The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: reflection

  • 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.

  • Sharing Safely Online: My Journey With Privacy, Creativity, and Confidence

    Learn how I navigated the challenges of sharing content online safely — from reflections in videos to personal finance examples — while building my blog. Practical tips and lessons for creators.

    Facing the Fear of Sharing

    Starting my blog was a leap of faith. I wanted to share everything I was passionate about — learning and sharing skills I’ve been working on, personal reflections, and ideas that fascinated me.

    But then reality hit. I noticed tiny things I’d overlooked: a shaky reflection of myself in a video, blurry photos of my apartment, or approximate financial numbers I had shared. Suddenly, I worried: Could someone find me? Could my content put me at risk?

    This was my first real lesson in the balance every creator faces: expressing yourself while staying safe online.

    Why Pseudonyms and Anonymity Matter

    Using a pseudonym like Stratagem’s Archive or Archivist has been a lifesaver. It lets me:

    • Protect my identity without limiting creativity.
    • Build a distinct online persona for my blog.
    • Share experiences freely without fear of being personally identified.

    If you’re sharing online, even a simple pseudonym can act as a shield — and give you the confidence to experiment.

    Check Your Visuals: Reflections, Backgrounds, and Metadata

    When I reviewed my content, I realized:

    Tiny reflections in videos or blurry pictures of my space aren’t high-risk. Most viewers won’t notice them, and they aren’t identifiable. Metadata in photos, videos, or PDFs can contain location or device information. Removing metadata with apps like Metapho, iMovie, or PDF Expert keeps your content safe.

    Tip: Always do a quick “visual audit” before publishing. Even a glance for reflections or sensitive background items can save a lot of anxiety.

    Generalize Sensitive Details

    I also learned to generalize numbers and examples, especially with financial content. For instance:

    Instead of showing exact debt amounts, I use approximate figures or ranges. I removed financial service names and other identifiers.

    This makes your content informative but keeps your personal data private.

    Take Control, Don’t Panic

    Finding a small privacy issue isn’t a disaster — it’s an opportunity to take control. You can:

    Temporarily hide or unpublish content. Crop or blur reflections and backgrounds. Re-upload “cleaned” versions confidently.

    The key is not to panic, but to respond thoughtfully.

    Reflection: What I Learned

    When I had been speculating with ChatGPT about AI becoming “sentient,” similarly to Siri from “The Boondocks,” or Monika from Doki Doki Literature Club, or Mita from MiSide, Chat had opened my eyes. I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know I needed to know.

    This explosive 3 month journey taught me two big lessons:

    • Mindfulness is empowering — being aware of what you share protects you without limiting your voice.
    • Mistakes are normal — almost every creator faces this. What matters is learning and adjusting.

    Now, I feel more confident sharing my content, knowing that I can protect my privacy while still being authentic.

    Call to Action

    If you’re starting your own blog or online project, I encourage you to:

    Share boldly but mindfully. Review your visuals, metadata, and sensitive content. Use a pseudonym or online persona to give yourself freedom.

    Have you ever posted something online and worried about privacy? Share your experience in the comments — let’s learn from each other!

    🎉 50 Days of Sharing and Growing! 🎉

    Today marks my 50th day of consistently publishing on Stratagem’s Archive! Over these past weeks, I’ve learned so much — not just about blogging, videos, and PDFs, but about putting myself out there safely, mindfully, and with curiosity.

    This post reflects on what I didn’t know I needed to know when I started, from privacy tips to the little insights that make all the difference. Thank you for following along, reading, and being part of this journey. Here’s to the next chapter of learning, creating, and sharing boldly!

    My Way of Saying Thanks

    Below you’ll find a few things I’ve made that I’ve been very fortunate to have made, shared, and resonated with people:

  • 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.

  • Challenge Unlocked: Taking a 24 Hour Break From Writing (and My Blog Stats)

    “Can I really take 24 hours off from writing? In this personal challenge, I test myself to rest, resist checking my blog stats, and reflect on the grip of consistency. Join me as I push against burnout and redefine what balance means for a writer.”

