#Reflective writing

[m00wd]

Sometimes you need to sleep, sleep a lot. Not to escape, but to rest your soul from your feelings. Because everything, absolutely everything devours you. Completely.

—Brain

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Simply Silver ~

[morerichka8]

Beneath all the metal, I’m still soft.

[booshoos]

you call it love, and maybe that's true. you love me— and maybe i love you too, but not in the way you wish i did.

you say you like my presence, how i move through your life with ease, how fate keeps pulling us back again—

but fate isn’t a spark. it doesn’t tease, or set me alight when you whisper my name in the dark.

because history isn't chemistry. and there’s no fire in this warmth. i crave the strike of lightning, not this soft, unchanging storm.

there’s no fever in this comfort— just a quiet i don’t know how to name. no passion. no pull. no flames that beg to be tamed.

and maybe that’s where i went wrong. i tied love to breaking, confused peace with war— a war i’d survive just to say it was real.

so maybe i need to let go of the idea that love has to ache to feel.

because maybe love isn’t meant to hurt. maybe it’s meant to hold. to be soft. steady. still.

and maybe you are all those things. but i still don’t feel the spark that ignites desire, the gravity that lifts me higher.

because i’ve known desire. i’ve stood on the edge of ache. and it didn’t sound like this. it didn’t feel this safe.

i keep waiting for something to rise in me— some spark, some flood, some quiet urge to lean in and not look back.

because i know this could work. i know i could build a good life with you— shared meals, slow mornings, matching mugs and weekend plans.

you’d be kind. you’d be steady. you’d love me in the ways i’ve always been told love should look like.

but all i feel is the silence between us. a comfort i can’t quite call connection.

you deserve the kind of love that runs without hesitation. the kind that doesn’t wait for feeling to catch up to fate.

and me— i want to want this. i do. but i’m scared of trying because what if the feeling never comes?

so maybe this isn’t a no. but it’s not a yes either. it’s just me, holding something i wish i could feel.

because maybe love isn’t meant to hurt— but it isn’t meant to feel this still.

[boushwrites]

To heal is to give yourself the chance you keep seeking from others. It’s a journey of growth—working on yourself at your own pace, little by little.

Healing means reflecting on your experiences, mistakes, and emotions one at a time, not running from them or avoiding them. It’s about confronting the discomfort, allowing yourself to feel it fully so you can evolve into a healthier version of yourself. Only then will you attract the partner you truly deserve and have the wisdom and the strength to nurture a meaningful relationship.

♡

[brittanyearnestauthor]

Reclaiming the Narrative: Writing with Intention and Impact

When you craft your stories, aim to weave in life lessons. Doing so not only makes your work relatable but also transforms it into a meaningful source of insight and entertainment. As a writer, you have a unique opportunity to explore significant topics and present them with your own distinctive twist. By doing this, you can share valuable lessons and perspectives, making your message truly impactful.

Even if you aren't focused on writing stories, you can still create content that's both relatable and supportive, offering practical advice to help others through challenging times. Personally, I love discovering life lessons in books that resonate with me and make me reflect on my own experiences. Offering your readers something thought-provoking makes them more invested in your stories or content, regardless of the medium.

For too long, Hollywood has prioritized superficial thrills over substance. It's time for us to reclaim the narrative and produce content that truly matters. Let's create stories that leave a lasting impression and encourage meaningful reflection.

Writing shouldn't be just about thrills; it should be about what truly matters. While I enjoy the excitement in media, it's time to make a change. What sets self-published authors and content creators apart from big-name publishers is the ability to control what they publish. It doesn't have to stick to the same boring formula. You can experiment and make your stories genuinely unique.

However, this also means you are responsible for your content. Be mindful of what you write and how you write it to avoid giving your readers the wrong impression or message. Writing is complex, but it's worth it if you put your mind to it and do it for the right reasons.

[kinysha]

"I Was Never Meant to Survive"

They wrote my name in quiet rooms,

sealed it inside walls I never built,

tied it to a fate I never chose.

