Spiritual Journey Stories

They hurt you, so you should hurt them back. its funny, I feel like everyone who's felt pain like this has thought that at some point. felt like everyone else should hurt because they are. and its not their fault they were hurt. but your actions are always your own fault. its unfair to say that one person should get away with something because they are struggling, but someone who isn't struggling shouldn't. I know there are certain circumstances. but I mean people who hurt others. it shouldn't matter whether you are going through something, no one has the right to hurt other people. I understand some people struggle because they've been hurt. but if they just hurt someone else, then it'll end up a cycle wont it? now talking about my experience here, I was hurt. badly. by someone I thought I could trust, and when I expressed they hurt me, I was told that since they were struggling its okay. how is that fair? you make a victim feel like the villain? I have every right to blame you for something you did. you should feel bad, and guilty that you've hurt someone. or in the very least apologize. but I didn't get any apologies. no. of course not. why should I?? its not like this has caused my life to fall apart and caused me long lasting pain. I truly do hate when people do that. no one should be punished for getting hurt. no one should hurt someone because they were hurt. no one should feel less than someone else for something they cant control.

I find it hard to believe how complicated it is to express myself online using abstract language. It's something that fulfills me because it's precisely the language I need to express what I feel. From there, I seek to talk about my life.

Indeed, I feel this is about saying that life holds a complexity beyond what is normally presumed to be a life. It's an act of respect. It's a constant demand to adapt to a language that I find insufficient.

When I vent, I do so in order to talk about my life and be able to visualize it. Being overwhelmed, I can't see what I have to say about my life, which is me and what surrounds me in some way.

Speaking in a format that many seek, considered simple, being reductionist, is precisely preventing the way in which my visualization is necessary. This isn't talking about anxiety or an obsession; it's an effort to understand how I am.

Without a doubt, we can talk about nervousness about everything I have to say. However, I don't experience anxiety because I don't feel an imminent threat; on the contrary, I feel that this is more of a sign that I'm about to get out of something. Nor can I speak of obsession, because we're not even talking about recurring thoughts.

Speaking of venting, I am indeed talking about my life, and it consists of details, which may be various, encapsulated under a single theme. However, the fact that the question relates to a single person, a single situation, doesn't indicate being obsessed with a topic or anxious; at most, it indicates that one goes beyond the ordinary regarding said topics and considers oneself strange.

Today, and with the advances that have occurred in all areas of knowledge, I am surprised, I must say, that the strange is worthy of rejection, especially when it comes to people, a matter that requires precise treatment to be inserted. In short, venting itself, it must be said, makes us strange because it allows us to delve into details that are unknown even to us, even to ourselves.

It is often argued that we should think before speaking, when this issue represents or points to the difficulty of recipients receiving varied information. We can categorically say that no person thinks before speaking; at the same time they speak, they think, and they used to think even when they were silent. And the fact that their thoughts coincided with the words expressed, sonorously, expresses the obstruction they represent for us, simply a compulsion.

In this society, many things are defended with which I do not agree. I believe that we all truly want to face life, but it is at the cost of our constant exercise with it, and in the worst circumstances, which is to be alone. This society supports not doing that; after all, that would imply that this individual can do without them, so in the event of any reprisal from a majority, it will be indispensable. It must be said that many of the things that are pointed out as bad are ways of expressing that one should not be something that could be harmful, being against it. They call it politeness, but it's clearly anxiety. It's clear that those who base their lives on thinking that something isn't right and therefore need to change it, thanks to the obsession that it represents, since these are recurring thoughts that result in displeasure, seek said change as a result of the obsession itself. If we notice, anxiety and obsession are the entities that most often support each other.

Proper relief allows us to escape these situations because it allows us to tune into them and continue with our routine, with those thoughts that lead to its consolidation. However, change is used as an excuse to maintain the routine, invading other spaces, naturally encouraging narcissistic behaviors that weren't present before. We can safely say that anyone who seeks a constant routine and doesn't let off steam, given the changing essence of those elements external to our routine, which also change them, leads us to be potential narcissists. It must be said, these are not the things many therapists talk about.

