22 ~ Identities.

The tangled mess I carried had already consumed me completely. I no longer recognized myself. I was dizzy. I didn’t quite know where to start among all the feelings of confusion, but having the courage to escape to India was, at the very least, hopeful. No less terrifying, of course, but I had already taken a big step toward freedom. I had jumped, and somehow, I had begun to move away from what I knew I had to leave behind. That alone was something to celebrate.

I had already started validating my anguish and listening to myself—but not to the "me" I had always known, the Ego-mind that strutted around with a supposed truth that wasn’t even really her own. No, I was listening to the other one: the small voice that spoke from the depths, the one full of doubts, the one that needed things, the one begging to be heard.

At times, I felt like I was going crazy. –Who are you listening to? Other times, I understood those points of individuality where only you can answer yourself, and I tried to take a breath and just breathe.

I was listening to that voice we were taught to repress—because it’s a little chaotic, impractical, and uncertain. The one that babbles, that doesn’t speak clearly. That "childish" voice that believes in things it can’t see, that connects things in unconventional ways, and that scares us because it feels misunderstood. Maybe all it needs is space and a voice to become something else—like everything. A bit of love and room to begin to take shape.

I was handing over the wheel of the next few months of my life to that strange thing I didn’t fully understand yet.

–Great! thought my mind. So smart...

My head was telling me to stop. It put up danger signs and points of no return. But the moment I bought my ticket to India, I knew that small voice was going to take control and gag the Ego-mind. And that’s exactly what happened. It blindfolded her and locked her in the basement. In the end, she wasn’t as weak as she seemed.

–Until you can start to "see" in a different way, you’re going to stop being in charge–Said the small voice, while growing slightly larger.

–It’s not easy, I know. I’ve been there for a long time. Take it easy, it’s not your fault—we love you anyway—but you’re going to need time and to learn how to exercise other senses. We’ll help you, we’ll help both of us, just trust. For once, just trust.

–For once, just trust?! As if it were that easy…

She couldn’t answer. She had no choice—she had been deliberately gagged.We were about to dive into Alice’s rabbit hole, and all three of us knew it. The two voices and me—who somehow felt like a separate entity—because I could witness with awe these peculiar conversations between them.

In some way, I was putting my life in the hands of that "something" that wasn’t me—not the "me" I had known until then. I had shifted.It was probably the truest part of me, but for now, it felt like madness.

Was I burying myself deeper than before, or was I preparing to take a running leap? To jump so high that there would be no difference between that and flying. That thought circled my mind endlessly, and only time would answer the question, so there was no other choice but to give space to this new variable. Time takes time, as the saying goes.

I had made one of the most extreme and unconscious decisions of my life—and it wasn’t just about leaving everything behind to come to India, or doing it alone, or not being able to tell anyone about my decision, or feeling lost with a broken heart. What truly terrified me was knowing deep down that this was probably going to be an act—in the fullest sense of the word. The kind of movement you don’t emerge from unchanged, the decision that shifts the state of things. That transformative movement.

I knew that after this, I probably wouldn’t be the same—and, in truth, that’s exactly what I was looking for—but I was terrified.

Who am I?

And even worse: Who do I want to be?

A part of me felt so secure with my professional title as a psychologist and the social identity that my studies and my crisp shirts had built for me.I had a profession, a title, an anchor, a structure. All rigid things.

Was that what my identity consisted of? Did that truly define me?

What I couldn’t realize at the time was that true essence cannot be lost or hidden. It always comes to light, and what is meant to be will always find you—whether you want it to or not. Sometimes, it’s not even a matter of chasing it; sometimes, it’s more about being aligned with yourself enough to vibrate in your own electromagnetic field—clearing the space and opening the path for what is meant for you to finally find you.

Sometimes, it’s not even about manifesting—because, more often than not, we don’t fully know what we truly need, nor can we see as clearly and expansively as the Universe does. The point is, to really grasp that, you have to build a new way of seeing—one that, generally, we aren’t very skilled at.

–Are you really thinking of losing your identity again? My Ego squirmed from the cave. –Enough already! Are you trying to kill me?!

The formula for "supposed happiness" wasn’t working for me—I needed to see things differently. I needed focus, discipline, the courage to let go of what I had built, and the strength to unravel the tangled mess I was in—even if I couldn’t resolve it immediately. I needed to be able to set it all aside without denying it and begin to walk forward in faith. To take steps—even without knowing exactly where I was going—knowing it would probably feel dark for a long time. I had to force myself to keep walking, even in that darkness.

It would require patience and, above all, learning to see myself with love and compassion, so whatever strength I had left, I tried to direct it toward that. Very few people knew the process I was going through or where I truly was. It was brutal but, in a way, that gave me a certain lightness. The ease of anonymity.

I had no return ticket home—because I no longer had a home—nor anyone asking me what I was going to do, what my next steps were, or how things were going. That was a relief, because things were not going well.

I was giving myself time and the permission to dare to be. I was winning a battle against my mind by allowing myself to float. That alone was a major victory.

I didn’t know exactly where to begin unraveling this ancient mess, but this city seemed to hold something I needed. It wasn’t a language I could fully understand yet but my body grasped it in other ways. It was beginning to feel at ease.

I wasn’t sure where to start looking, but I was going to let my senses absorb everything as if my mind wasn’t there, like I was just a sponge. No thoughts, no judgment—as if I didn’t carry the tension of a direction to pursue, as if I wasn’t desperate, as if this wasn’t one of the most important decisions of my life and my entire path wasn’t hanging in the balance.

As if I held the wisdom of temperance—the ability to maintain stillness within chaos. Just attention and presence, with no objective. The perfect balance between enjoyment and relaxation—full presence.