I was meant to kneel,

meant to follow,

meant to obey,

meant to disappear into a story that was never mine.

But I?

I ripped the script from their hands,

walked through the wreckage,

barefoot, bleeding, unwanted.

They whispered unbreakable as they watched me splinter.

Called me strong when I swallowed silence instead of screaming.

But tell me—

what kind of strength is built on suffering?

I stood in the wreckage of who I was,

palms bloodied from holding on too long,

lungs choking on the smoke of what I couldn’t save,

waiting for mercy that never came.

But silence doesn’t hand out mercy.

And when the world begged for my obedience,

for my silence,

for my surrender—

I laughed.

Not because I was fearless,

but because I was done being afraid.

But let me tell you something they will never say:

I did not survive out of strength.

I survived because even breaking wasn’t an option.

Because even when I wanted to break,

to disappear,

to let go—

Even when I begged to disappear,

life kept dragging me back by the throat.

So now I stand.

Not whole.

Not healed.

Not forgiven.

Just here.

And sometimes, that's enough.

[miyako-jonathan-asgore-simp]

Looking at your past is looking at a terrifying version of yourself... ...or a lost potential self, if you're a bad person. Though...nothing in this world is permanent, and everyone can change if they try; Embrace being a good person, life's too short to keep on hurting others' lives. A God may or not exist for you, but you don't need one to be nice and healthy and influence good behavior. It's like your trauma, you wouldn't want it to happen to someone else that you loved, right? Don't be a coward. Don't be petty. Don't have superiority complex. Don't act as if the desires of your flesh were the only pleasures in life. Love yourself. Love others. Have empathy, because if you don't...when you need the most, you'll have nobody.

[seraminestudio]

what an odd thing to experience such hope and such desolation all in a single day

[fairytalebloom]

I feel safe hiding behind a mask, safe enough to share my writing,thoughts, musings without being afraid of somebody trying to carry out an autopsy of my words,binding it to my life and discovering the treasured parts of my being. There's something so beautiful about being vulnerable without actually being vulnerable.The mask is a safety net,I've realised.I might be a coward for doing that, but is it too much to ask if the only thing I'm asking, is for the world to not figure me out completely so that when everything ends, I can rest easy that only the people I've truly wanted in my life are the ones who actually got to read the entirety of my being and that the others only got certain pages,certain chapters,selectively handed out to them.

[mokshahuxley]

One of my favorite books is The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus, written by one of my most admired authors. My deepest interest is to develop, in my mind, the study of absurdism, one of my passions. So, in his honor, I share a small reflection on some of my deepest madnesses.

The scene is as follows: we have a clear understanding of the absurd, and then the scene unfolds as such. You are in the middle of existence. You are here, now, living, existing. Obviously, you still depend on oxygen, on your heart beating. But then, the absurd becomes present, for doubt about existence arises. The mind thinks and thinks; your mind is like a storm of thoughts, it deafens you, overwhelms you. It is, to some extent, deafening.

Suddenly, you believe there is only one solution: put a weapon to your head, right in the middle of your forehead. A silver, radiant weapon, but dangerous; beautiful, but something that could kill you. Just like love, or falling in love. It looks like something precious, doesn’t it? Love, something desired. But it is a double-edged sword that we decide to play with in this life.

Then, you hold the weapon in front of you, aiming it at your head. The absurd continuation of all this is that you don’t pull the trigger. You want to do it, yes, with all those torturous forces. You ask yourself, "Why don’t I do it? Do it!" But you don’t. Because, as Camus said, one must be rebellious even against that, against life, against oppression, against an exit that for a moment seems easy. You must be rebellious against death, which looks directly at us in moments like these.

But the absurd thing in all of this is that you should not give up. Because, just like those moments when you want to pull the trigger, there are also valuable moments. Be strong, allow the simplest moments to be the hope that guides us on a path of resistance, of continuing. That is the metaphor: the weapon is despair, pain, wounds, life itself, the limbo of existence. But the strength, the resistance to not let the hand pull the trigger, that, that is what it means to be a soul in complete rebellion.