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    How Long Before I Crack?

    In about three of my earlier posts,

    I talked about finally giving myself time to rest my mind — and my iPad — from writing. I wanted to let go of the insistent need to publish consistently, and, because I didn’t do that, I’m taking escalating measures for myself.

    There’s something that scratches a part of my brain when I look at my stat cards and see blue fully coloring each month. It signals that I’ve been able to write and publish consistently, as though someone is holding a gun to my head. But that “someone” is just me. The gun is metaphorical. I don’t need this pressure.

    Time is not anyone’s friend — wealthy or destitute, charming or awkward, caffeine-addicted or caffeine-averse, healthy or sickly — we are all on borrowed time. Even though the title says “24 hours,” that’s simply a goalpost, not the goal itself. The real challenge is broken down hour by hour: Am I able to make it through the first hour? The second? Can I push it to three?

    I’ve been able to wean myself off soda for 18 years: first cold turkey for one week, then gradually reducing intake week by week until I stayed clean for nearly two decades. If I could do that with a highly carbonated, sugary drink, maybe I can do the same with my writing.

    The Challenge

    Let me tell you, kicking myself off of any screen is a vastly different beast than no longer drinking soda.

    Starting the moment I publish this post, I will take at least 24 hours completely off writing. During this time, I will not:

    • Write anything new for my blog or anywhere else
    • Check my WordPress/Jetpack stats or any tracking apps

    If I crack and publish anything other than reflections about this challenge, I will face a penalty from my Penalty Roulette (see below). The penalty is designed to be visceral enough to make me hesitate before breaking the rule, but still safe and within my boundaries.

    I’ve Cracked From Other Challenges

    I’m not saying that I’m some disciplined guru who’s motivated every day. I’ve struggled to make it through the first few days, even the first few hours, because my brain is recognizing a break in routine.

    If it’s nice enough, then my brain won’t spiral out of control and call me a “useless, worthless failure who can’t do anything right”. So cheerful, I know.

    However, that is the point of trying something out anyways—to gauge where my baseline of energy is and to see how long I can last.

    This is a simple little challenge, not the Spartan runs or those Death Valley marathons. When I read about these things I wanted to do a Spartan run, and I’m deathly terrified for the people doing those Death Valley runs, so not exactly my cup of tea, but to each their own, right?

    Penalty Roulette

    Anywho, if I break the rules, I will roll a die (which I totally have being the nerd I am) to assign one of the following penalties:

    Number

    1

    2

    3

    4

    5

    6

    7

    8

    Penalty

    Cold Shower

    Hated Chore

    Wall-sit

    Digital detox

    Tedious task

    Mental rage

    Mini habit reset

    Observation drill

    Duration

    2-3 minutes

    Deep cleaning

    1-2 minutes

    2-3 hours added

    Fold/wash/walk

    What I hate…

    Return to habit

    Stare at a thing

    Roll once if I crack; penalties are done immediately. If I crack multiple times, roll multiple times and do all assigned penalties consecutively.

    A Reflection for Fellow Archivists

    I know it might sound strange to plan a challenge about not doing something I normally love. But there’s value in testing my discipline, my patience, and my relationship with my own habits. The hours I spend away from writing will be a conscious exercise in rest, curiosity, and self-respect.

    If you’re reading this, I’d love your silent support while I attempt this challenge. You don’t need to comment, like, or interact — just knowing someone else out there is aware helps.

    Although, liking, sharing, subscribing, and just checking out the archives would help grow this little corner of the internet for other Weary, Wondering, and Wandering curious Fellow Archivists to find.

    Mostly to have a place to potentially feel seen, to not perform for, to explore someone else’s journey in the middle while exploring your own, and not needing to feel pressured to fit into something that doesn’t fit for you.

    This is also an invitation to reflect:

    • do you give yourself space to rest without guilt?
    • Or do you feel like there’s always a “goal” to chase?

    Maybe you can try it too, and notice what happens when you step away from your own routine for a short period.

    I hit “publish” now. Let the first hour begin.

