This summer I realized that being surrounded by people doesn’t mean you’re not alone. I hung out with so many people, went so many places, but everything felt like a distraction.Loneliness isn’t always quiet. Sometimes it’s loud and bright and laughing with friends.

I went to a party last weekend and realized halfway through that everyone was performing. The girls posing for pictures they’ll delete later, the guys laughing too loudly at jokes that weren’t funny. I felt like I was floating above the room watching a bunch of strangers wearing masks. Maybe growing up is just realizing how often people pretend.

you’re doing okay even when you don’t feel okay even when you think you’re failing even when the world says run faster breathe deeper smile wider you’re still here and that is its own kind of victory

I'm tired of pretending I'm not tired. Or that this is normal.

She keeps saying I’m “lazy” or “unmotivated,” but she has no idea how much effort it takes just to get out of bed some mornings. Or how heavy school feels even when I’m doing fine. It’s like everyone expects us to be machines. I’m TRYING. Just not the way she measures it.

Does anyone else have days where your brain feels too loud? Like there’s a traffic jam of thoughts and no green light in sight? If you feel like that too, just… hi. I don’t know you, but I hope tomorrow is quieter.

Sometimes I think the last time I was truly myself was in elementary school. Back when everything I liked wasn’t embarrassing yet. When I wasn’t constantly comparing my voice, my face, my personality, my everything to everyone else. I miss the version of me that laughed without thinking about what my teeth looked like.

i am trying to be softer with myself so that one day i won’t flinch at my own reflection or apologize for existing in a world that made me feel like a guest in my own skin

Some days I feel like everything is happening too quickly. Assignments piling up, decisions looming, relationships shifting. Other days it feels like nothing is happening at all and I’m stuck on a loop, waiting for something exciting to shake things up. It’s confusing to want stability and change at the same time. To want to grow up but also stay safe. To want to leave but also belong. I guess that’s what being a teenager is: being pulled in opposite directions constantly and

I’m trying to rebuild my relationship with myself. It’s harder than I expected. I spent so many years criticizing every part of me. My face, my body, my voice, my personality, that now kindness feels foreign. I look in the mirror and try to talk to myself like I would talk to my best friend. It feels awkward, but also necessary. I’m learning that self-esteem isn’t a switch you flip; it’s a language you relearn. Some days I do better. Some days I don’t. But I’m trying. And may

There are so many things I don’t know how to tell people: That loud noises overwhelm me. That I replay conversations in my head for hours. That I don’t always want to be strong. That I’m scared of losing people even when I know they’re not right for me. I wish vulnerability didn’t feel like danger. I wish the people I love could read between the lines without me needing to spell it out. But maybe this is what growing up is, learning how to say the unsaid things before they sw

It’s strange being a teenager in the age of the internet. I want someone to understand me, to really get me, but I also panic at the thought of being perceived too deeply. I post pictures and then immediately delete them. I draft captions and never press share. I crave connection but fear exposure. It feels like everyone is curating a museum version of themselves. Polished, filtered, labeled neatly with clever captions. And then there’s me: a mess of real emotions and awkward

I’ve been losing a friend slowly, like watching a sunset. It's beautiful at first, then painful because you know it’s ending. We didn’t fight. We just drifted, which somehow hurts more. I keep replaying memories of us laughing until we cried, sharing secrets that felt like sacred currency. Now we barely text. People always talk about romantic heartbreak, but friendship heartbreak is so underrated. No one writes songs about it, but it deserves its own genre. I don’t hate them.

It’s weird when you live with people and still feel alone. My family talks, but we don’t talk. We say things like “How was school?” and “I’ll be home late,” but we never say “I’m struggling” or “I miss us.” The silence between us feels heavy, like a room that hasn’t been aired out in years. Sometimes I wish someone would notice without me having to say anything. The way I linger in my room. The way I get quieter at dinner. The way I stay up late because nighttime is the only

I keep thinking other people have some internal GPS that I missed out on. They know where they’re headed, what they want, who they are. Meanwhile I feel like I’m stuck at the world’s longest crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green. People keep telling me to “trust the process,” but the process feels like guessing. How are we supposed to make huge life decisions when our brains aren’t even fully developed? Half the time I can’t decide what to eat for lunch. Still, there

Every time I hang out with my friend group, I feel like I’m playing a character. They laugh so loudly and so easily, and I’m always one beat behind. I don’t think they’d recognize me if I stopped acting.

My parents keep saying, “You’re young, what’s there to be stressed about?” I wish I could explain the pressure of wanting to become someone worthwhile while feeling like you’re already falling behind. It’s a heavy kind of invisible.

Sometimes I feel nostalgic for a life I haven’t lived yet. A room that’s mine, a version of me that’s healed, mornings where I wake up excited instead of anxious. I miss a future I hope I eventually reach.

Trust is not a simple yes or no. It is a spectrum, shifting with each interaction. Sometimes, trust grows slowly, nurtured by small acts of kindness and consistency. Other times, it crumbles quickly under the weight of misunderstanding or neglect. Consider how trust can be tested by misunderstandings. A friend might forget an important detail or fail to respond in a moment of need. These moments do not always signal betrayal but can still sow seeds of doubt. The challenge lie

Friendship promises safety, understanding, and loyalty. Yet, when trust falters, it leaves a hollow space filled with questions. Why do I hesitate to share my true thoughts? Why do I hold back parts of myself? These questions echo in the silence between conversations, in the moments when vulnerability feels risky. One might recall a time when a secret shared in confidence was met with betrayal, or when support was promised but never delivered. These experiences carve deep gro

Trust is a fragile thread that weaves through the fabric of our closest relationships. It is the foundation on which friendships stand, yet sometimes that foundation feels shaky, even when it belongs to those we call friends. The paradox of wanting to trust friends but feeling unable to is a quiet struggle many face. This tension between desire and doubt shapes how we connect, how we protect ourselves, and how we grow.

When my tennis coach carried a birthday cake onto the courts, surrounded by the group we were coaching, I froze. A month earlier she’d casually asked me what cake I liked. Now, there it was: a chocolate cake with vanilla icing. The kids clapped, singing off-key, and I felt something I hadn’t in ages: I belonged. For years I thought belonging was something you built through shared history and experiences, the “ride or die” kind of friendships. After COVID, my life was a cycle

As one who has moved many times from many places, I must choose how to act. Pick from my basket of cultural standards and deviations. The likelihood of picking the right one lies in my social competence. Though to me, I have the experience of one hundred percent accuracy, to others, I have not. I do not know if I’ve shown my weakness, but only hope that I haven’t yet revealed it.

Ah, the question that strikes all international individuals. Well, that depends on what exactly you're asking. Do you want my life story? Just where I was born? Or maybe where I feel most at home? In short: I was born in Canada. Moved to Palm Springs at 13. The next year, I went off to boarding school in Ojai, California. After that? Lived in LA. I changed schools four times in three years. At boarding school, I met people from all over the world. Strangely, the people who fe