Welcome to Wild Poise. I didn't plan to start a public journal. I definitely didn't plan to start a blog. And I certainly didn't plan to spend this chapter of my life turning chaos into paragraphs and then leaving them lying around on the internet for strangers to find. But life has a sense of humor. And apparently so do I.
Day 183 - I think one of the more exhausting things about being me is that I can make literally anything emotionally significant if I stare at it long enough. A text message. A pause. A weird vibe in the grocery store. The angle of someone’s tone. A memory that shows up uninvited and then just stands there like it pays rent.
Give me ten minutes and a beverage and I can build a whole internal thesis about why something felt off, what it means, what it connects to, whether it belongs to today or is just trespassing from some older bruise wearing new shoes.
Day 182 - I think one of the weirder things I’m learning is that I’m actually allowed to like my life. Not all of it.
Let’s not become ridiculous. There are still things I hate. Things I resent. Things I would absolutely return with a sharply worded note if the universe had a customer service desk and the courage to face me.
Sunday Scaries are rude because they wait until you trust the day. They let you have your little coffee. They let you open the blinds. They let you pretend you’re becoming the kind of woman who folds laundry before it becomes a textile based threat.
Then late afternoon hits, the light gets weird, your laptop starts breathing in the other room, and your nervous system whispers, "Tomorrow is coming."
That’s the Sunday Scaries.
Not just “ugh, Monday.” Not just “I don’t want to work.” No.
Day 181 - I think some people mistake clarity for meanness.
That sounds like their problem.
Because it is.
But still, I’ve been thinking about it.
About how often women are expected to soften, fluff, translate, cushion, repackage, and emotionally hand-deliver even our most reasonable truths like we’re apologizing for them before they’ve fully left the mouth.
I am getting tired of that.
Not because I want to be harsh.
Day 180 - I’ve realized my peace has standards now.
High ones.
Annoyingly high, honestly, especially for a woman who used to be a little more willing to tolerate weird energy just because it arrived in decent packaging and knew how to make eye contact.
That era has closed.
Because peace, real peace, is not just the absence of chaos. It’s the absence of nonsense. It’s the absence of that low-grade, spiritually tacky discomfort that comes from being around people, situations, or atmospheres that require too much editing of yourself just to remain in the room.
Day 179 - There are parts of life that still feel undeniably mine.
That may sound obvious until you’ve lived through something that scrambles your relationship to your own body, your own days, your own sense of safety, your own internal ownership of what should have been simple.
Then it becomes a much bigger thing.
Because violation doesn’t just hurt. It trespasses. It makes parts of your life feel less yours for a while. Less cleanly yours. Less easy to inhabit without static, without memory, without the strange private insult of knowing someone else’s ugliness tried to write itself into places it never belonged.
Day 178 - I think good taste is expensive in ways people don’t talk about enough.
Not just financially, though obviously yes, life keeps trying to charge luxury prices for things that should be basic human rights. Peace, beauty, decent lighting, emotionally literate company, and a body that doesn’t react to one weird noise like it just got drafted into war.
I mean expensive in the deeper way.
Good taste costs you things.
Day 177 - I think one of the more offensive things about me is that I may actually be more fun since everything fell apart. Not happier. Let’s not get stupid. Not “better for the trauma.” I will bite through drywall before I let anybody turn pain into a rebrand.
Day 176 - The mood changed before I did. That’s what I noticed today. Nothing dramatic happened. No catastrophe. No revelation descending from the heavens in a silk robe. No one kicked in a door and no one handed me a life lesson wrapped in suffering and fake spiritual insight. It was smaller than that.