[m00wd]

I can say goodbye to you a thousand times, but I still don't know how to leave.

—M00wd

[booshoos]

i’m reminded to keep my cards close to my chest, but that’s never how i learned to love.

i’m straightforward, direct— i wear my heart on my sleeve, hold it out in my hands like a fool.

here—take it.

tear it apart, break it... if you want.

i want to protect myself, but i don’t know how.

i want to stand tall, to be strong now.

but the moment i catch your gaze, my knees hit the floor—nowhere to run.

bones trembling, ribs aching, i want you. i want you.

i beg you—take me.

my friends tell me i love too hard, fall too fast, that it’ll leave me bruised and scarred.

and it has.

god, it has.

still, i never learn.

i give everything i have, and then a handful more, until i’m hollowed out, scraped raw, love spilling from every sore.

i love so fiercely, it carves through my soul, leaving me wondering—

who am i, if not made for love?

and what is love, if not surrender?

what is living, if not the risk of ruin?

or maybe—

what is ruin, if not proof that i tried?

[simplymarmies]

In the Midst of Struggles: How I’m Discovering Who I Am

I’ve been on a journey of self-discovery for a few years now. Life—in a sense—is a whole journey of self-discovery for all of us, but my most pivotal moments began around COVID. It’s been a whole rollercoaster ride since then. There were so many moments I felt lost—struggled with my mental health, dealt with a tough diagnosis, navigated a family health emergency, and lost loved ones along the way. Despite these tough times, I’ve come out stronger, braver, and kinder.

Have you ever found yourself questioning your circumstances and wondering why things seem so hard? “Why is this happening to me?” and “Why does it always have to be me?” are questions that I’ve asked far too many times. Yet, every single time, God answers and presents Himself to me. In my darkest moments, He always called out to me. He reminds me that challenges and heartbreak are inevitable parts of life. But even in the toughest times, He has, and always will, bless me with the strength, resources, and opportunities to face them. If He was there for me, I know He will be there for you too.

You might wonder what kind of blessings God can give when it feels like things can’t possibly get any better. The truth is, He has a way of surprising us with unexpected gifts. For me, they came in the form of unexpected financial help, divine timing that made circumstances align in ways I couldn’t have imagined, overflowing support from those around us, and precious time spent with a dying loved one.

Yes, these hardships were difficult, but I thank God everyday for them because they gave me an opportunity to appreciate life even more, and recognize the goodness that exists even in the midst of challenges. These experiences have shaped and molded me into who I am today and will continue to shape who I will become. They’ve changed me for the better, and now, I want to share what I’ve learned along the way.

If you’re going through something similar and feeling alone in your journey, I hope you find solace in my words. You are not alone. Whatever you’re feeling right now is completely valid, and I hope that by sharing my experiences, you’ll feel seen and heard. Hearing others share their stories, especially those who have faced similar struggles, has provided me with great comfort in my hardest moments. So, I hope that I can be a source of comfort for you, too.

Let’s go on this journey together. ❤️

[sillykatto]

[bangletyger]

