Sacrificial Lamb...

Why do we do anything, my loves?

Why did you choose the job you chose? Why did you choose the woman or man you chose to love? Why did you bring that particular animal into your home? Why did you choose the house you live in, the friends you surround yourself with, or the life you wake up to every morning?

Have you ever stopped to ask yourself whether those choices were truly yours?

Or were they choices you made because of the environments you were born into, the expectations placed upon you, or the circumstances you were trying to survive?

I wonder about these things.

I wonder how many of us are actually living the lives we would have chosen if we had been given the freedom to discover who we were before the world began telling us who we needed to become.

Because, my loves, we begin this life with something that almost resembles a blueprint.

Some of us are born into beautiful environments, surrounded by love, encouragement, understanding, and the freedom to explore.

Others are born into environments filled with pain, uncertainty, rejection, instability, or expectations that have nothing to do with who they are.

And some of us are born into what feels like no environment at all.

No foundation. No direction. No one standing there showing us what is possible.

So we build one.

We build ourselves from whatever materials life has placed in front of us, even when those materials are broken.

Sometimes, we are placed in environments that were never meant to hold everything we are. We learn their rules, their expectations, their language, and their limitations.

We learn to fit.

Or rather, we try to.

But something never feels quite right, does it?

There is this quiet part of ourselves that continues wondering.

What would life have been like if I had been surrounded by people who understood me?

What would I have become if someone had recognized what was inside me instead of being frightened by it?

What would it feel like to belong somewhere without having to change myself to remain there?

And perhaps one of the hardest questions of all:

How do you remain grateful for what you have while acknowledging that you do not belong where you are?

Because those two truths can exist together, my loves.

You can appreciate the shelter an environment provided while recognizing that you have outgrown it.

You can love people while understanding that they cannot accompany you into every part of your becoming.

You can acknowledge the lessons of your past without agreeing to make that past your future.

Gratitude does not require imprisonment.

And love does not require the abandonment of yourself.

The Chameleon Spirit

I think many of us develop what I would call a chameleon spirit.

We learn to change our colors depending on the room we enter.

We learn which parts of ourselves are acceptable, which thoughts should remain unspoken, which emotions make other people uncomfortable, and which questions might cause someone to look at us differently.

So we adapt.

We become whatever allows us to remain safe.

Perhaps you become the quiet one.

The funny one.

The responsible one.

The strong one.

The one who never needs anything.

The one who understands everyone else’s pain but never speaks about their own.

And eventually, my loves, you become so skilled at adapting that you begin forgetting what your own colors looked like before you learned to change them.

Isn’t that something?

We spend so much of our lives trying to belong that sometimes we forget to ask whether the places we are trying to belong to are even worthy of us.

We want to fit into these little boxes because boxes are comfortable.

They have boundaries.

They have expectations.

They tell us how to behave, what to believe, what to pursue, and what constitutes a successful life.

And if you stay inside your box, perhaps no one will notice that you are different.

No one will accuse you of being too much.

Too emotional.

Too intelligent.

Too curious.

Too intense.

Too complicated.

Too difficult to understand.

You can simply exist.

Quietly.

Acceptably.

Predictably.

But what happens when the box becomes smaller than the person living inside it?

What happens when every part of yourself begins screaming that this is not where you belong?

Sometimes, my loves, we stay anyway.

And I am not judging anyone who does.

I have been there.

I understand how frightening it can be to leave behind the only structure you have ever known, even when that structure is hurting you.

Sometimes, the familiar pain feels safer than the unfamiliar possibility of happiness.

And sometimes, survival is all we know how to do.

The Loneliness of Being Seen but Never Known

Have you ever stood in a room filled with people who supposedly know you and felt completely alone?

I have.

Imagine standing there, surrounded by familiar faces.

Everyone is talking.

Someone laughs.

You smile.

You respond when someone speaks to you.

You participate in conversations, perform the appropriate gestures, and fulfill whatever role everyone has come to expect from you.

But somewhere inside, you feel as though you are watching yourself from above.

You see yourself interacting.

You see your own smile.

You hear your own voice.

And you realize that the person everyone is interacting with is only a fraction of who you actually are.

