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She used to think happiness was something she had to earn.
Maybe that was why she spent so much of her life trying to perform well. She thought if she studied harder, achieved more, became smarter, became stronger, and turned herself into someone worth being proud of, happiness would eventually come to her as a reward.
As if someone would finally say,
There. You did enough. Now you are allowed to be happy.
But no one ever said that.
So she kept going.
She kept trying to become better. She kept thinking that maybe the next achievement would be enough. Maybe the next good grade. The next certificate. The next accomplishment. Maybe if she became someone extraordinary, she would finally feel worthy of the life she wanted.
And somewhere along the way, she became very good at surviving.
She learned how to carry things alone. She learned how to think ahead, solve her own problems, and convince herself that she did not need anyone. She became so used to being independent that sometimes, even when someone offered to carry something with her, her first instinct was still to say,
No, it’s okay. I can do it myself.
Because she could.
She always could.
But lately, she has been wondering whether being able to carry everything means she always has to.
It is strange how life teaches her things.
Sometimes, not through something grand, but through the smallest moments.
Through realizing that she can say no, and the answer can simply be, Okay.
No pressure. No guilt. No punishment.
Life just continues.
Through realizing that she can be tired and say,
I don’t want to think today. You think.
And instead of being called lazy, difficult, or too much, someone can simply laugh and let her rest.
Through realizing that she can sit quietly while someone else studies. She can play a silly game. She can be sleepy. She can have nothing interesting to say. She can show up without performing, without entertaining, without proving that she is worth someone’s time.
And somehow, she is still allowed to stay.
Maybe that is what feels so unfamiliar.
For so long, she thought care and happiness would always ask her to become something first.
Better.
Easier.
Smarter.
Prettier.
Less complicated.
Less emotional.
More understanding.
More willing to compromise pieces of herself.
She became so used to measuring her worth by what was offered to her that, somewhere along the way, she forgot she was allowed to have choices of her own.
She forgot that being chosen was never the whole story.
She was allowed to choose too.
She forgot that her own heart was supposed to have a voice in the story.
And perhaps that is one of the strangest things she has learned recently...
Being wanted is not the same as wanting.
Being chosen is not the same as choosing.
And sometimes, the body understands this long before the mind is brave enough to admit it.
There were people she was afraid to let come closer.
There were moments when the idea of meeting someone did not make her excited.
It made her want to step backward.
At that time, she did not understand why.
She thought perhaps she was difficult.
Perhaps she was too guarded. Perhaps she simply did not know how to let someone in.
But now, she wonders if her body was only trying to say something her mind had not learned how to hear yet.
Not this.
Not closeness.
Just,
not this.
Because now, strangely, she knows what it feels like to want someone closer.
And that realization scares her a little.
Maybe more than a little.
But it also makes her understand herself in a way she never did before.
Perhaps she was never incapable of softness.
Perhaps she was never too independent to be cared for.
Perhaps she was never someone who did not want closeness.
Perhaps she only needed to know that she could still say no once she got there.
That she could change her mind.
That she could have boundaries.
That she could be cared for without being pressured.
That she could rest without owing anything in return.
And maybe that is why, lately, she has been meeting a version of herself she did not know was still there.
She is silly.
She laughs too much.
She cries over songs.
She gets emotional for no reason and wakes up the next morning wondering,
What the hell did I do yesterday?
She plays games when she does not want to think.
She wraps herself in a blanket.
She says what she wants.
Sometimes, she is still afraid.
Sometimes, fear whispers things that are not true, and she believes them for a moment.
Sometimes, she still prepares herself for abandonment before anyone has even left.
Sometimes, she mistakes fear for intuition.
But lately, reality has been gently correcting her.
No. That is not what is happening.
No. You are not a burden.
No. You do not ruin everything.
And perhaps the most surprising thing is that she is beginning to listen.
There was once a girl who wrote Lost in Deep Blue.
Sometimes, she wishes she could reach through those pages and hold that younger girl’s face in her hands.
That girl thought happiness was something waiting for her at the end of achievement.
She thought she had to perform well enough to deserve peace.
She thought surviving was the closest thing she would ever get to living.
She did not know what the woman writing this knows now.
She did not know that one day, she would laugh again without forcing it.
She did not know that one day, she would become soft without feeling weak.
She did not know that she could put her mind down for a while and trust that the world would not collapse.
She did not know that a no could simply be met with an okay.
She did not know that someone could see her tired, sleepy, wrapped in a blanket, with nothing impressive to offer, and still look at her as if she were something gentle.
She did not know that one day, the word princess would no longer belong only to the songs and stories she loved.
And maybe that is why she is writing this now.
Because finally, the little girl who always thought she had to perform well, achieve more, and earn her happiness is beginning to understand that happiness was never a prize.
She did not have to become extraordinary to deserve it.
She did not have to drown first.
She did not have to prove how much pain she could survive.
She was always allowed to be happy.
And somewhere between the girl who wrote herself lost in deep blue and the woman she is becoming now, something changed.
She thinks she started dancing again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Still a little afraid.
But this time, there is a tiara on her head.
Not because someone came to save her.
She had already been saving herself for years.
Not because another person completed her.
She was never a half waiting to become whole.
But perhaps because, for the first time in a long time, she is no longer afraid of happiness when it comes close.
And finally, the little girl who spent years dreaming of dancing with a tiara on her head is beginning to wonder if, somehow, the dream has already found her.
Because lately, she feels lighter. Softer. A little less afraid. And sometimes, when she is not thinking too much, she could almost swear that she is already living inside the happiness she once thought she had to earn.
Perhaps the tiara has been there for a while.
Perhaps she simply needed time to feel it resting gently on her head.
- syaz
05 - 07 - 2026
source of image: pinterest
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