the routine breaks, so does my mental calm.

    And the rituals don’t stop there.

    I lock my door, then push on it exactly three times to make sure. If I don’t, anxiety starts building like a pressure leak. At best, it simmers. At worst, it floods my thoughts with doubt, fear, self-blame. My own mind turns on me.

    This isn’t about productivity. It’s about pacifying the part of me that believes something will go wrong unless I do everything right.

    Perfectly.

    In order.

    On time.

    It’s Not Just Routine. It’s Ritual.

    The compulsions aren’t always loud. Sometimes they show up in quiet decisions — like today, when I told myself I’d get gas tomorrow, like usual, at half a tank.

    But when I pulled out of the lot, I felt this pull toward the gas station. A force. A whisper. A weight that said:

    “If you don’t stop now, something will go wrong.”

    So I stopped.

    Not because it was logical.

    Not because I needed to.

    But because I felt like if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be okay.

    And even though I was already up early, already prepared, already doing “enough,” my mind doesn’t care. It doesn’t measure effort — it measures control. And when it feels like I’ve lost control, it punishes me in silence.

    Living in the Gray

    This… gray space — of feeling things so intensely, needing control, needing to feel safe, but knowing it doesn’t quite qualify for a clinical label — it’s a lonely place to live in.

    Like my asexuality, like the way I process the world — it’s a spectrum. Not everyone in the gray is heard. People like me, like us, we’re often overlooked because we’re “not broken enough” to be helped and “not well enough” to be fine.

    We’re not living scar-free. But we’re not failures either.

    We’re just trying to stay afloat. To breathe. To give ourselves a chance.

    Not Impulse — But Survival

    This isn’t impulse. I’ve kept my blog streak going for over 36 consecutive days within the last three months. That’s not an accident. That’s not chance.

    But even that came from compulsion.

    What started as curiosity — can I publish daily? — became I need to keep this up or I’ve failed.

    Even rest is not safe from this voice.

    Sometimes I sit down just to breathe. Just to give my legs a break. But I still feel it — something breathing down my neck, whispering:

    “You’re not doing enough. You’re not good enough. You’re wasting time. You’re failing again.”

    Sometimes I don’t eat.

    I struggle to sleep.

    Not because I’m lazy — but because my body doesn’t feel permitted to rest until I’ve done enough.

    Even though the finish line keeps moving.

    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.

    To the People in the Gray

    If you’re someone like me — someone living in the gray space between coping and spiraling, between diagnosis and “normal,” between being fine and being far from it — I see you.

    You are not imagining it.

    You’re not making it up.

    You’re not alone.

    Your pain, your patterns, your rituals — even the ones that don’t make sense to anyone else — they have a story. They have a weight. And they matter.

    A Gentle Ask

    Have you ever experienced something similar to this?

    • Feeling like you’re not enough, worthless, and pathetic when you’re doing everything you can to stay above water?
    • That it feels like control without feeling grounded, but punished for needing a break?
    • Learning to be kinder to ourselves?

    If this resonated with you, or if you know someone who might need to hear this, I gently ask:

    ➡️ Like, share, and subscribe.

    It helps more than you know — not just my writing, but the visibility of stories like this.

    Subscribing grants you early access to behind the scenes thoughts, experiments, and my newsletter, Letters from the Void Newsletter straight into your inbox. And, you’ll also gain, as a thank you from me to you, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists), when you do join us, Fellow Archivists.

    So that this space can reach others like us.

    People who don’t have a clear label.

    People living between extremes.

    People with invisible bruises and structured coping mechanisms.

    You deserve to be seen.

    To be heard.

    To be understood.

    Even if you’re still figuring yourself out.

    Author’s Reflection

    It’s not easy being kinder, more patient, and willing to accept letting my grip on control loosen. I got out of bed later, left a few minutes after 0330, and my car is facing the other way instead of the usual.

    The headaches remind me that I’m doing things wrong, but the voices that usually sweeps me down volatile territory have gotten a little quieter.

    Maybe I’ll be able to be kinder, patient, and accepting myself through a different lens. The voices of doubt, insecurity, and compulsion will fight back, but guess what?

    So will I.

    Thanks for reading.

    —

    Written with rawness and care,

    The Stratagems Archive