Many therapists enjoy entering this field without having integrated their knowledge of the subject, which leads them to become simple victims of a system. Through their sessions, they seek to force others to succumb to it through their integration. They become counselors, simply detaching themselves from the discourse, from the particularity of the patient, to provide developmental treatment as an individual in their individuality, to bring them to a collective one, where the notions of anxiety and obsession are supported as accusatory elements, of that which runs beyond conceived limits. Indeed, these are against the idea of ​​letting off steam.

So, with psychotherapists, we can't let off steam. Nor with the environment, because it would be a struggle for a normality, furthermore, by not entering into it, making these individuals incapable of developing themselves and consequently segregating ourselves. Frankly, I don't understand how an individual can develop in this world, particularly. It's being at the mercy of situations that are camouflaged through discourses considered normal, open to everyone, but that prevent us from understanding what my life consists of, starting from the smallest details and which joy leads to a holistic spirit.

It's not fair that people like me, to say it without any fear, are at the mercy of such treatment. I know there are people like me who are also on these paths; it would be somewhat prejudiced for me to say that there is no one else. Of course, those who haven't been in the same terrain as me and only notice me will say that there is no one else like me. Of course, they take what they know as a sample and project it onto the rest of the world when, as can be seen, many are those who don't dare to delve into anything beyond my surroundings. How contradictory, frankly.

How could I have ended up alone? I tried to do everything right with others. I tried to fit in with others. I tried to do everything to connect, and I still haven't succeeded. It can't be that at this point in my life, I've ended up alone. This is hell for me, from every perspective.

I'm envious of the friends I met, the ones I've interacted with, because they have lives, and I don't. I'm starting from scratch, like a newborn baby, except I don't have the chance to go to preschool. How do people like me want to start over? I'm looking for a new life.

It can't be that I have to settle for the life I had. In fact, I'm alone because I felt that the life I had, its relationships, were ineffective and actually harmed me in terms of my development, in terms of my ideals of taking care of myself, of my spirituality.

I was building a life based on trampling on that, however, I found it wasn't the path, because it didn't allow me to be free, to be critical, to be aware of what was happening in my life. It was like being at the mercy of injustice, of unconsciousness, and there's nothing worse than that. I feel that's why I stayed alone, because I didn't support those kinds of thoughts. My goal in life was to be conscious and to defend that no matter what, and frankly, I'm proud of it.

Unlike when I started writing, I'm happy to be alone if it means keeping a distance from people who don't advocate for consciousness, for self-exploration, regardless of the path I have to take. And I have to say, even in these, therapists have been a hindrance, which is why I also had to keep my distance. To this day, I'm glad to have recognized that both this environment and this help, in the end, only advocated for a defective, half-baked, and non-holistic development.

Without a doubt, many of your lives are filled with girlfriends, friends, and well-paying jobs. However, I need to point out, they are prisons, at which point you have decided to sell your conscience in exchange for conformity, in exchange for receiving defense and a position of power by following a trend in which other people are also involved, and not being alone when faced with a situation. Of course, all of this is based on not believing in yourself, and it's just the opposite; it's the starting point I want for my life.

Indeed, being alone, unlike in your case, which means having deliberately disconnected from relationships, in my case represents the constant reinforcement of my belief in myself, as a starting point, to safeguard my life. Without a doubt, this prevents me from being attentive to others. I will be attentive when there are commitments, but in the meantime, I won't. It's interesting to have them, but you also have to admit that they are out of your control, and they are better when they happen spontaneously.

I feel sorry for myself for reaching this point of remaining alone solely to strengthen my spirituality and allow life to move forward completely naturally, allowing it to be contemplated as such. Creating artificial moments is precisely covering up those spiritual points that need to be worked on, and that's what I don't want; I need to develop them in order to achieve this goal with spirituality. Now I understand why I have the life I have.

