Family
When Being “Strong” Becomes a Silent Prison
Strength is one of the most celebrated traits in modern culture. We admire it. We reward it. We build entire identities around it. From a young age, many of us are taught that being strong means not crying, not complaining, not slowing down. Strength means enduring. Strength means surviving. Strength means carrying on, no matter how heavy the weight becomes.
By Aiman Shahid15 minutes ago in Confessions
Scrambled Eggs and Silence
The Year Was 1967 I was four years old. My world was small but crowded—my parents, my two little sisters barely out of babyhood, and me. We lived high above the street in a middle-class high-rise, fourteen floors up, trying to build a life like everyone else. Both my parents worked, which meant that, like so many families, we relied on a babysitter.
By Debbieabout 21 hours ago in Confessions
When Silence Becomes a Survival Skill
Silence is often misunderstood. We tend to see it as weakness, avoidance, or fear. In a world that celebrates loud opinions, bold personalities, and constant expression, staying quiet can look like surrender. But for many people, silence is not a lack of courage—it is a learned survival skill.
By Aiman Shahida day ago in Confessions
Benefits of Looking Forward To Something
Everyone looks forward to something because it is part of life. When we were younger, we looked for most things that were different from what we look forward to now that we are older. Even so, we might still look forward to some of the same things: birthdays, holidays (some more than others), graduation, first job, dating, marriage, anniversaries, raising a family, and more.
By Margaret Minnicks3 days ago in Confessions
The Quiet Pressure of Always Being Available
There was a time when being unreachable was normal. If you called someone and they didn’t answer, you assumed they were busy, asleep, or simply away. No explanations were owed. No anxiety followed. Silence meant life was happening elsewhere.
By Aiman Shahid3 days ago in Confessions
Light and Shadow
From early morning, the light hits the window and floods my small apartment by the Mediterranean Sea with pastel tones. I wake to the alarm’s cry and step out onto the balcony to smoke. I had promised myself to save the few cigarettes left from last night for the next boozy get-together with friends, but the sharp smell of smoke pairs far too well with the bitter taste of black coffee. So I sink into my Acapulco chair, light my cigarette, and welcome the new southern day, promising to bring plenty of sun and fun.
By Anastasia Tsarkova3 days ago in Confessions
The Day I Stopped Refreshing the Page
The Day I Stopped Refreshing the Page For a long time, my mornings started the same way. Not with breakfast. Not with stretching or deep breaths or gratitude, like people on the internet suggest. My mornings started with refreshing a page.
By Salman Writes5 days ago in Confessions
The Kind of Tired Sleep Can’t Fix
I’m not tired in the way sleep can fix. I’ve tried that. Early nights. Late mornings. Power naps that turn into guilt. None of it touches this kind of exhaustion. It lives deeper, somewhere behind the eyes and under the ribs, where rest doesn’t reach. It’s not the kind of tired that fades with eight hours under a blanket—it’s the kind that lingers even after the alarm clock says I’ve had enough.
By Salman Writes5 days ago in Confessions
