Lately, It Feels Like I’m Walking Through A Fog—one That Settles In My Bones The Second I Step Into

Lately, it feels like I’m walking through a fog—one that settles in my bones the second I step into work. I’m usually bright. Thoughtful. A little intense. A little weird. The kind of girl who sees too much, feels too much. A Virgo to the core—structured but soft, always trying to make sense of everything. I dream of harmony, of people who treat each other with care. I crave a kind of calm that lets me breathe.

But at work, I feel like shit.

It’s not the job—it’s the atmosphere. I clean. It should be simple, even peaceful. But the energy is heavy. Tense. Paranoid. I feel watched, like every step is judged. Like my silence speaks louder than it should. I thought this place would understand—that I’m in school, that I have a family, that I’m doing my best. But no. When I ask for a day off, I’m treated like I’ve done something wrong. Like my life outside of work is an inconvenience to them.

And I hate who I am there.

I shrink. I doubt myself. I flinch at simple questions like “how are you?” I’m too emotional, too soft, too scared of saying the wrong thing. My voice gets caught in my throat, and I become someone I don’t even recognize—someone who watches from the sidelines, instead of standing up.

But that’s not who I want to be.

I want to be clever. I want to be bold. I want to be the girl who raises her head, lifts her sword, and walks into battle like a storm they never saw coming. I want to be brave enough not to care who hates me. I want to stop trying to make everyone comfortable. I want to stop apologizing for being alive, for taking up space, for needing time, for having a voice.

I want to stand on my own two feet and not shake. I want to look people in the eye and not flinch. I want the strength to let people’s opinions bounce off me like arrows off armor. I want to weld my sword up high—my voice, my truth, my presence—and see them coward at the sight of someone who knows who they are.

I want to be the kind of woman doubt doesn’t dare to approach.

But how do I become her?

Right now, I hide in my mind to survive. I drift. I dream. While I clean, I disappear into other worlds—places where I matter, where I fight dragons and win. Places where my softness is power, not weakness. I imagine sunlight through trees, pages turning, hands that build, voices that lift. I lose myself in stories, music, moments that keep me afloat when reality makes me feel like I’m drowning.

Because the stress here—it's thick, like smoke. It taints people. It steals kindness. And I feel it trying to steal me.

But I won’t let it.

Somewhere in me, I know she exists—the girl with the sword. The girl who doesn’t beg to be heard—she commands it. The girl who isn’t afraid to be seen, even if being seen means being misunderstood. I want to become her. I will become her.

This place may try to bury me, but I’m not soil. I am fire. I am wind. I am something they cannot contain.