Notes from Vulnerability

In a world full of people who are quick to judge me for what they hear or see — without ever truly knowing me — I feel lucky to have my man, Patrick. He’s the one who took the time to understand me, who listens when I’m not in my zone, and who reminds me that my voice matters even when I struggle to believe it myself.

Being vulnerable isn’t easy. I’m scared of judgment, of being called too expressive, too emotional, immature, or reactive. I’ve been told those things more times than I can count, and honestly, I don’t think I can take another negative review of my character. It weighs on me, and sometimes it feels like the world only sees the surface, never the soul underneath.

Yesterday, I broke down crying. I realized I don’t feel my spark anymore. I don’t feel my soul inside me. The things that used to bring me joy: my hobbies, my little rituals, even the simple moments,  feel distant. Since December 2025, I’ve been living in autopilot mode, just going through the motions without truly feeling alive.

And yet, even in that heaviness, I’m learning that admitting this is part of healing. Writing it down, saying it out loud, letting it exist outside of me... it’s my way of reclaiming a piece of myself. Maybe my spark isn’t gone forever. Maybe it’s just waiting for me to pause, breathe, and remember that I am more than the judgments, more than the labels, more than the silence I sometimes fall into.

Most of all, I’m grateful for Patrick. His patience, his presence, and his quiet strength remind me that I don’t have to carry everything alone. He sees me when I feel invisible, and he believes in me when I forget how to believe in myself. That kind of love is rare, and it gives me hope that my spark will return, not because someone else fixes me, but because I finally feel safe enough to find myself again.

-E.