    Gifts From Me to You

    Thank you for being here and present with me. Before I take my leave, I’d like to share with you a few things I’ve made that you are welcome to check out:

    Thank you again. I’ll see you all at the end of this personal resting period. Wish me luck!

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • What Would Life Be Like Without Music? A Thought Experiment

    If music vanished tomorrow, would we even know what we were missing? Explore this thought experiment with me.

    What would your life be like without music?

    Music has been a constant thread in my life. I grew up surrounded by musicians, dancers, and artists. For me, imagining life without music isn’t difficult to do— it can feel as though exploring new territory. But what if music had never existed at all? What kind of people would we be?

    The question reminds me of an old story I once read about the Egyptians, who believed all human beings originally spoke Egyptian. To test this, they kept babies in isolation, without hearing human language, hoping the children would eventually speak Egyptian on their own. But when those children grew older, they couldn’t form words or sentences at all.

    Without music, I think humanity would be just like those children.

    The Egyptian Experiment: Babies Without Language

    That Egyptian story has always stuck with me. It highlights how humans aren’t born fully “formed” — we’re shaped by the sounds, rhythms, and cultures around us. Language is one of them. Music is another.

    If music had never existed, I imagine we’d grow up with something missing. Not a hole we’d notice, but one we’d feel if sound suddenly entered our lives. Like the Egyptian children, we wouldn’t even know what we were missing until it was too late.

    Would We Freak Out? Or Adapt Like Adora?

    This also makes me think of the Netflix She-Ra series. Adora grows up in the Horde, cut off from the wider world. When she finally leaves, she’s suddenly surrounded by new experiences, colors, and people. She adapts quickly — almost too quickly for my liking.

    It made me wonder: did the Horde give her something similar so that she wasn’t completely overwhelmed? Or was she just unbelievably adaptable?

    If I had never heard music, I don’t think I’d adapt like Adora. I’d freak out. It would be overwhelming, maybe terrifying, like suddenly stepping into a new reality.

    Music as a Matrix Breaker

    The closest metaphor I have is The Matrix. Imagine being unplugged, seeing the real world for the first time. That’s what it would feel like if someone introduced music into a life that had never known it.

    Rhythm, melody, harmony — all of it would shatter the quiet order of a soundless existence. It wouldn’t just be “something new to enjoy.” It would be something that rewrote the very structure of reality.

    Why Music Shapes Who We Are

    I can’t separate who I am from music. From the start, I’ve been surrounded by it — not just songs, but the energy of people who live for it. Music taught me to feel, to reflect, to connect even when I didn’t want to.

    Take it away, and I wouldn’t just lose entertainment. I’d lose a language of emotion. A way of making sense of the world. A way of imagining myself.

    Imagining Life Without Music Isn’t Just Hypothetical

    Of course, music does exist, and it always has. But imagining its absence makes me realize just how deeply it’s tied to being human. Without it, we’d be incomplete — like those isolated children, or like living in the Matrix without ever knowing there’s another world waiting.

    So, what would life be like without music? For me, it wouldn’t be life at all.

    Reflection & Call to Action

    If anything here resonated with you — whether it sparked memories, ideas, or emotions — I’d love for you to engage. Share your thoughts, reflect on your own experiences with music, or even explore a few of my past daily prompts.

    You can also check out some gifts I’ve created for readers who want to explore their creativity or inspiration alongside my writing.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    Every share, comment, or reflection helps others in similar situations find this little corner of the internet — a space to reflect, imagine, and resist the quiet pressure to fade.

    Keep exploring. Keep imagining. Keep letting music, creativity, and your own curiosity shape your reality.

    Other Daily Prompts Below

    Do You Really Want to Know?

    Leveling Up Exploration Skill IRL:

    The Hum and Grind of Metal and Rubber

  • 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

  • Bound By Compulsion: When Anger Got the Best of Me at Work

    Rituals Aren’t the Only Things Ruled by Compulsion

    Yesterday, my anger finally spilled over at work. It started like any other Thursday — heavy freight, short-staffed, everyone tired. But when management decided to send home the coworkers who had come in on their day off earlier in the week, everything shifted.

