“Because we all have wings, but some of us don’t know why” – michael hutchence

Pod #1: The Day You Learned to Lie – to Yourself
Welcome to the crack where the light gets in.

There wasn’t a ceremony. No parade. The first time you lied to yourself, it was quiet.
Like swallowing a needle and calling it breakfast. It didn’t sound like betrayal, but it was. It sounded like: “I’m okay.” You weren’t. But that’s the trick, isn’t it? The most dangerous lies are the ones you say with a smile. Like swallowing your voice and calling it breakfast.

Back then—maybe you were five, maybe fifteen—you learned that love had rules. Shifting ones. Connection came with conditions. That your safety depended on your softness, your tone, your timing. You became fluent in facial expressions that didn’t belong to you. You read the weather in other people’s moods, not clouds. And so, you didn’t fight. Didn’t run. Didn’t freeze. You fawned.

That’s the fourth trauma response they don’t write on the poster in the therapist’s office. The one that says: Maybe if I’m useful enough, sweet enough, small enough—you won’t hurt me. You might even love me.

You didn’t call it survival. You called it being “a good kid.” “Easy. ”No trouble.”

And goddammit, weren’t you good at it? You could read a room like it was written in subtitles. You knew how to turn yourself into a bandage for other people’s bruises. you turned yourself into background noise. You let the punches land, proverbial and otherwise. Your yes became automatic. Your smile? Performance art. Your needs? You learned early they weren’t welcome. You didn’t just believe the lie—you built a life around it. Fast-forward to your 30’s, 40’s or maybe just now.

Now you’re the fixer. The holder. The default emergency contact for everyone else’s meltdown. People say you’re strong. Dependable. But no one asks when you last ate. Or screamed. Or said “no” without guilt hitching a ride in your throat.

You’re the peacekeeper. The vibe manager. The emotional janitor with a dustpan full of everyone else’s chaos. And then… one day, everything inside you starts rattling.
You look around at your life—you should-be-fine life—and all you can think is:

What the actual fuck is this? Why am I exhausted from a life I built to be liveable?

Something breaks. Or maybe it un-breaks. You find yourself in a quiet room—with a therapist, or by candlelight in the bath, or just your own reflection you haven’t faced in too long—and the truth claws its way up.

A whisper.

“I lied.”

I lied when I said I was fine. I lied when I said it didn’t matter. I lied when I said I didn’t need anything. I lied when I said I could hold it all.

And just like that, the dam breaks. For me, it changed everything. 

This pod? This blog? This whatever-the-fuck-you-call-it? For now, it’s pretty much me exploring how I made it through. It’s a little woo-woo. It’s a little random.
And it’s a little bit of how you can figure it all out too.  It’s not about healing. I hate that word. It’s not about floating off on some incense-scented cloud whispering affirmations. It’s me sharing so that maybe I can help with digging your existence out from under everyone else’s expectations. It’s me giving you permission to give the middle finger to the shame you have carried for wanting to be you.  It’s about remembering who you were before you started shapeshifting to survive. Before you confused safety with self-abandonment. It’s about becoming who you were before the world taught you that your authenticity was a liability. Before you started trading truth for approval.

It’s about calling your soul back from the places you abandoned it— the rooms where you stayed too long, the silence you swallowed to keep the peace, the versions of yourself you carved to be lovable. Acceptable.

It’s about tuning back into your own damn frequency after a lifetime of static.

It’s about asking the hard questions: Why do I do this? Why does it keep happening?
Who planted this story in me? And why the fuck am I still living like its gospel?

So, if today is the day that whisper inside you says enough—

Welcome. You’ve made it to the dark side.
We have coffee. And fire. And truth. And it’s going to be okay -Maybe even beautiful. Not because it’s easy. But because, for the first time, you’re not lying to yourself.

You’re not broken. You’re just arriving at the part where your truth gets loud.

Neen, out. (Homework done, C)

PS: Next time, I will be getting into triggers and how they are the time travellers with dirty boots.