They know your habits.

They know your expressions.

They know what makes you laugh.

They know what you do for them.

But do they know you?

Do they know what keeps you awake at night?

Do they know the questions you are afraid to ask aloud?

Do they know the parts of yourself you have hidden because every previous attempt to reveal them ended in misunderstanding?

Sometimes, you want to scream.

Not necessarily because you are angry.

But because you want someone to wake up.

You want someone to turn around and truly look at you.

You want to say, “I am right here. There is so much more to me than what you have allowed yourselves to see.”

But you don’t.

You swallow it.

You smile again.

You continue the conversation.

And on the occasions when you finally cannot hold everything inside anymore, what happens?

You are called excessive.

Emotional.

Dramatic.

Unreasonable.

Crazy.

Too much.

Suddenly, the conversation is no longer about what caused your pain.

It is about your reaction to it.

And before you know it, you are apologizing for expressing something that had been hurting you for years.

You begin wondering whether perhaps everyone else is right.

Maybe you are the problem.

Maybe nobody else feels this way.

Maybe you really are too much.

But that is not the truth, is it, my loves?

Being misunderstood does not mean that there is something wrong with what you are trying to express.

And being surrounded by people does not necessarily mean that you are being accompanied.

There is a difference between being included and being understood.

There is a difference between being tolerated and being welcomed.

And there is an enormous difference between someone loving the version of you that makes their life comfortable and someone being willing to know the person you are when you stop performing.

When My Purpose Began as Sacrifice

My loves, I want to tell you something about why I began doing everything I do.

Because the truth is, it did not begin in the beautiful, inspirational way people might expect.

It began in pain.

There were things that happened throughout my life that hurt me deeply.

Things that left marks.

Things that accumulated until there came a point when I did not know how much more I could carry.

And one day, after several painful experiences, I found myself sitting on the floor, crying.

I was exhausted.

Not the kind of exhaustion that disappears after a good night’s sleep.

I mean the kind that reaches into your bones.

The kind that comes from carrying too much for too long.

The kind that makes you question how much more of yourself you can continue giving before there is nothing left.

And I remember thinking about my life, my mind, my abilities, and everything I knew I could contribute.

At that moment, I made a decision.

If I was going to continue living, then I was going to use everything I had for the betterment of others.

I would use my mind.

My curiosity.

My research.

My ability to ask questions and pursue answers.

Everything I had learned.

Everything I could become.

I would give it to something larger than myself.

And I would keep going for as long as I could.

At the time, I thought that was my purpose.

I thought perhaps all the pain I had experienced could become something useful if I turned it into service.

And there is truth in that desire, my loves.

I still want the betterment of things.

I still want to contribute.

I still want to ask the questions others have not asked, explore possibilities, challenge limitations, and create something meaningful.

That part has not changed.

But something else has.

Because eventually, I had to ask myself a question that I had spent far too long avoiding.

What about me?

What about my happiness?

My peace?

My dreams?

My right to be loved, supported, understood, and accompanied?

What about the person doing all this giving?

When did I decide that my life was valuable only because of what I could provide to everyone else?

And why had I confused sacrificing myself with fulfilling my purpose?

The Lie of the Sacrificial Lamb

This is where I think so many of us get lost, my loves.

We are taught that goodness requires sacrifice.

That love requires endurance.

That loyalty means staying, even when staying destroys parts of ourselves.

That being compassionate means understanding everyone else’s behavior, regardless of what it costs us.

We are taught to forgive.

To accommodate.

To be patient.

To give people another chance.

And another.

And another.

We are taught that wanting something for ourselves is selfish.

That setting boundaries is cruel.

That choosing our own happiness somehow means we have abandoned our responsibility to others.

But who taught us that?

And who benefits when we believe it?

Think about that.

Who benefits from a person who never says no?

Who benefits from someone who feels guilty for having needs?

Who benefits from the individual who continues giving even when there is nothing being returned?

For a long time, I made excuses for people who did not bring anything to my table.

I explained away their behavior.

I understood their wounds.

I considered their histories.

I tried to see the good in them.

And sometimes, I accepted the consequences of choices that were never mine to make.

I behaved as though understanding someone’s pain meant I was responsible for healing it.

