There is an ache we carry, so quiet and so familiar that we mistake it for who we are. It’s the ache of disconnection—not from others, but from ourselves.
We chase love, applause, accomplishment—not because we are greedy, but because we are exiled. From our own knowing. From our own enoughness. From our own breath.
We treat achievement as architecture—something we can build to stand on. But even the tallest tower cannot replace a foundation. And the foundation is always you.
No lover can convince you of your worth if you’ve forgotten the sound of your own voice.
No success can satisfy if it comes from the version of you that believes you must earn your right to exist.
No validation will stay sweet if it’s feeding a self you’ve abandoned.
The void is not emptiness. It’s memory.
It’s the part of you waiting for your return.
The part that doesn’t care what you’ve built.
The part that just wants to be held. Seen. Known.
To fill the void is not to add more—but to remember more.
Remember your softness. Your wisdom. Your stillness beneath the striving.
You don’t need another win.
You need to come home.
And when you do, the chase will end—not because you found something outside, but because you found the one within who no longer needs to run.