It must be said, in the midst of this accumulation, which indeed pressures and makes one feel overwhelmed, many take advantage of it to make suggestions, which is simply a way of taking advantage of a development of ideas, a boiling point of ideas, to gain a follower. This is an attack on their development, on their individuality.

I think that this is less of a question and more of a vent. I was at a festival recently and for the first time in a while I felt genuinely happy and optimistic about my life and my future, it was 100% one of the best days of my life. Though afterwards, my dad sent me all of the videos and photos that he took and I’m in nearly all of them. I’m so ugly in each one and it’s not subjective or me being insecure, I am truly ugly and there’s no redeeming me. It makes me feel really sick and I got so angry at my dad for ruining my memories by reminding me how I looked, and how even when I was my happiest and smiling I still looked dreadful. It makes me embarrassed to go outside because I know that people are seeing my face and judging me. Even if they’re not judging me, they’re feeling sorry for me or are disgusted. I struggled to sit with my family for dinner tonight and nearly cried because I was aware that they could all see my face, and that’s mainly what made me write this. This sounds silly but I wish that we were all nothing but our souls, and had no physical bodies to worry about. I regularly struggle with suicidal thoughts anyway and I feel hopeless because every time I start to feel better I gain something else that makes me want to die. I suppose I’m just looking for validation on here so does anyone else relate? Or has anyone else also accepted that they’re ugly and have learnt to live with it? I’m 15 so perhaps my face will change overtime, but for now I can just see myself getting fatter and uglier by the day because of my horrible thoughts, so no hope.

I hate being self aware. I already know all the answers to my problems, how to improve it, and what is holding me back. All I want is someone who makes me feel safe to share my problems with. However, my country is a place where mental illness is a taboo and a joke. I wish someone would tell me something I don't know about myself lol.

I feel that one of the biggest problems we have today is that we don't understand that going from being accompanied to being alone is a matter of mourning, and that's why solitude is uncomfortable, just as it is uncomfortable for someone who lives alone to go to someone else's company. Solitude has its benefits, if used well, as does socializing, of course, also well used, because otherwise both can lead to disastrous results.

I've often been criticized for being alone, essentially because I don't adapt as quickly as others who like to live their lives in constant company. Indeed, the contrast is more evident, and that's why the fixation is accentuated in my case. However, for this to be truly realized, I believe that people need to begin to experience being alone and be in touch with their processes, that is, with the words they need to produce precisely to feel unburdened and therefore available to move in the circumstances in which they produce words.

Now, dear friends, what good does it do to share this if no one is going to understand it? It seems to be a purely intellectualized terrain, because in an emergency situation or where tensions arise, the tendency, if not the norm, will be to return to past beliefs, given that such knowledge has not been emphasized. Truly, I'm disappointed that I can't express these words to others, at least in my environment and beyond, in a way that I can trust that what I'm saying will be understood and internalized. I understand why when I vent, I have reinforced my attention on the activity itself, because I haven't found a way to achieve a transmission in a way that I can trust that another can sustain it, can give me stability, even with psychotherapists.

Precisely this difficulty in expressing what I feel is what has made me feel or realize that I don't express what I feel and that the good with which I respond only consists of referring to the fact that everything is the same as always, in terms of the execution of actions, and of which everyone knows or has at least an idea, but I never refer to how I feel. Generally speaking, I've felt fine within the scope of what has served me, but the fact is that I can't make it transparent, and that makes me feel suffocated when I socialize. Ultimately, it makes me feel and appear limited. I misinterpret this as a generalization to others, which consists of a lack of socializing tools, when I use them precisely when the routine between people is at risk of being lost. Otherwise, I simply follow the routine, which consists of being in harmony with others, without needing to agree or sacrificing anything important to me. My main goal when socializing is to maintain harmony and preserve it for the future.

