The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: why I started blogging

  • A Sanctuary for the Weary, Wondering, and Wandering

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    No Rest for the Wicked, Weary, and Wild-Hearted Who Just Keep Going.

    There’s no shortage of loud voices out there — telling you how to fix yourself, to work harder, numb certain emotions, workout 7 days a week, take cold plunges, or fit into something you’ve never belonged to. I’ve tried a lot of things.

    Maybe not everything, however, none of the things I tried from mainstream sources made me whole. I felt more fragmented, disorganized, disappointed, and left behind than when I started.

    This Blog Wasn’t Made to Go Viral

    It was built for those of us who are still here — despite the weight, the numbness, the anger, the tired bones, the cracked foundations we’re rebuilding with our own hands.

    If that’s you, then you already understand:

    It’s not weakness to keep showing up — It’s strength. It’s courage. It’s survival. It’s showing up when it counts and matters.

    Maybe you’re looking for answers to your own questions — I’ll be honest and say that you wont find any here. I’m not an expert, I don’t have any answers, and I made this a place that doesn’t demand you to perform or pretend. Just be.

    A place to feel something real.

    To feel a little less alone in the noise of our lives and the expectations we face.

    That’s What This Blog Is

    Not a solution. Not a soapbox. Not a funnel.

    A quiet kind of fight. A refuge. A story in progress. Everything is built while in motion and with little rest.

    You don’t have to comment, like, or subscribe, though doing so helps others like you and me find this place where we can be.

    If something here speaks to you, I hope it reminds you that you’re not alone — even if the world makes you feel that way.

    The weary are welcome here.

    The curious, the angry, the soft-hearted, the heavy-limbed — all of you.

    This is for us, The Fellow Archivists..

    The ones still wandering — but never lost.

    You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

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

  • A Quiet Door I’ve Left Open Ajar

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Fear Grips Me, But I Won’t Let It Win

    Hey there, fellow archivists,

    I wasn’t going to share this yet, however, with how things have been going on this side of the screen, I had nothing to lose, so, I made a page called Open to Collaboration, quietly in the background.

    This isn’t a sales pitch and I’m not pretending that I have everything together. If you’ve read any of my posts prior to this, I don’t have my self situated with.

    It’s just a page that says: here’s what I’ve been building, and if it speaks to you, let’s talk stories— or not. That’s fine too.

    As a fellow archivist myself, I wanted to share a few things, if I haven’t mentioned it already:

    • I’ve never had any credentials.
    • I’ve been told my work wasn’t good enough.
    • I’ve been afraid of sharing, asking, or “advertising” myself in ANY capacity.

    Speaking of which, I’ve also been writing non-stop for a few months now, and something in me said, “maybe it’s okay to try something new and open another door of possibilities”.

    So this is me saying: the door’s open.

    If you’re a reader who’s connected with any of what I’ve written — this is where I am:

    Open to Collaboration

    And if not? That’s okay too. I’m still writing. Still here. Still fighting for my own little space in this life.

    If this spoke to you, leave a comment — I actually read them. They remind me I’m not alone in this either. Sharing helps others find this space too. That matters more than you know.

    Thanks for reading — as always.

    P.S. If you’ve been afraid of putting your work out there, I get it. I was afraid to hit publish for this post and page, but clicked it anyways. This post is for you too, to say, “let’s do it anyways.”

    You’re not invisible, even if it feels that way. I can see your own light across the void, even if I can’t hear you yet.

  • The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    When Did You Stop Playing It Safe?

    Or are you still waiting for someone, other than yourself, to give you the green light?

    It hit me in the bathroom — the kind of thought that slips in when the world is quiet and you’re standing there, catching your own reflection in bad lighting. I thought back to my situation and asked:

    “Why did I stop playing it safe?”

    I had my own reasons for betting on myself and permit myself to build something from nothing.

    I used to think I couldn’t start anything: No degree. No polished resume. No mentors. No fancy title or job that would validate me.

    I wasn’t a writer, but I was just someone with a lot of feelings and nowhere to put them. I thought I had to earn a voice before using it.

    I Played It Safe For Years

    And then one day, I got tired of my own silence.

    No big lightning bolt. No overnight transformation. Just… the simmering realization that no one was coming to rescue me or hand me a permission slip. So I stopped waiting.

    I started this blog not because I had a plan or a niche, but because I had nothing to lose. I was angry. Tired. Fed up with life passing me by while I sat on the bench, hoping someone would pick me for their team.

    I picked myself instead.

    This Isn’t Happy Hour — It’s 2AM Hour.

    My blog isn’t curated for “happy hour” energy.

