eunoia.

maybe I just need to breathe?

Eunoia (εὔνοια)— A mind learning to be gentle with itself.

“I think I'm very weird”, I tell myself, staring into the mirror like it might answer back.

I don’t even know what I was looking for. Or what I keep looking for every time I stand there. My relationship with mirrors have always been complicated. I remember telling Tobi once that something felt off—my face, my body, I can’t even remember exactly what. But I remember her response: “You look at it too much. That’s why your eyes begin to see what isn’t there”. I didn’t argue with her. I think she was right.

Because sometimes I just want to see myself. But even that feels like too much.

Too many things happening at once and I don’t even know where to start fixing anything, so I’m not fixing anything. I’m just waiting.

But I keep wanting to run. I don’t want to be seen. I don’t want people to know me. And it’s ironic because I write, and people read, and somehow I’m becoming visible in the very place I used to hide.

Every interaction feels like intrusion. Like something is reaching into a space I’ve tried to keep hidden. Writing used to be my escape, but now I feel like an open page, too easy to read.

So I write at night. When it feels like the world is asleep. When I can pretend no one is watching.

But even then, I feel incomplete. Like I say things without really saying them. And when people say they like me, my writing, my thoughts—I start to wonder, what exactly do they see? what exactly do they like? I go back to read my own words again, searching for whatever it is they’ve found.

Maybe this is what it means to feel like an imposter.

Or maybe I miss home. I don’t say it enough, but I do. I feel deeply. I don’t always admit it, but I do.

And maybe I don’t have to understand everything. I don’t have to fix everything. Maybe I can just breathe. I want to feel and be safe with myself.

I want to look in the mirror without searching for something wrong. To read my words without shrinking away from them.

I don’t have to overanalyze every thought. I don’t have to carry everything all at once.

God carries me, He loves me and I love Him. My friends love me, and I love them. I am a very beautiful girl. I actually write well. Even if I’m still learning how to believe that.

I’m actually grateful. For my Substack. For this little space I get to call mine. For this small, steady community that reads me like I matter. For people who like me, my thoughts, my words even and especially when I don’t fully understand why.

So, I’m not running away, I won't run away, I believe there is room for me. Room for Bisayo to just exist. Room for her to understand herself slowly. Room for her to love the parts she’s still unsure about.

So I’ll keep writing what I see. And what I see, mostly, is love.

I’ll choose to act from love, not for it. And maybe, gently, I’ll start believing that I am easy to love too.

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For the ones like me hoping to fix everything with their eyes—please, stop asking the mirror to carry you.

I'm really glad you're here. God actually loves you, write me back, okay? <3