On Remembering Who You Were Before the World Told You Who to Be
There are days when I feel like a mosaic of mismatched parts—an archivist of old wounds, an oracle of untamed hope, a body that remembers too much and a mind that cannot forget. To be whole in a world built on fracture feels like a quiet rebellion. And rebellion, my friends, takes stamina.
From the first breath, we’re taught how to dissociate. To package our pain for palatability. To shrink our voices for approval. To commodify our joy for someone else’s comfort. We learn to survive by fragmenting—one belief, one boundary, one betrayal at a time.
And yet, deep beneath that survival script, there is a part of us that refuses to forget who we were before we were told who to be.
We inherited systems that prioritized performance over presence. Cultures that labeled emotion as weakness. Families that passed down silence like fine china. And for many of us—especially those with neurodivergent wiring—the fragmentation wasn’t just encouraged; it was demanded.
We were told we were “too much” when our bodies cried out in overstimulation. We were punished for “not focusing” when our minds were symphonies of nonlinear brilliance. We were called dramatic, sensitive, impossible.
But what if our sensitivity was never the problem? What if it was the map back to wholeness?
The Soul’s Refusal to Stay Small
Here’s what I know after decades of clinical work, somatic healing, and surviving this absurdly tender life: the soul will not stay small forever. It may comply, compartmentalize, self-abandon—but it will not forget itself.
Eventually, it rebels.
It seeks out community. It demands stillness. It flirts with synchronicity. It begins asking louder and louder questions like:
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Who would I be if I stopped apologizing?
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What might healing look like outside of institutions?
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Where does my voice live when it’s not filtered through shame?
Wholeness Isn’t a Destination. It’s a Daily Decision.
It looks like remembering your breath before your inbox. It sounds like saying “no” without guilt. It feels like letting the tears fall, even if they don’t come with neat explanations.
Wholeness isn’t perfect. It’s ragged, real, and relentlessly human.
Integration as a Practice: Where We Begin
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Journaling with curiosity, not judgment. Start here: “What parts of me have I hidden for approval?”
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Body scans, especially after emotional conversations. Where did you tense? What softened once you named it?
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Create beauty. Not for productivity, but for proof of your aliveness.
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Build soul circles. We don’t become whole alone. Healing, when done collectively, becomes activism.
You Are Not Too Much. You Are Remembering.
If you’ve ever felt like your nervous system was made for a different planet… If you’re tired of trying to fit your fire into someone else’s mold… If you’re ready to rewrite your story from the inside out…
Welcome to Chaotic Goodisms. We don’t pretend to have it all together. We honor the mess, we ask better questions, and we walk each other home—one story, one truth, one nervous breakdown at a time.
🧠What You Can Do Right Now
✅ Find Your Ritual – Light a candle. Take a bath. Scream into a pillow. Yes, it counts.
✅ Get the Newsletter – Where we send love letters to your nervous system and your inbox: Subscribe here.
✅ Join the Community Forum – Chaotic, neurodivergent, sacred. It’s all here.
🎤 Final Thought:
You’re not too sensitive. You’re tuned in. You’re not too much. You’re just… uncontainable. And you’re not alone anymore.
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