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Some of us learned love as something you earn.Something you manage. Something you survive. So, when relationships feel exhausting, confusing, or unsafe, we tell ourselves: It wasn’t that bad. I’m just too sensitive. I should be over this by now. But Valentine’s Day isn’t just about romance. It’s about connection — and for many people, connection is where trauma shows up the loudest. If you shut down when things get emotional, avoid conflict at all costs, over-give until you’r

What looks like exhaustion, numbness, or burnout is not weakness. It’s what happens when survival becomes a way of life. And your body never forgets how it learned to cope. This Black History Month, we’re naming a truth that often goes unspoken: racial stress, discrimination, and chronic invalidation don’t just live in the mind. They live in the body. In tight shoulders. Shallow breaths. Sleepless nights. A nervous system that never fully rests. If you feel exhausted, on edge

Here’s a truth many feel but rarely say aloud: burnout isn’t a personal flaw — it’s a systemic wound. We’re conditioned to always be “on,” to keep proving ourselves —yet that relentless pace was never meant to shape our identity. It’s a survival response shaped by capitalism, racism, sexism, and workplaces that praise your effort while quietly depending on your exhaustion. You were never meant to work yourself into collapse to prove your worth. Overworking isn’t discipline —

Here’s the truth we rarely speak out loud in January: the parts of you you’ve been taught to fix are often the same parts that kept you alive. Every year, the world urges you to reinvent yourself with messages like “Do more. Be better. Become new.” But deep down, something wiser whispers: I don’t need a new me. I need a safe me. The “New Year, New Me” mantra may look harmless, but it carries a heavy message that who you are isn’t enough, that your softness is a weakness, that