As though recognizing why someone hurt me meant I had to continue allowing them to do so.

As though my ability to endure something was evidence that I should.

But endurance is not always wisdom.

Sometimes, endurance is simply what we learned when we believed we had no other choice.

And compassion without boundaries can become another way of abandoning ourselves.

My loves, I am no longer willing to do that.

I am no longer willing to make myself smaller so someone else can remain comfortable.

I am no longer willing to confuse being needed with being loved.

And I am no longer willing to measure my worth by how much pain I can survive without asking for anything in return.

I was never meant to be the sacrificial lamb.

And neither were you.

Learning That I Am Allowed to Receive

There is another part of this that I had to confront.

I knew how to give.

I knew how to listen.

I knew how to understand.

I knew how to support people, encourage them, and find possibilities when they could not see any for themselves.

But receiving?

That was different.

Receiving meant allowing someone to show up for me.

It meant allowing myself to have needs without immediately apologizing for them.

It meant accepting that I deserved effort, consistency, consideration, and care without having to earn those things through suffering.

And perhaps most importantly, it meant recognizing that a relationship cannot remain healthy when one person is always pouring and the other is always drinking.

I am not talking about keeping score, my loves.

Life does not always allow two people to give equally at every moment.

Sometimes one person is struggling.

Sometimes one person needs more support.

Sometimes love means carrying a little extra weight while someone finds their footing.

But there must be a willingness to carry one another.

There must be movement in both directions.

There must be recognition that both people matter.

And that includes friendships, families, partnerships, and every other relationship we choose to nurture.

Your needs are not an inconvenience.

Your feelings are not debts you owe someone for tolerating.

Your boundaries are not punishments.

And your existence does not need to be justified through usefulness.

You are allowed to receive, my loves.

You are allowed to be chosen without having to convince someone that you are worth choosing.

The Shadow and the Light

Part of arriving at this understanding required me to look at myself.

All of myself.

Not only the parts I was proud of.

Not only the parts that made other people comfortable.

But the parts I had hidden.

The anger.

The grief.

The disappointment.

The resentment.

The fear.

The longing.

The parts of myself that had developed because I needed protection.

The parts that had learned to become sharp because softness had not always been safe.

This is what I mean when I talk about facing my shadow and my light.

My loves, everything contains both.

Even the divine cannot be understood through light alone.

There is shadow and light, and both have something to teach us.

Yet so much of our lives is spent being told to suppress anything that does not resemble goodness, purity, happiness, or perfection.

We are encouraged to be positive.

To forgive immediately.

To rise above.

To let go.

To become better versions of ourselves.

But what does becoming better actually mean?

Does it mean pretending we never get angry?

Does it mean never feeling jealousy, sadness, disappointment, or fear?

Does it mean erasing every part of ourselves that does not fit someone else’s definition of enlightenment?

No.

Denying our shadow does not make it disappear.

It simply teaches us to become strangers to parts of ourselves.

And those parts deserve understanding, too.

Your anger may contain information about a boundary that was crossed.

Your grief may reveal something you deeply valued.

Your fear may show you where you have been hurt.

Your longing may reveal a life you have not yet allowed yourself to pursue.

None of these emotions needs to become your master.

But neither must they become your enemy.

We can acknowledge our shadows without allowing them to harm ourselves or others.

We can understand why certain parts of ourselves developed while still taking responsibility for what we do with them.

That, is part of wisdom.

Not the elimination of everything uncomfortable.

But the willingness to understand ourselves completely.

Perfection Was Never the Destination

We have created an extraordinary expectation around perfection.

The perfect body.

The perfect career.

The perfect relationship.

The perfect family.

The perfect spiritual understanding.

The perfect life.

And we chase these things as though one day we will arrive at some final state where nothing inside us is uncertain, unfinished, or flawed.

But my loves, there is no one being in this entire universe that is perfect.

Not one.

Some may present themselves that way.

Some may be admired that way.

Some may illuminate only the parts they want others to see.

But existence is far too complex to be reduced to perfection.

We are constantly learning.

Changing.

Discovering.

Making mistakes.

Recognizing things we did not recognize before.

