blurred

I thought I was done for today.

After ten years of silence, one post felt like enough. Nostalgic. Safe. Controlled. I closed the tab thinking, okay, that’s it. I’m back.

But apparently, coming back to a space you abandoned for a decade means you don’t get to perform. You just write what’s sitting with you.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about presence. About how easy it is to disappear in subtle ways. Not dramatically. Not tragically. Just quietly.

And maybe that’s why I’m writing this.

I get that everyone moves differently.

Some people think out loud. Some people speak fast. Some people need to sound certain in a room.

And I’m not mad. I’m not even trying to compete.

It’s just strange how something can start as a shared conversation, and then somehow it lands as someone else’s certainty.

 I know I contributed. I know I did the thinking. I know the concerns weren’t random.

But when they’re said without me, I feel a little… edited out.

Not erased. Just blurred.

Maybe this isn’t about credit.

Maybe it’s about wanting to feel visible in something I helped shape.

I don’t need applause.

I just don’t want to feel like the draft while someone else reads the final version.

And I can understand someone’s urgency without making myself smaller in the process