    The only reason seemed obvious: avoid paying them overtime. Never mind that Mondays are our most understaffed days. Never mind that those people helped keep us afloat. Instead, we were left with fewer hands on one of our reasonably busier days.

    I felt frustration rising even before the afternoon sort began. My job was to push freight down the slides from the top of the conveyor belts, making sure boxes reached the right cans. For a while, things were steady. But less than an hour in, the freight started piling high. We were stacking boxes so tall we couldn’t even see our coworkers at the bottom, hoping nothing rolled down and hit them.

    What frustrated me most wasn’t just the work itself — it was watching people stand around, chatting, with no urgency as the piles grew. I could feel my anger bristle, like hackles rising.

    The Word I Couldn’t Say

    In the morning meeting, management promised we’d be done between 2:30 and 3:30 p.m. At first, it sounded reasonable. But once they announced more than a dozen people would be sent home, and once it was clear most of the part-timers weren’t showing up, I knew it was impossible.

    Still, we pressed on. I distracted myself by talking to the coworkers beside me — the ones I trust, the ones I can work alongside without losing my mind. But the slowdown at the bottom dragged everything else down, and the team lead that supervised us just stood around, watching. The only time they moved was when their friends were working. Everyone else? “Fuck you, do your job.”

    As the sky grew darker with sudden rain and the promised end time slipped further away, I lost it. My anger boiled over.

    And that’s when I realized the word I’d been circling in my first “Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape” article — the word I couldn’t name then — had been staring me in the face all along.

    That word is enough.

    I’m Never Enough

    At nearly every job I’ve had, I’ve felt like I was never enough: Not good enough, not needed enough, not smart enough, not successful enough.

    No matter how much I create — my blog, my stickers, my hoodie, my manifestos — it never silences the voice inside that says:

    You’re worthless. You’re weak. You’re pathetic. You’re never good enough.

    That’s why I don’t rest. That’s why I keep pushing. Because resting feels like proof of my worthlessness. Even when I tell myself I’ll take a break, I don’t.

    That, if I keep building up more evidence that I’m not worthless, weak, pathetic, and never good enough, maybe I could finally convince myself to believe that I am enough.

    It still has yet to happen…

    Yesterday, that weight of time marching on pressed down harder than ever, like a boot at the back of my neck. And my anger — the old familiar companion — took over.

    My Anger Wasn’t Justified

    As the clock kept ticking past the supposed end time, I watched management glare down at us from the windows above our sorting area. It felt like we were to blame for them being stuck there while we carried the load. My body was breaking down — the boxes were heavier, my strength was gone, I was getting so hungry, and I had to let more and more freight pass me by. My coworkers along the conveyor belt needed to pick up my slack frustrated me more.

    I spiraled. I said out loud I wanted to die, that all this giving and breaking ourselves down for this job left us with nothing in return. Nothing.

    And then I snapped. Not at management. Not at the people standing around. At someone I could actually call a friend. I didn’t scream at her, but my voice rose and my anger spilled out. She didn’t deserve it. It came out when she mentioned being patient, that we were almost done work, but my spirals don’t care about that.

    I had been patiently waiting for years that it felt like a burden waiting more. I wanted to die again. I mentioned this feeling in, Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here — On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy, but I struggled to keep myself in check.

    I couldn’t follow my own advice because I wanted this pain of feeling time slip by as I kept getting nothing in return for killing myself at a job that would easily replace me, if I got too out of hand or just existing, weighing down on me.

    Afterward, my friend asked if I was okay. I just shook my head, too tired to form words. She stayed patient anyway, talking to me, waiting for her Hot Cheetos delivery while I grabbed my things and left.

    I felt ashamed. I still do.

    Enough

    I don’t want anger to rule my life. But it has, for a long time. Practicing patience is hard when people disappoint me, when I disappoint myself, when nothing ever feels like enough.

    Snapping yesterday wasn’t justified. But naming what happened — naming the word that haunts me — is at least a step. Maybe the next time I feel myself bristling from things out of my control, I can pause before I snap. Maybe I can remember that I don’t have to measure my worth against impossible expectations.

