Sometimes, we become who others need us to be.
Quietly. Gradually.
Without malice, without conscious choice.
We shape ourselves to fit the room we were handed.
To avoid conflict. To be easier to love.
To be dependable, useful, unshakeable.
And it works — for a while.
You play the role.
You carry the weight.
You get good at meeting expectations that were never clearly spoken.
And then one day, the question arrives quietly:
Is it too late for me to be me?
Not the version others imagined.
Not the role you’ve played so well.
Just… you. Unperformed. Unedited.
And maybe — just maybe — asking the question is the start.
The moment the projection flickers, and something real begins to form underneath.
Not through rebellion. Just… honesty.
To stop waiting for validation.
To stop bending first.
To stop apologising for taking up space.
It might be late.
But it's still becoming.