And sometimes, returning to questions we thought we had already answered.

Why should that be something to be ashamed of?

Why should growth require us to hate the person we were before we understood what we understand now?

Perhaps the person you were five years ago was doing everything they could with the knowledge and circumstances available to them.

Perhaps the parts of yourself you dislike today were once the very things that helped you survive.

That does not mean every behavior must remain.

It means you can change without despising yourself.

You can become wiser without declaring your former self worthless.

You can recognize your mistakes without making shame your identity.

And you can pursue growth without believing that your current existence is somehow insufficient.

You do not have to become perfect to become worthy of your own love.

You already deserve that love while you are learning.

While you are uncertain.

While you are rebuilding.

While you are discovering what you want.

Even while you are standing in the middle of a life that no longer feels like yours.

I Have Decided to Become the Wolf

And so, my loves, I have made a decision.

I am no longer going to be the sacrificial lamb.

I am going to be the wolf.

Out loud.

Not because I want to hurt anyone.

Not because I believe strength requires cruelty.

Not because I need to dominate, intimidate, or prove that I am better than anyone else.

But because I am finished apologizing for having a voice.

I am finished pretending that my strength exists only to protect other people.

I am finished believing that I must remain quiet to be considered kind.

The wolf, to me, represents something very different.

It represents knowing when to stand alone and when to walk alongside others.

It represents loyalty without submission.

Protection without self-destruction.

Instinct without shame.

Strength without the need for permission.

And perhaps most importantly, it represents the willingness to live as oneself without constantly asking the world whether that self is acceptable.

I can be compassionate and still have boundaries.

I can be loving and still walk away.

I can be generous and still expect reciprocity.

I can be gentle without being defenseless.

I can be powerful without being cruel.

I can continue my work, continue my research, continue asking difficult questions, and continue contributing to the betterment of others without offering myself as the price of that contribution.

Because I matter, too.

My life matters.

My happiness matters.

My future matters.

And I refuse to build a better world for everyone else while denying myself the possibility of living in it.

The Ways We Try to Silence the Emptiness

I know some of you understand exactly what I am describing.

Perhaps not every detail of my life.

Perhaps not the same experiences, abilities, or circumstances.

But the feeling.

That feeling of being somewhere and knowing something is missing.

That feeling of waking up and realizing you are living according to a pattern you never consciously chose.

That quiet emptiness you try to ignore because confronting it might require changing everything.

Sometimes, my loves, we find ways to silence it.

We drink.

We go out.

We party.

We get really fucked up for a night.

We lose ourselves in work, relationships, distractions, or routines.

Sometimes, we turn toward medication or other forms of relief, and sometimes legitimate treatment is exactly the support we need. But even when something helps us manage the pain, there may still be deeper questions waiting for our attention.

We find something that gives us enough relief to wake up the next morning and do it all again.

And I understand why.

Sometimes, when life feels unbearable, even a few hours of quiet can seem like a gift.

But the underlying questions do not necessarily disappear.

They wait.

They return when the room gets quiet.

When the music stops.

When everyone goes home.

When you lie awake at night and realize that you are still carrying the same things you were carrying yesterday.

I have had to face a great deal of that pain.

And I am still learning.

I do not pretend that one declaration erases years of conditioning.

I do not believe that choosing myself means I will never struggle again.

But there is a difference between struggling while believing you deserve nothing better and struggling while knowing that you are building something different.

And I choose the latter.

You Were Never Meant to Disappear Inside Your Own Life

So I want to return to the questions I asked at the beginning.

Why did you choose your job?

Your partner?

Your friends?

Your home?

Your life?

Was it love?

Was it curiosity?

Was it possibility?

Or was it fear?

Was it familiarity?

Was it the belief that this was all you could have?

Was it the need to belong somewhere, even if belonging required you to leave parts of yourself outside the door?

And if you could choose again, knowing what you know now, what would you choose?

I am not asking you to abandon everything tomorrow.

I am not asking you to destroy your relationships, leave your career, or turn your life upside down to prove something.

I am asking you to consider whether you have given yourself permission to want something different.

Because sometimes, the first act of freedom is not leaving.

It is admitting the truth to yourself.

