There is something profoundly sacred about reaching the very edge of yourself. Not merely your physical limit, but that razor-thin, fragile place balanced delicately between breakdown and breakthrough. It is the quiet, terrifying moment where your breath catches sharply, your bones ache deeply, and something deep within your soul whispers gently yet insistently, "Keep going anyway."
That edge—the very same one that most people spend their entire lives carefully avoiding—that’s precisely where life begins to feel truly real again. It's the place where all the masks and pretences finally fall away. It's where you reconnect with the person you were deep down before the world insisted on telling you who you should be.
Life gets hard.
Unrelenting.
It piles up—grief, expectations, bills, pain, small talk, pressure to perform, and endless responsibilities. Slowly, these burdens accumulate until we can no longer resist them and instead begin absorbing their weight. We convince ourselves that feeling exhausted all the time is simply a natural part of adulthood. That not recognizing the person staring back at us in the mirror is just a sign of “getting older.” That it’s perfectly normal to feel uneasy, disconnected, and dim inside, as if this is just how life is meant to be.
But what if none of that is normal?
What if it’s just common?
And what if… “normal”… isn’t the goal at all?
I’ve always lived as if tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed—because the reality is, it simply isn’t. I don’t say this to sound poetic or tragic, but purely because it’s an undeniable truth. And when you truly come to know this—when you allow that truth to settle deep within your bones—you naturally stop wasting precious time pretending that life is merely a rehearsal or a practice run.
We are not meant to sleepwalk through our years without truly experiencing them. We are not meant to fill our days with things that fail to inspire or light us up from within. And yet, somehow, despite this understanding, we often do just that. We numb ourselves to the vibrant emotions and sensations around us. We quiet the powerful instincts that guide us. We trade our natural passion and vitality for the dull comfort of predictability. We come to believe that “growing up” means silencing everything childlike, wild, and free within us, forgetting that those qualities are essential to a fulfilling life.
As children, we were pure instinct.
Joy was our default setting.
Wonder wasn’t something we had to chase—it was already there.
We didn’t need permission to dance barefoot, scream into the wind, or cry when we needed to.
We didn’t apologize for taking up space.
We didn’t shrink… and then one day, we did.
For the past five years, I almost let life completely flatten me. I got dangerously close to giving in to the version of myself that moved quietly and passively through the world, merely checking boxes, playing roles, and pretending that fulfillment could wait and come later. I nearly forgot what it truly felt like to live as if I meant it—with intention and passion. To feel the vibrant pulse of my heartbeat in my fingertips. To chase something with no other reason than simply because I wanted to. To finally reclaim my own story and take ownership of my journey.
And then came this bike ride.
This wild, unexplainable, soul-ripping journey.
I didn’t know, when I started pedaling, that I was also pedaling back toward myself in a deeper, more meaningful way. Toward the version of me that refuses to be numb in the face of life’s challenges. Toward the woman who still cries quietly at sunsets and finds a trace of God in the gentle movement of the wind. The one who doesn’t feel the need to explain herself in order to be seen as worthy. The one who is both fragile and ferocious—and has finally come to recognize that this duality is a true source of power, not a flaw to be hidden.
From the outside, people might only see chaos. They might view someone who is unpredictable, deeply passionate, and difficult to pin down or define. And maybe, in some ways, they’re right. However, I’ve come to stop seeing that as something broken or in need of fixing. Because while a predictable life might feel safe and secure—safe doesn’t ignite the fire within your soul or bring true fulfillment.
Growth doesn’t happen within the limits of comfort zones. True peace doesn’t arise from pretending that everything is perfectly fine. Genuine joy isn’t found through flawless perfection. Instead, it comes from the courageous choice to show up fully in a messy, uncertain, and beautifully complex world, and to honestly say, "This is me. Still breathing. Still trying. Still here."
If something in your life is broken or no longer serves a positive purpose— fix it. If it no longer feels like it belongs to you, or no longer resonates with who you are— leave it behind. If it dims your light or drains your energy—walk away, even if your voice shakes and your heart races with uncertainty.
We only get one shot at this.
One lifetime in this body, on this Earth, in this chapter.
I refuse to spend mine being anyone other than who I truly am.
And yes, that version of me might scare people.
She might not make sense to the world.
She might change her mind, cry too much, laugh too loud, run wild.
But she is awake.
She is alive.
And maybe—just maybe—that’s exactly what we’re here for. To remember who we truly are. To rediscover the joy and wonder in life, to fall in love with it all over again. To reach the edge of what we think is possible…and then find the strength to keep going beyond it.
If you feel like you’re at your absolute breaking point—don’t turn away or run from it. Instead, lean in and face it head-on. That edge you’re standing on right now might just be the very beginning of something new and transformative.
Not of your undoing—
But of your becoming.