Reflecting on Hate

I have had time to reflect. As a teacher we are told all the time to reflect upon everything we do. It’s quite boring sometimes, and it becomes repetitive. You would think that by now I have mastered the art of reflection. You would be wrong. I hate reflecting. However, as I said, I have had time to reflect. Upon what you ask? Myself. I look back to our very first workshop on January 15th. We used the Sondra Perl guidelines. I don’t know if I exactly followed the guidelines that were put in front of me, but I sure did write for the entire time. I think I was having a bad day, or I guess by then it would have been only the morning still. We started with distractions. “Distractions I can think of is my jewelry being in the way. My bracelet is too chunky, and now that I took that one off I need to take the other off. Now my thumb rings, all 3.” I keep going on about my jewelry and how it's bothering me and complaining about it. My charm bracelet is completely full of charms, and I have another with only one charm on it so I can’t complain about that one too much. I wore two rings on my left thumb and only one on my right. Everything was in the way. Then I mentioned something about how behind my ear hurt and I wasn’t sure why, but I speculated that it was because of my adventurous weekend. Reflecting back on that weekend it was terrible! I lost a very expensive ring, a bracelet I was given 7 years ago by my ex-ex-boyfriend and the vape I had just bought the week prior. Tragic. Then to top it all off I put myself into a very awkward situation. Writing about it now I cringe inside and I feel myself making a disgusted face. I hate thinking about it. I can taste the air of my memories that weekend, and I can feel goosebumps on my skin from being cold, or maybe due to embarrassment. It makes my stomach feel sick. I say really stupid things sometimes. All I can feel in my head is shame. How do I feel shame in my head? Physically feel shame? I don’t know, but I do. 

Going back to my distractions, I say that my phone will probably distract me. I was waiting for a text back from someone I really wanted to talk to. I thought that maybe their message might make me feel better. Reflecting back I remember that just a week before, or maybe a little longer than that, we had gotten into an… argument? I don’t think I would say it was an argument, more of an awkward but necessary conversation. Why must everything feel so awkward or embarrassing to me? I hate that feeling too. While rereading my first workshop I go on to say some stupid poetic sentence that really just doesn’t sound good at all. I find though, that when I write while feeling strong emotions I tend to write very well. I can tell you now that I was feeling very strong emotions. Perhaps upon further reflection, I might not write as well when I'm feeling so worked up. I can remember the despair I felt in my chest while writing. The fog I felt looming in my brain. I say despair but I don’t know if I can put a real word onto how I was feeling. Just imagine you feel kind of like you’re carved from stone. Your skin is cold and you feel an empty fullness in you. Let me explain: Well… things made of stone are full of stone; hard, cold, meaningless stone. You feel full in a sense that that is all you're made of. Meaningless stone that makes you feel empty. Whatever, I'm made of rocks I guess. 

In my workshop I began thinking about my mystery person and the text I impatiently awaited. I wished that they would be innocent, sweet, gentle…thoughtful. A bunch of very nice adjectives. Then I reminisce… or maybe reflect upon an old relationship I had before. A very loving friendship. Best friends as one would put it. I loved this friend like they were my family, because I felt like they were. I grew up with them. I learned a lesson from that friendship: It does not matter how deeply, intensely, or devotedly you appreciate your friendship with them, or the person themself. They need to do the same to you. I learned that you can’t force your friends to be as much of a friend to you as you are to them. I had to think about how to word that because it confused me when I said it in my head. I stopped being their friend because I didn’t want to waste my energy on someone who would not do the same. So then I made a new friend. This friend was even worse! I tried to ignore the signs I think. One may say that I ignored the red flags. I had never felt like I was in such a one-sided relationship in my life. Except I thought well… maybe I’m just a bad friend? I know now that I was a better friend to them than they would have ever been to me. Good reflection, hey? 

Back to the old workshop prompts. We started to talk about longing. I said I long for love. Love looks different to all people I think. I described this “love” as feeling genuine, soft, and gentle but intentional. Now, I'm not particularly referring to a partner, I’m just referring to relationships in general. With my mom, my friends, a partner maybe. There is love that we feel for everyone I think. When I reflect upon what I have written during this chunk of the workshop I think about RuPaul. RuPaul says that “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell can you love anybody else?!” I giggle thinking about someone reading that in my essay but I say it for a reason. It’s really true! If I don’t love myself first, how could I show someone love properly, intentionally, and wholly? 