Admitting that something hurts.

Admitting that you are lonely.

Admitting that you want more.

Admitting that you have spent years being who everyone else needed while barely knowing who you wanted to become.

And then, little by little, allowing yourself to explore that question.

Not who should I be?

Not who would make everyone else proud?

Not who would be easiest to love?

But:

Who am I when I am no longer trying to earn permission to exist?

That is the question I want you to sit with, my loves.

Because your life is not simply an extension of the environment that produced you.

Your past may explain parts of your story, but it does not have to dictate every chapter that follows.

You can come from pain and still choose tenderness.

You can come from rejection and still learn to receive love.

You can come from chaos and still create peace.

You can come from an environment that never understood you and still discover people and places where you do not have to translate your entire existence to be welcomed.

And if you have not found those places yet, that does not mean they cannot exist.

It means your story is still unfolding.

Shine So Others Remember They Can Shine, Too

My loves, there is something I want you to understand about the work I do and the person I am choosing to become.

I still believe in contributing to something greater than myself.

I still believe that what we discover, create, and understand can help others.

But I no longer believe that helping others requires us to disappear.

I am not here to be anyone’s savior.

And neither are you.

You are not responsible for carrying every person who refuses to walk.

You are not responsible for healing every wound you encounter.

You are not responsible for sacrificing your future to preserve someone else’s comfort.

You can offer your hand.

You can share what you know.

You can encourage, support, teach, and love.

But you cannot live another person’s life for them.

And you should not have to surrender your own in the attempt.

I want to shine brightly, my loves.

Not so everyone will look at me.

Not so I can stand above anyone.

But because I no longer want to hide what I am capable of becoming.

And perhaps, somewhere, someone who has spent their entire life making themselves smaller will see that and begin wondering whether they can stop hiding, too.

That is what I want.

Not followers who believe they must become like me.

Not people who place me on a pedestal.

Not anyone surrendering their judgment, identity, or freedom to another being.

I want people to recognize that they have their own lives to live.

Their own questions to ask.

Their own paths to discover.

Their own light to understand.

And their own shadows to hold with compassion.

Because there is not a single being you need to become in order to justify your existence.

You do not need to become me.

You do not need to become the person your family expected.

You do not need to become the version of yourself that your environment finds easiest to accept.

You need to discover who you are.

And then give that person the opportunity to live.

A Final Thought, My Loves

I began this journey believing that perhaps the greatest thing I could do with my life was sacrifice it for something meaningful.

Today, I understand something differently.

The greatest contribution I can make does not require me to disappear.

It requires me to be here.

To live.

To learn.

To experience joy.

To make mistakes.

To discover love that does not demand my silence.

To build a life that includes the very happiness I once believed I had to surrender.

To continue asking questions and pursuing what matters to me, not because I owe the world my existence, but because I have chosen what I want to do with it.

And I want that freedom for you, too.

If you are reading this while sitting in a room where everyone knows your name but nobody seems to know your heart, I hope you begin making room for yourself.

If you have spent years giving until there is nothing left, I hope you begin learning how to receive.

If you have been hiding your voice because someone convinced you that it was too loud, I hope you discover that you are allowed to speak.

If you have been ashamed of your shadow, I hope you begin understanding what it has been trying to tell you.

And if you have spent your entire life trying to fit inside a box that was never large enough to hold you, I hope one day you realize that you do not have to keep folding yourself into pieces.

My loves, you are not here merely to endure your own existence.

You are allowed to participate in it.

You are allowed to enjoy it.

You are allowed to want something beautiful for yourself.

You are allowed to change your mind.

You are allowed to outgrow the person you once needed to be.

And you are allowed to live without making suffering the price of your worth.

I do not know every road that lies ahead of me.

I do not know every lesson I will encounter.

But I know one thing.

I will no longer offer myself as a sacrifice to prove that my existence has meaning.

I will live that meaning.

I will stand in it.

I will explore it.

I will protect it.

And I will continue becoming, without apologizing for the space that becoming requires.

The sacrificial lamb was the person I believed I had to be.

The wolf is the person I am choosing to become.

And this time, my loves, I am not leaving myself behind.

Love Your Silvia ❤️