For me, solitude is the ideal terrain because it allows me to progress in the development of my ideas from a systematic structuring, alienated from the pace that others may follow and that often results in stagnation and that has repercussions in an experience of situations consisting of an escape to reach a before and not in the awareness of the circumstances that built it, where we are equally immersed, just to evolve from said being before the world, a question that in itself is the resistance that concretizes said attitude of escape and therefore the return to previous circumstances but that unfortunately can fall into situations of great magnitude, absorbing people given the resistance, and blurring such a before to a format where it is perceived as before but that is not really, in itself, leading to a situation where we find ourselves deceived and more absent and vaguely available, which ends in being at the mercy of complex situations in the face of which we cannot and have to visualize that we are giving in, its exit to a pleasant situation being an already rough path. I find it indispensable development of these reflections, at least as a draft, but I know of opinions that show against it because such reflection consists of disastrous consequences consisting of a projected feeling, but that in themselves for me are appropriate precisely because they allow me to perfect the scheme until it becomes one of use in terms of visualization and consequent practice where I observe that it results in usefulness, essentially to empathize with what until now is observed.

Growing up as a Black girl,
you never know what the future holds.
You learn fast.
Too fast.
Drugs, alcohol, sex—
before I even knew my times tables,
I knew what the world was about.
The "birds and the bees" talk?
Didn’t need it.
By the time I was born,
I already had four older siblings.
The oldest? grown.
twenty four , twenty five—
a whole life ahead,
while mine was just beginning.
Seven years later—
I’m no longer the youngest.
Now I’m the oldest.
Fourteen years later—
I’m in the middle, but still the oldest.
A split family teaches you choices
you were never supposed to make.
My mother has feelings.
My father has feelings.
My stepmother has feelings.
But what about mine?
How do you think I felt
when I realized I was the crack in their foundation?
That my mother’s pregnancy
shattered my father and stepmother’s family?
That my father had four kids before I even existed?
That his arm carried their names in ink,
but when I asked to be added,
he told me no—because of the “pain.”
Pain?
You wanna talk about pain?
I was cheated on,
manipulated—over and over,
by the same person.
And I let them.
I was dumb.
I almost got into fights
over people I didn’t even want.
Because I was supposed to.
Because I was taught
that disrespect had to be answered.
I hit puberty early, 5th grade.
First time I got catcalled? Eleven.
Let that sink in—
Eleven.
At the store with my older sister,
a grown man called out to us.
She was in her 20s—
but he meant both of us.
My body grew before I was ready,
so men saw a woman where a child stood.
By middle school,
the world was dying from COVID,
but I was already grieving
the childhood I never had.
How many times have I been called beautiful
by someone who shouldn’t even be looking?
How many times have I been told—
"You can’t wear that."
Because my chest was bigger.
Because men were coming over.
Because my mother was afraid.
Not for them.
For me.
Now I’m a freshman,
but people think I’m older.
I’m used to it.
On some level, it’s a compliment—
on every other, it’s not.
It just means I never got time to be a kid.
So yeah—
when I do something that seems childish,
that’s little me fighting to exist.
When I scream over dumb things,
when I get excited like I’m five again—
that’s Nyana.
That’s the kid in me,
the one I refuse to let die.
And when they stare—
I stare back.
Because the version of me you see,
that’s the one you want to box,
the one you want to label.
But I’m so much more than the skin they see,
than the years they’ve added on me.
I'm the kid who never got to be a kid.
They want me to act my age?
What’s my age?
When I’m a reflection of everyone’s expectations
and not my own truth?
I never got the luxury of slowing down,
of making mistakes without the weight of judgment.
Never had the time to just be.
Just to be young.
Just to be free.
And how do you think I feel
growing up in a world
where men have “weird relationships”
with their girl “best friends”?
It’s just weird.
But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
Not when my own father
once said he would "hit"
if his gave him a chance.
I saw my first "film" at seven—
not on purpose,
but because I wanted to be like every other kid.
Wanted to watch YouTube,
wanted to laugh at the same jokes,
wanted to feel like I belonged.
But the things I saw?
They weren’t for me.
Not for a seven-year-old
who still needed to feel safe in their own room.
I didn’t know what to do with what I saw.
Didn’t know how to unsee it.
But I learned,
fast.
Just like I learned in fourth grade
that sleepovers weren’t what they were on TV.
That not every mother is a mother first.
That sometimes, a mother wants to be a friend,
and when that happens,
you become the collateral damage.
She let her daughter do things no child should do,
and I was there,
forced into it,
too young to understand,
too scared to say no.
And when I got in trouble for it,
when I told my mother it wasn’t my fault,
guess who still got in trouble?
Guess who didn’t.