I wanted to try and reflect during my writing of this old workshop on how negative I can be. I would like to try and see the good in more things. During this part of the workshop the prompt was pieces and associations. I go to say “I associate all I've written with love. A desire of something. An adoration, a wanting, a seeing, a feeling. The fire burns bright but it’s all so painful aglow. Hate. A wind that follows so gently, making the loose strands twitch. It’s whispers linger on me and in me. How I hate hate, but is it necessary?” I think that maybe hate is necessary sometimes. Hate is a strong emotion, and a negative one too. When I reflect on hate I wonder why do we hate? Is it personal experiences? Maybe societal influence? A reaction of fear, anger, or trauma? Perhaps I should think about my hate more… reflect upon it. 

 Thinking of where I was when I was writing this workshop, in the very spot I am sitting in now. 1437, ENG 2354 from 10:30am to 11:50 am. Second row of desks as soon as you walk in, 5 desks back. This is my spot. I wonder if my spot was making me feel hateful? Well, during this part of the workshop we start to ask ourselves what is the whole topic, what is the heart of your story? Now I find this ironic, and maybe then I did too. The heart of my writing, the whole topic, was my heart. The heart “it might be a conglomeration of who I am now, to who I was then. Well, do I even know? It might be a feeling of loneliness. A feeling of being small. It might be sad memories overshadowing the good ones. It might be a sense of not knowing. A desire to know. I wonder who does. How do they know? The heart of my topic is my heart. My metaphoric middle. It’s squished. It’s got a hole in it. There’s too much of it.” I think of a memory that should be good, but it turns into a bad one. It makes my middle hurt, it aches maybe. By this point I can tell I'm getting more into this negative emotion I was feeling. The hate. It has transferred from a sad and longing hate to maybe disdain and anger. I felt very angry, I think. Then I got tired. “What is the point of your story she asks” is when I began to slow down. “My point was that I miss a time where this problem and those and these… weren't real. But there’s others from then too? Yeah. When does it end, right? Ha! If only we knew. If we could know well, what would I do? My point is this: I desire things that may be out of my reach whether they are too far in front of me, and I need my running shoes. Or, it's so far back waaaay behind me they may need theirs. That’s something I need to learn to gauge. There’s no compass, not a map… a doppler maybe? It’s all around, I don’t know. Maybe it’s under me. Regardless, I'm a fool and I need to stop. This feels complete. I said what I wanted. Now I'm tired.”

 I wrote this essay, personal essay 2, all at once during a worksop. I don’t remember which workshop it was or what we were doing, I wasn’t following along anymore. I started reading my past workshops and I was reflecting upon what I might have been thinking. I was in a weird mood, so I began writing about my very first workshop. I didn’t touch this essay for two weeks after I spewed my thoughts onto the page. Today we did a workshop where I had my peers read my essay and give me feedback. So now I'm back spewing my thoughts onto the page once again. Rereading what I had originally written made me wonder what I do differently now at the end of the term compared to how I did things at the beginning of the term. My distractions have changed a bit. I stopped wearing rings on my right thumb so I don’t have to worry about taking it off to write. When I go to work on a project whether it's being handwritten or typed I take my charm bracelets on my right side off before I even begin. I learned from my mistakes, or I guess my distractions. I think about the place I was in mentally when I wrote my first workshop. I was exhausted from my practicum, I was exhausted from working retail at Christmas time, I was just outright tired. Nervous for the semester to begin again at a time that felt all too soon. Full of hate. Here I am though. It’s the last essay for this class, second last assignment to complete. I made it! I wanted to set a goal for myself to see the better in things and I’m really going to try to do that. Stop feeling the hate. So now that I have reflected upon my reflection…during a workshop…where I wrote my reflection on a workshop while in a workshop… anyways. Now that I think my essay is finished. Do I think I'm better at reflecting? No I don’t. I'm supposed to be positive but no point in being positive if you’re lying. However, I realized I'm not bad at reflecting, in my opinion anyways, and I can enjoy doing it but just not when I'm forced to. I guess maybe I hate reflecting. Perhaps I should start reflecting for fun. Anyways, I don't feel full of hate anymore and I guess that’s my reflection upon this all. Are hate and reflection even real words anymore?