Between Storms and Silence - Exploring the Space Between Turmoil and Tranquility

Some days, I feel like I’m made of raw emotions—too many, too loud, too deep. And some days, I feel like a ghost in my own life—quiet, invisible, detached. I wish I could explain what that feels like, but even when I try, I wonder if anyone would truly understand.

It doesn’t take much—just a small trigger. A misunderstood word. A sudden change in someone’s tone. A text left unanswered. A cold silence in place of warmth. And before I know it, I’m spiraling.

My chest tightens. My heart starts to beat out of rhythm. My thoughts tangle into worst-case scenarios. I feel like the ground beneath me is no longer stable. I start believing that the people I love will leave me. That I’m unworthy. That I’ve done something wrong. Even if there’s no real evidence—my body reacts as if it’s all true.

And then, I push. I lash out. I say things I don’t fully mean, throw things I later regret, and sometimes I break down to the point where I’m unrecognizable—to others and to myself. I’ve hurt people I deeply care about, not because I don’t love them, but because I’m terrified of losing them. Sometimes, it’s as if my pain has a voice of its own—loud and destructive. On those days, I can’t hold it in. I scream. I sob. I break things. I become someone I don't want to be.

And the worst part? I can see myself doing it, but I can’t always stop. The fear is too strong. The emotion is too intense. It consumes me. And then, when the storm passes, I’m left with guilt. Deep, aching guilt. I remember every harsh word, every object shattered, every tear someone else shed because of me. And I wonder—how could I, someone who feels so much, hurt others like that?

But that’s just one side of me. The other side—the one that lives most days—is calm, caring, and compassionate. I’m the listener. The late-night comforter. The safe space for the ones who are hurting. I’ve helped people through their heartbreaks, their breakdowns, their insecurities. I’ve stayed up late just to make sure someone feels heard, understood, and not alone. I pour into others what I often long to receive myself—unconditional acceptance.

It’s almost ironic, isn’t it? The one who breaks down so deeply is the same one who helps others heal. I’ve been called wise, mature, even “therapist-like.” But they don’t see the nights when I cry myself to sleep, questioning my worth. They don’t see the moments when I feel like I’m a burden. Or the days when I can't face myself in the mirror because of something I said or did during an emotional spiral. I live in extremes. I feel joy like sunlight warming my skin. I feel sadness like a hurricane flooding my lungs. There’s rarely an in-between.

Some friendships have faded. Some, I lost because I was too much. Too emotional. Too reactive. Too intense. Others, I lost because I was too distant. I shut down, cut off, disappeared. And a few—my heart still aches for—were ruined because I unintentionally sabotaged them. I got scared. I pushed them away before they could leave me. That’s the hardest part of it all. The fear of abandonment is so deep that sometimes I create the very ending I dread, just to prepare myself for the pain.

But still—I keep trying. Trying to understand myself better. Trying to learn where the pain ends and where I begin. I’ve come to realize I am not broken. I am just someone who feels deeply, who needs reassurance, and who fears being misunderstood. It’s easy for others to label me as “too sensitive” or “too emotional.” But I know that my sensitivity is also my strength. It makes me aware. Intuitive. Kind. It allows me to connect with others on a level many can’t. It helps me hold space for someone else's pain, because I know what it feels like to carry it.

That duality lives within me constantly. I am both the storm and the calm after it. The chaos and the caretaker. The destroyer and the healer. And slowly, I am learning to bring balance to the two.

I’m learning that it’s okay to pause when I feel triggered. That not every emotion needs a reaction. That I can take space without pushing people away. That I can feel intensely and still respond gently.

I’m trying to breathe through the panic, to soften the self-talk, to be less critical of the moments when I lose control. Because healing isn’t linear. Some days, I manage everything well. And other days, I fall apart all over again. But even on my worst days, I am still worthy of love.

I know now that I am not my outbursts. I am not my mistakes. I am not the friendships I’ve lost or the relationships I’ve ruined. I am the effort I put into becoming better. I am the softness I show others. I am the empathy I give freely. I am the strength it takes to keep trying, even when it’s hard. And on the days when I feel like I’m failing, I remind myself of the people I’ve helped, the friends I’ve stood by, the hearts I’ve comforted. There is more to me than the chaos I sometimes feel. There is light. There is hope. There is growth.

So, if you’ve ever felt like your emotions are too big, your reactions too strong, your heart too heavy—you’re not alone. We are not made to be perfect. We are made to be real. To feel, to fall, to rise, to love. And to keep going, no matter how many times we stumble.

I’m still learning. Still healing. Still growing. And I’ll continue to choose growth—one breath, one moment of peace at a time.