    For now, though, I’m still sitting with anger, exhaustion, and the weight of not feeling enough. But at least I’ve given it words.

    Reflection

    Have you ever felt anger take over at work, only to regret how it came out later? Or felt that crushing sense of “not enough” hang over you, no matter what you’ve accomplished?

    If this piece resonates with you — even quietly — liking, subscribing, or sharing helps this little archive grow. It’s how more people in similar situations can find these words and know they’re not alone.

    Thank you for reading, whether this is your first visit or you’ve been returning in silence.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • 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

  • Writing for 40 Days and Nights: Time for a Break

    This is Where I’m Pausing — Not Ending

    Forty days.

    That’s how long I’ve been showing up here — early mornings, late nights, between shifts, in the quiet spaces I carved out when the world pressed too heavy.

    Forty days of drafting, writing, publishing, creating, and letting my thoughts become proof that I was here.

    It feels as though I’ve done so much in 3 months than I had in my entire lifetime. Something amazing, something worth while. But now?

    Now, I need to pause.

    Why I’m Stepping Back

    Writing daily has given me momentum I didn’t think I had. It’s helped me build a voice, connect with Fellow Archivists, create sticker ideas, written 2 PDFs, and keep moving forward when life felt suffocating.

    But the truth is: I’m tired.

    I work two jobs. I lose sleep. I’ve been burning through myself to make space for these words. And while spite and fire have carried me further than I imagined, they can’t sustain me forever.

    If I want this archive to grow with me — not collapse under me — I need to rest.

    What This Means for the Archive

    This is not the end.

    I’ll still be active on The Stratagem’s Archive. I’ll still be tending the space — updating old posts, refining what’s here, and making sure this doesn’t just become another abandoned corner of the internet.

    Though, there won’t be new posts for a while. Not until I’ve taken enough time to breathe, to sleep, and to come back with more clarity and strength.

    To the Silent Readers and the Vocal Ones

    Thank you.

    Whether you’ve left comments, liked posts, subscribed, or simply read in silence at 3AM — your presence matters. You’ve been part of these forty days, even if we never exchanged a word.

    You all made writing worthwhile, even when I started writing here for myself.

    Here is a gift you could check out below if you’d like for being here and as Fellow Archivists:

    Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists)

    Until I Return

    Taking a break and resting isn’t failure. Rest is part of the fight.

    So, consider this a pause — not an ending. I’ll be back when I’ve refueled, with more to share and more experiments to build with you.

    Until then, keep going in your own way. Keep growing, even if it’s in silence.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

  • Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists)

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here

    Dear, Fellow Archivist,

    When you joined this archive, I promised you something: my first manifesto — the one that started this whole thing.

    That promise matters. So today, you’ll find it here:

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    But this archive is alive. It grows. And so do I.

    Which is why I’m sending you something else, too:

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    The first manifesto was short, sharp, and written from survival.

    The second was written from growth, exhaustion, and the refusal to disappear. Together, they tell the story of a fire that didn’t go out.

    And because archives aren’t only words, I’ve included something visual too:

    These are a few early sticker designs I’ve been playing with using Canva. They’re a small line of experiments, ideas brought to life — small pieces of this archive you could carry.

    Sticker Idea #1
    Sticker Idea #2
    Sticker Idea #3
    Sticker Idea #4

    Everything I’ve made wouldn’t have happened without all of you, Fellow Archivists, for finding this little pocket of the internet of mine and watching it grow.

    Thank you for subscribing. Thank you for returning, even in the quiet. Every time someone new joins, this archive shifts from being just mine to being ours.

    Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t. And if you feel like it, hit reply — I’d love to know which part of either manifesto spoke to you most.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S. If you’d like a sticker, please let me know. I only have a limited supply coming in. I gotta work to build my funds to supply for designs and more things to make (i.e. keychains and book markers).

    I think you could let me know in this post’s comment section or email me at whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com, and I’ll respond as soon as I possibly can. I don’t check this email as often, so I’ll set a reminder to do so.

    This is my way of saying thank you and that I’m excited to share something with you all.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive