#gratefulheart
There’s something I haven’t told you.
When you read my words,
when you pause on my lines,
when you sit inside the spaces I leave —
you’re reading someone
who was never “good at English.”
I mix letters.
I trip over spelling.
Sometimes my thoughts move faster
than my hands can catch them.
I’m dyslexic.
School made that feel like a flaw.
Like I was behind.
Like language wasn’t built for me.
But here’s the strange, beautiful thing —
I still had stories.
I still had metaphors.
I still had feelings that burned too bright
to stay silent.
So I wrote anyway.
Even when it was messy.
Even when it took longer.
Even when I doubted myself.
And now,
to see thousands of you
reading something
I once thought I wasn’t “good enough” to create —
that means more than you know.
Because this?
This isn’t perfect grammar.
This is persistence.
This is a mind that reads differently
but feels deeply.
So if my words ever resonate,
if they ever sit with you gently
or shake you awake —
know this:
They were written by someone
who was told they struggled with language,
but refused to be silent anyway.
And I’m grateful you’re here.
Truly.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 8:38 PM UTC
I didn’t come here to be seen.
I came here to survive.
To empty my head somewhere
that wasn’t my chest.
To spill what was too heavy
to carry quietly.
I wrote
because I had to.
Because the feelings were loud.
Because silence was louder.
I didn’t think anyone
would really read it.
Not like this.
Not in numbers
that keep climbing
like they have somewhere to be.
I refresh
and it rises again.
And I just sit here
staring at it
thinking —
you’re actually here.
You’re actually reading.
All I wanted
was somewhere to vent.
Somewhere my mind could unravel
without judgement.
Somewhere I could let the chaos
have language.
I didn’t expect
thousands of eyes.
I didn’t expect
that the things that broke me
would reach beyond me.
I didn’t expect
that my quiet release
would become something shared.
And I don’t know who you are.
But thank you.
For stopping.
For feeling.
For not looking away.
For holding space for words
that were never polished —
just honest.
I’m shocked.
I’m grateful.
I’m still slightly in disbelief.
Because I came here
just trying to breathe.
And somehow
you’re breathing with me.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 8:30 PM UTC
The first unsung hero in everyone’s life is their Dad —
a silent strength,
a steady guide,
and a love often unspoken.
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 11:56 PM UTC