So yeah, when I laugh too loud,
when I hold on to the simple things—
that’s me reaching for the years they took.
I’m reclaiming what’s mine—
the innocence I was denied,
the joy I never got to wear.
And if that makes you uncomfortable,
I don’t care.
Because after all this time,
I owe it to myself to just be.
To be me.

I have no talent, no real passion, im average or below average at everything I do. I resent my friends because they know what they wanna do, they found what they like to do, they have talent or just happen to have a fixation w something, which I don't, im boring. When people ask me what I've been doing w my life I don't know what to answer while I know that question its just an excuse for telling me how much they've done with their lives, I have never ever achieved something for my talent or something like that. im afraid im going to die without the pleasure of having done something of value while everybody around me feels like giants stepping on me while they walk. It got to a point where I don't know who am I, what I want or what was I made for, I feel stuck and spiraling through this angry sensation of everyone just achieving everything they want while im rotting in my 0 potential.

I don’t want to live anymore.

i've been feeling all sorts of confused lately. like, I don't know who I am anymore? it's like my identity is all jumbled up, and I can't sort it out. at 24, you'd think I'd have a clearer picture of myself, you know? but nope, here I am, second-guessing every little thing about myself. it's funny, isn't it? we spend all this time growing up and then realize we still have no clue what we're doing. just trying to navigate life with some semblance of purpose 😂;

i guess part of it is the pressure of trying to fit into the mold of what a 24-year-old "should" be. I've got friends who seem to have it all figured out. they know what career they want, where they want to live, and even who they want to spend their life with. and here i am, just... floating? it's like treading water, trying to find something to hold onto. it's not that i'm unhappy or anything. but sometimes, it feels like i'm just playing pretend in this 'grown-up' world. who else has this never-ending identity crisis?!

the weirdest part is how it flips so quickly. one minute, i'm all sorted and confident. the next, i'm questioning everything from my job to my weird taste in music. am i the only one who feels like their personality just never settles? it's like, i'm always trying to catch up with myself. maybe it's just part of the journey, finding bits and pieces until everything finally falls into place. maybe the whole point is in the mix of it all. do you ever feel like life is just a series of random self-discoveries?

anyway, i'm beginning to realize it's okay to change, to not have everything figured out. nobody's got it all together, even if it seems like they do. maybe part of me knowing who i am is accepting the uncertainty and rolling with it. even when it feels like chaos, there's a kind of peace in embracing that chaos, if that makes any sense. i'm just gonna keep going, exploring the parts of myself that make me, well... me. after all, life's too short to worry too much, right?! who knows where this rocky road of self-discovery will lead, but I gotta admit, there's something exciting about not knowing.

When I was little, I often felt as though I was trying to tell myself something from the future. Sometimes, I would avoid doing a lot of work because I'd receive what I called a 'message from my future self' in my mind, almost instinctively. Without fully realizing it at the time, I'm now around 25, and I've come to understand that I handled certain things incorrectly. Because of this, I'm now trying to communicate with my younger self. However, it feels like a one-way message with no reply, as I can't get any feedback. Just a few minutes ago, I had one of these experiences, and it made me think that this isn't normal for most people.

