There’s a phrase that’s been lingering in my head lately. Quiet, but unsettling, like a faint, static hum in the background. It showed up when I was feeling powerless, when there were so many things I wanted to do, yet every move felt like it could be the wrong one.
Line in the Sand.
A line that separates who I am right now from whatever exists on the other side of it. You can imagine that the line is real, or you can think of it as fictional… it doesn’t really matter. It is how you understand it: as a boundary.
That line will probably be washed away at some point. You know, as steady and deep as it is, it is still a line in the sand. But that’s okay. Because once you truly understand what’s on the other side, you’ll realize something: you’re no longer crossing it, even when the line itself is no longer visible.
I keep thinking that so much of what I’ve done (and still do) is filled with mistakes. I overthink constantly, especially when my actions might affect other people. I don’t like being a burden. I don’t like being a mistake. I don’t like the idea of leaving behind impressions that aren’t “good enough”, both as a person, or an experience.
I live in a world where being satisfactory feels like a requirement, where everything needs to make sense. The world that picture-perfect is what makes us accepted. And as a firstborn daughter, I’m hardwired to solve things as efficiently as possible, in a way to prevent future problems before they even exist. And this, more than anything, is what exhausts me. The obsession with “perfect troubleshooting” has slowly dragged me away from something very basic: being human.
I never believed it was okay to be a lesson.
You train yourself to be a good example instead; someone reliable, someone people can point to, not avoid. While being a lesson isn’t necessarily a bad thing (good or bad, a lesson is still a lesson) I’ve lived with a constant fear of becoming that one person people learn from after they leave. What I’ve come to realize is this: whether you end up being an example or a lesson, you can still become a manual, something you can return to when you forget how to survive a certain chapter of life.
But I’ve come to realize something else, too.
It’s not okay to keep forcing yourself to become someone you’re not, just to fit other people’s expectations, mental states, or what feels “comfortable” for them… especially when, deep down, you know it’s slowly dragging you down as well. I’ve spent too long pulling myself into limbo, holding back the right emotions, silencing the honest ones, all out of fear of creating the wrong impression in someone else’s mind.
That’s where the line in the sand finally makes sense to me.
Not as a threat, or dramatic decision, but somehow it acts like something that quietly protects my dignity: as a woman, and as a human being.
I may be flawed, and stumble, and make dumb decisions.
But I’m still allowed to act, choose, and feel as someone who is fully dignified.
This might sound naive. Or vague.
But for now, it’s what I’m holding onto.
And I’m trying.
