Why We Were Never Meant to Battle Ourselves Just to Exist

I’m tired.

I don’t usually tend to use this word much, but I realised negating its presence, was denying the inevitable. We wear ourselves out through ambition and wear it like a badge of honor. Who are we kidding?!

Is AI helping with work really the issue or the limitations we impose on ourselves we rule as rule of existence?

This is not the kind of tire that sleep fixes, but too many experience. The kind of tired that lives in the bones. The kind that comes from waking up every day and having to fight yourself, different mirrors of self, all day against your harmonious self in the conquest of going back to yourself(as harmony), just to live somewhat peacefully.

No one really wants to be a warrior.
Let’s be honest—why would we?
Why go to war when we could grow strawberries and watch our cat do weird backflips off ceiling beams?
Why suit up when we could be barefoot?

This world makes fighters out of dreamers,
makes every breath feel like a debate,
makes even joy something to earn.

But joy isn’t a trophy.
It’s a birthright.
And I don’t want to battle myself for the right to feel it anymore.

The Facade Boy—that mask-wearing voice inside—he can go for days. Unstoppable. Sleepless. Performing, surviving, pushing every moment into something “productive.” It’s the same one that won’t let you rest before a big day. The same that whispers, “You haven’t done enough,” even when all your soul wants is to sit in the sun and exhale.

He’s the reason your body shakes when you slow down.
Because he’s only loud when you’re still enough to hear him.

And when you finally stop feeding him, you’ll feel it.
That restlessness that once felt invincible.
Turns out it was just a performance craving an audience.

I’ve been tired of dancing to his rhythm.
Tired of thinking every delay is a deficiency.
Tired of thinking maybe if I try harder, I’ll finally get there—wherever “there” is supposed to be.

But what if depression is just your soul begging you to stop pretending?
What if it’s not the end, but a deep cellular invitation to remember yourself—so you can finally rest as yourself?

I don’t know if 4Honeth is mine to lead, or simply mine to attend.
Maybe it lives through my hands, maybe it lives beyond me.
Either way, I’ll be there.
But today, for the first time in a long time, what’s calling me the loudest isn’t a stage or a spotlight or a vision board, but the calmest progression of time possible… maybe it’s because I haven’t had a good rest in a long time, we call it Ambition, the cloak to restlessness, that if not done consciously gets you all the success forgetting the heart behind. The only thing that mattered in the first place.

What’s calling right now is a garden.
Somewhere quiet.
Far from the buzz of bright city lights.

Where I can grow my food,
lay under constellations,
sing aloud with no neighbors to shush me,
walk around naked because no one’s watching,
dance like a fool in the kitchen,
and jump in cold water just because the sun said so in a DIY pond with my Koy fishes. Maybe not on top of the fishes, but you get the idea..

No artificial light can replace that.
No salary can grant that kind of fullness.
No gala, no algorithm, no applause compares to watching someone you love wake up with the sun kissing their face.
No trophy can replace the way your child—be it of blood, fur, or vision—takes its first step into becoming.

And I’m sorry, but I need to ask:
Why do we work again?
Why do we need the numbers?
Why do we chase the “success” that only ever seems to cost us the thing we were looking for in the first place?

Is it you who wants it…
or is it that leeching voice inside,
the one who just wants to produce?

For now, I’m taking an indefinite hiatus.
We shall see what’s to come from here.

So here’s what I’ll leave you with:

Be kind to yourself.
Love yourself.
Take it slow.
You were never built to go this hard about life.

You were made for beauty.
For laughter.
For softness and sky-gazing and barefoot mornings.
You were made to be whole, not to be driven.

So rest.
Rewild.
And remember: peace was never something to earn.

It was always your home.

I’ll see you on the other side of the noise.

With love,
Always.

Seraphim.