Recently, these messages have become very strong. I have no idea what they precisely mean, but I believe my future self is trying to send them to me in bits and pieces. However, I struggle to understand them. Sometimes they become clearer in dreams, or when I'm daydreaming. Also, when I'm thinking less, the messages appear as written text or images. I don't know what's going on, but I'm definitely not crazy. I've considered talking to a therapist, but I view this as my secret. So, I just want to know if more people experience this, or if I'm just getting carried away by an idea. It feels as real as receiving a text on WhatsApp, but the downside is that when I receive these messages, I get disconnected from the real world, perhaps for a few seconds. I completely forget what's happening during that second, even if I'm in the middle of a conversation. Despite this, I'm so enthusiastic about the messages that I try to connect the dots and am still trying to figure out what they're about.

Before I had a minor accident, I consistently received warning-type messages in my mind. However, once the accident occurred, these messages stopped and never returned. Even though I was being careful, the minor accident still happened.

Everytime I feel as if Im the smallest, most useless presence on earth and I want to give up, somehow my brain injects just enough positive thoughts to keep me from stopping dead in my tracks and continue going, but not enough to fix my fucked up self image. Not enough to fix my skewed perceptions. Not enough to make it stop feeling like I'm in a car stopped dead in the middle of a busy highway. No. I feel every bit as shitty, every bit as damaged, every bit as certain of my failure as a living being. I'm just hit with the temporary high of loose nameless positivity that keeps me functioning.

Its as if Im being tortured. I know I'll plumit again, so why do I keep bringing myself back?

I gave birth in January to my first child on the 8th via c section, was not my first choice but I stopped dilating and needed to have emergency c section. Going home I felt on top of the world, my daughter was absolutely perfect and I had my whole family's support including my husbands side too. My mom was moving in with us this week too to come help out with the baby for the first few months. Well this emotional high that I was on quickly crumbled, at 5am 7 days after the birth I saw my mother die of a heart attack / stroke I really dont know I never got a answer from the emts and the death certificate said she died of natural causes. What I witnessed changed me, I had just got out the shower and my husband and newborn were asleep. I got out the bathroom and heard noise from downstairs and it sounded like my mom was struggling to breathe so I ran down as fast as my freshly cut body would let me and by the time I got down there she was beginning to panic and gasp for air. I was trying to keep composure and listen to her ask for her inhaler while also getting my phone to call the ambulance. I went back upstairs to get my husband i remember doing this twice but not how much time was in between. I was terrified, panicking and crying, the call lasted a life time to me the woman on the other end did not seem to understand my urgency and tried to keep me calm but I was literally losing the woman who raised me in front of my eyes. When my husband came down stairs he got my mom on the couch and once the paramedics came they tried relentlessly to save her and I couldnt watch i was falling apart they asked me to go upstairs and that is where I remained while I was living a true nightmare. Once they told me it was not looking good and that I should start making phone calls I felt like I was going to lose it but I began calling everyone and that was a traumatic experience on its own too. The next day and few days after are truly a blur. After I was left to put together the entire funeral arrangements and everything that related to her I was so numb it felt like I was having an out of body experience for the first month. I think that was my spirits way of coping and protecting me. My little bundle of joy became my emotional support baby, when holding her and being around her I could not even shed a tear. She was my rock and my reason for everything even more so than the typical similar feelings of new parents. Moving forward has been the toughest part of my spiritual journey in life so far. Though there are days that are so much more tough than others I know that my higher self or true self is there with me in those moments and we are celebrating the love that it takes to be a living loving person who makes eternal impacts on the universe. I hope that life continues to give me signs, every single day since my daughter was born I have seen 544. she was born 5:44 and my mom died at 5:44, when im least expecting i will look up and see 544 somewhere and I know that im where im supposed to be and that everything will be okay.