    It’s not the shiny, filtered, “I’ve got it all figured out” performance people put on at networking events or in the comment sections of self-help threads.

    This space is for 2am honesty.

    You know the kind — when your defenses are down, the mask slips off, and someone finally says,

    “Actually? I’m not okay. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m still here.”

    If this blog is a bar, I’m the bartender. I don’t drink, and I’ve never worked in a bar — but I’m here, wiping the counter down with stories from a life I didn’t think anyone would want to hear about.

    The bar’s mostly quiet.

    A couple of regulars lurk in the corners, reading without saying much.

    The jukebox is broken.

    But I keep talking, just in case someone walks in needing to hear something you only say when the lights are low and nobody’s performing.

    I Don’t Have a Niche — I Have a Pulse

    I’ve written and will write about:

    • What it’s like to work in a rage room while living in a body full of pain.
    • Paying off $15K in debt working two jobs, while trying not to let my jobs own me.
    • Learning to code again after a decade of shame and bad experiences.
    • What happens when my inner critic gets too loud to ignore.
    • Trying to trust AI to help me build, without losing my voice to it.
    • Taking life advice from video games more than self-help books.
    • And much more.

    I don’t have clean answers. I’m not here to teach or preach. I’m just writing to remember that I’m alive — and to see if anyone out here feels the same things I do, even if they call it something different.

    So I’ll Ask You:

    When did you stop playing it safe?

    Or maybe a better question is —

    What would you do if you stopped waiting to be ready?

    Would you finally start that blog, that painting, that email, that messy first draft of something you’ve been hiding behind “someday”?

    Would you speak up, even if your voice shakes?

    Would you stop waiting for someone to crown you and say, “Okay, now you’re allowed to exist out loud”?

    You don’t have to reply back — even silently nodding along is good enough because you’ve been in this strange in-between as I have.

    I don’t know who’s going to read this. Maybe no one. Maybe just a handful of quiet people passing through like ghosts.

    But if you’re here, if you’ve made it this far…

    This is your invitation to stop playing it safe.

    You’re allowed to be messy. To begin. To exist on your own terms.

    You don’t need credentials to tell your story.

    You just need to be brave enough to speak — even if it’s only to yourself at first.

    I lit a flare, wondering if there’s anyone else who see’s.

    If you see it from across the void, I see you, and you are welcome here anytime.

    —

    The Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S: Hey there. If you’ve missed my other posts, you can find the newer ones here down below. Or, if you’d like, you can check out my newsletter Letters from the Void Newsletter, here or check out my little PDF manifesto, Thank You + Free Download, here as a thank you for making it here to the end.

    Otherwise, everyone, I will see you all later in the archives.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

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

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

  • Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    When Silence Has Claws.

    For years prior, I would wonder what it would be like to sit in silence. Not just, “oh, this is rather quiet”, kind of quiet.

    No music. No podcasts. No background noise to hold me together.

    Pure silence.

    Just me, my steering wheel, and everything I thought I’d buried deep enough to never hear again.

    At first, I tried to talk to myself out loud — about the weather, what I was making for dinner, the errands I needed to run. Anything to keep the thoughts at bay.

    But the silence didn’t care.

    It waited.

    And the more I filled that space with meaningless conversation, the more the real voices — the ones I keep locked up — started to rise.

    “You’re a failure.”

    “You’ve done nothing with your life.”

    “You’ll be forgotten just like all the other nobodies.”

    “Why do you even try?”

    They didn’t whisper.

    They screamed.

    And eventually, I stopped pretending I didn’t hear them.

    I stopped trying to talk over them.

    I gave them the mic.

    And what came out was venom. Acid. Grief. Rage.

    Years of things I never said out loud.

    Years of thoughts that weren’t allowed in the daylight.

    Years of versions of myself clawing at the walls, trying to be heard.

    I hated every word I spoke in that silence.

    But I kept speaking.

    Because for the first time, I wasn’t censoring myself for anyone.

    I wasn’t lying about how I was doing.

    I wasn’t putting a polite filter on survival.

    I gave myself a deadline since I was 12 years old. All because of a gaming mechanic from a game called, “Dragon Age: Origins” (BioWare), where, when you became something called a, “Grey Warden”, you’d have 20 years left to live.

    I wish I could explain why I held onto that idea since then — I don’t know why myself, but it’s been with me for that long. My 20 years draws closer.

    By 32, if life doesn’t feel like it’s worth it — if I’m still drowning and nothing has shifted — I’d end it.

    I wouldn’t leave a mess.

    I’ve already made sure everything I own passes legally to my parents.

    And then I’d be gone.