Whispers of the Past, Echoes of the Present: A Tale of Friendship's Resilience

The winds of college swept us into each other's lives, setting the stage for a connection that would redefine the meaning of friendship. As I look back on those vibrant years, memories of us flood my mind, a collage of laughter, tears, and endless adventures. She was my confidante, my partner-in-crime, the yin to my yang. Little did I know that our journey, so intertwined, would eventually lead us to different paths.

It all started in the bustling corridors of our college, where we were just two souls trying to find our place in the world. Fate brought us together, and in those moments of shared laughter and whispered secrets, we found a friendship that was destined to be more than ordinary. Our bond grew stronger day by day, like a fragile bud blossoming into a beautiful flower.

We were known as the unstoppable duo, always gossiping and having random conversations, hanging on one or the other food outlets, going on trips, and the catalysts of change in each other's lives. She, once a quiet observer of the world, had me to thank for pulling her out of her shell. We embraced life with open arms, diving headfirst into new experiences, including the exhilarating world of alcohol and the electric energy of socializing. The spotlight shone on her, illuminating facets of her personality that had been hidden away. Our trio expanded to include my male best friend who was also in the same batch, forging unbreakable bonds that would stand the test of time.

College gave way to a new chapter, a bittersweet transition into the world of adulthood. Our paths diverged as we embraced careers as educators, slowly morphing into different versions of ourselves. I held on to the belief that the ties that bound us were unbreakable, even as I set foot on the path to marry my male best friend. I wanted her to find love too, which led me to introduce her to my fiancé's best friend. Little did I know that this well-intentioned introduction would be the catalyst for a series of changes that I was not prepared for.

As the wedding preparations consumed my attention, her world began to orbit around my fiancé's best friend. Their relationship took on a complexity that defied easy classification, a gray area where lines blurred and friendships crumbled. Lies became a norm, ditching plans with me became routine, and I was left grappling with the remnants of a connection that was slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. It felt as if the bond we had nurtured over the years was being eroded by secrets and deceit.

I confronted her, trying to salvage what was left of our friendship. But the chasm between us had grown too wide. Our conversations turned strained, punctuated by awkward silences and hollow exchanges. Her choices, her newfound habits, all seemed to be fueled by her desire to please him, to keep him in her life at any cost. My pleas for her to see reason fell on deaf ears, and I felt a despair unlike any I had experienced before. It was as if I was losing her to a shadowy abyss, a place I could not follow.

Amidst the swirling turmoil, I found solace in my marriage, seeking refuge in the love of my partner. Yet, the void left by her absence was palpable, a reminder of a bond that once defined me. Despite the hurt, I tried to rekindle what we had, but my efforts were met with indifference. I came to realize that I could not change her path, that her choices were hers alone to make. The texts grew fewer, the conversations shorter, until our interactions were reduced to mere pleasantries on special occasions.

The pain of losing a friendship that had been a cornerstone of my life was agonizing. It cut deeper than any breakup, leaving a wound that seemed to never fully heal. But life has a way of moving forward, of leading us down unexpected roads. With newfound strength, I began to rebuild my life, setting goals and chasing dreams. The party animal phase was gradually replaced with aspirations for the future, a metamorphosis that she seemed hesitant to undergo.

In the midst of this evolution, a new friend emerged in my life – a kindred spirit who exuded patience, sweetness, and an innate sense of understanding. The void that my lost friendship had left was slowly being filled by this new connection. We laughed, shared stories, and forged a bond that felt reassuringly familiar yet refreshingly different. But as my new friend embarked on a journey of her own, dating a childhood friend of mine, old wounds resurfaced.

The fear of history repeating itself gnawed at me. The scars of the past had left me cautious, reluctant to fully embrace the joy of new connections. Yet, life teaches us that not all stories unfold the same way. My new friend carried the lessons of my past experiences in her heart, demonstrating a maturity and understanding that set her apart. It was a reminder that each person is different, and not all relationships are destined to follow the same trajectory.

As I pen down these words, I reflect on the journey that brought me here. From the intoxicating highs of college to the painful lows of lost friendships, every twist and turn has shaped the person I am today. While I still carry the ache of the past within me, I've learned that life's tapestry is woven with both joy and pain. My heart is open to new connections, to the potential of forging bonds that will stand the test of time.

The story of my friendship, one that started in the hallowed halls of college, taught me that change is inevitable, and sometimes, it's necessary for growth. Through the tears and heartache, I emerged stronger, with the ability to cherish the memories of the past while embracing the possibilities of the future. And as the chapters of my life continue to unfold, I hold onto the belief that every connection, no matter how fleeting, has the power to shape our journey in profound and unexpected ways.