I don’t even know who I am. I’ve been broken. I’ve only ever wanted to be accepted. I’ve changed myself to fit in so many times but never feel comfortable in my own skin. Who am I? The trauma plays in my head over and over. Is that who I really am? Am I the weird girl who’s been abused and discarded? Does anyone even care about me or what I been through? When I speak about my trauma I get disregarded because “I put myself in that situation” but I was young and dum and naïve. No one tried to help no one pointed me in the right direction I was lost and still am. I should’ve let him kill me when I had the chance

At 26 years old, I find myself wandering through a labyrinth of ideologies that pit spirituality against organized religion; it’s as bewildering as trying to navigate a dense fog with no clear path ahead. A few weeks ago, I attended a church service that was supposed to be uplifting—the pastor eloquently spoke about love, grace, and the importance of community. I expected to feel enlightened, but instead, I dragged myself home feeling empty. I remember thinking, “Is this it? Is this what faith is supposed to feel like?” Similarly, on another day, I swayed to the rhythms of a local spiritual gathering that promised enlightenment through meditation and collective energy. People were chanting and holding hands, seeking connections beyond the physical. I wanted to feel that current of cosmic energy flowing through me, but instead, I was plagued by the nagging thought: “What if all of this is just a placebo effect?” It’s frustrating to oscillate between these two worlds—each with its proponents vigorously asserting their narratives while dismissing the other’s merit. A good friend once remarked, “Being religious means believing in something, whereas being spiritual means believing in everything,” which left me more puzzled than ever. Is it possible that these categories are merely constructs that serve to confine the vastness of human experience? Honestly, I don’t know; the ambiguity is suffocating. Just the other night, I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor, surrounded by a hodgepodge of religious texts and spiritual books, feeling like I was compiling a thesis on a subject I barely understood. I skimmed some passages—Buddha’s teachings on mindfulness contrasted starkly with the heavy doctrines of the Catholic faith; one promised inner peace, the other eternal salvation. It's like choosing between two different types of refuge, both equally enticing yet fundamentally distinct. One may claim, “Follow your personal truth,” but what if your truth is yet to be discovered or, worse, fabricated? ✨

Why is it so difficult to harmonize these beliefs? In the pursuit of clarity, I’ve engaged in endless debates with friends who identify as yogis or fundamentalists; they each argue fiercely for their path, yet here I am, stuck in a perpetual limbo. One afternoon, I found myself in a particularly disconcerting conversation with a devout Muslim woman who discussed the beauty of prayer and community while I could not help but admire her dedication yet felt a pang of longing for the fluidity of spirituality that evades rigid structures. Is a structured belief system inherently restrictive? Or does it provide guidance where spirituality assumes an almost abstract, chaotic essence? I frequently ponder if these traditions are mere vessels of cultural heritage, and how absurd is it that instead of embracing the richness of diverse practices, I find myself shackled in indecision? I often wonder if faith is merely an escapade into the unknown, shrouded in the allure of transcendence but ultimately leading us back to the same existential questions: What is our purpose? What happens when we die?

As I exercise my cognitive faculties to decode the meanings of ‘spirituality’ versus ‘religion,' I can’t shake off the dire feeling that I’m constructing a metaphysical house of cards that could collapse with just the slightest breeze of doubt. “Why do I have to choose when possibly it’s all just an intricate tapestry of beliefs?” I silently scream to the universe, hoping for an answer that never comes. I turn to books, podcasts, and online courses—each touting formulas for a fulfilling spiritual life or an unwavering faith—but do they actually coalesce? Or am I just grasping at straws, hoping for a divine revelation that appears to allude me? I grapple with the paradox that my quest for truth grows heavier with the weight of expectation and self-imposed timelines; I find myself frantically circling back to my fundamental question: Do I desire the grounded morals of religion, or the expansive possibilities of spirituality? Each evening, I lay awake, hoping that someday both worlds can harmonize, creating a holistic framework that resonates with my soul rather than trapping it; Feeling lost has never felt more suffocating. It begs the question: Is anyone else out there wrestling with this dissonance? Does anyone grapple with whether to leap into the arms of tradition or float in the vast ocean of spirituality?