    Not out of drama.

    Not for attention.

    Just tiredness.

    Quiet, heavy tiredness that no nap can fix.

    But the thing is — I’m also afraid of following through.

    Afraid of how fast it’s moving.

    Afraid of how quickly I’ll get to that deadline.

    Afraid I won’t have built anything by then that makes me want to stay.

    Maybe I’ve been thinking about this deadline in the wrong way. Maybe I don’t need a literal death, rather a different kind of ending is needed. Even by my deadline, I just need to pivot, to change directions, because I can always change my mind. I contradict myself, I’m rarely consistent in my thoughts unless it’s to put myself down, but I keep pushing through that personal miasma and show up anyways.

    So I rage.

    I write.

    I stretch.

    I keep moving.

    I’d rather burn myself out at both ends trying to make something than live quietly. Life has much to offer and I’d want to see as much of it as possible.

    Not out of hope.

    But out of spite.

    Because if I’m going to be forced to exist, I’m going to make noise. Even in the silence.

    You don’t fully meet yourself until the silence strips everything away.

    Until there’s no one else to impress.

    No one else to lie to.

    No more distractions.

    Just you.

    And all your demons are sitting in the front seat asking, “Now what?”

    You Made It Through

    If you’ve ever driven in silence and hated every second of it — If you’ve ever stared into the void of your own thoughts and heard them answer back — I won’t tell you it gets better.

    For me, I’ve learned to sit with myself without destroying myself in the moment like before.

    But you’re not alone when the silence brings up stuff you’d rather not acknowledge, but it does exist here with you in your own moments.

    So, tell me—

    Have you fully met yourself in the silence?

    And if you haven’t…

    What are you afraid you’ll hear?

    If this resonated with you, then I’d like to invite you to check out my first newsletter, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything. Or even my PDF as a thank you from me to you, The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    No pressure, no spam, just sharing something I made with you for taking the time to check out what I have to share here. Otherwise, I have other articles to share below that might showcase the variety of topics I tend to explore. Other than that, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

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

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

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

  • Do You Really Want to Know?

    How are you feeling right now?

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

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

    How am I feeling?

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

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

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

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

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

    Letter from the Void

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

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

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

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

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here:

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

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

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

  • The Courage to Start: Doing Something Uncomfortable Before It’s Too Late

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Why Starting Feels Uncomfortable (and Why That’s Okay)

    When I first thought about starting my blog, discomfort wasn’t just a passing feeling—it was a weight. Thoughts swirled in my head:

    “You’re falling behind in life.” “You’re stuck in jobs that only keep you afloat.” “Why aren’t you building something of your own?”

    That spiral came from something as small as reading a chapter of The Opposite of Spoiled by Ron Lieber. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with questions I had avoided for years.

    Life in the Grind: Between Gratitude and Restlessness

    I’ve been lucky in many ways:

    • I live on my own in a small studio.
    • I have steady full-time work with benefits.
    • I pick up part-time hours on top of that.
    • I see family often, and I’m not alone.

    But I also know the grind: 3AM alarms, long commutes, and sitting in traffic wondering if this is all my life will be. I should be grateful (and I am), but envy and restlessness creep in. I want more—more peace, more freedom, more of a life that feels like mine.

    Why I Finally Chose to Write

    I knew I couldn’t keep waiting for the “perfect time.” If I didn’t start now, I might never start at all. A blog felt like:

    A break in my exhausting routine. A way to sharpen my voice and courage. Proof that clumsy and done is better than perfect and never begun.

    This space isn’t about being polished—it’s about being present, learning, and creating even when it feels uncomfortable.

    The Dragon We All Face

    Many of us wrestle with that question: “Am I doing enough?” The truth is, it’s never comfortable to face it. But discomfort is a sign of movement, of growth, of slaying the small dragons that keep us from even trying.

    I don’t have the answers yet. But I know this: starting, no matter how small, is already a victory.

    A Note to Fellow Archivists

    If you’ve found your way here—whether in the early morning hours, on a restless night, or during a pause in your own journey—know this space is for you too. This little archive is a safe place to reflect on your path, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into life’s expectations.

    If something here resonates, I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you’d like to walk alongside me, subscribing means you’ll also get my Letters from the Void—personal reflections and early glimpses of projects I’m building behind the scenes. And a copy of The Stratagem’s Manifesto as a thank you gift from me to you for subscribing.

    Because sometimes, finding each other in the noise is proof that we’re not as alone as we thought.

    Other Articles

    If you’d like to explore more about doing things even though you’re not ready to comfortable to, I have other articles below too check out:

    Gifts From The Archives