Into the Abyss (And I Don’t Want to Be Pulled Out)

Falling into a dream that doesn’t have a clear ending… just a deep knowing.

I would’ve always described myself as adventurous, someone who didn’t hesitate when life called, someone who didn’t overthink the next move but instead trusted that whatever came was meant for me. I moved fast, I said yes often, and I followed the inner pull without needing to know where it would lead. That kind of wild freedom shaped so much of my early life, and for a long time, I wore it like a badge of honour.

But lately, something has shifted. Not in a dramatic, fall to the floor kind of way, but in a soft, almost undetectable way. I’ve felt a new presence take hold. At first, I thought it was fear, that creeping sense that makes you second guess, that plants doubt where there used to be trust. But the more I sit with it, the more I wonder if it’s not fear at all, but maturity. A deeper sense of self awareness that makes me pause, that makes me question not just what I want but why I want it. I still have those spontaneous moments, still say yes to things that stretch me, still chase after the unknown, but I do it with more stillness now, more consideration, more understanding of what it means to leap and what it costs when you do it from the wrong place.

And maybe, in that maturity, I’ve hidden a little. I’ve let my words become a mask, not spoken out loud but held inside as if writing them down was enough, as if keeping them in the quiet was a form of expression when really it was just a way of staying unseen. I’ve put myself to the side more than I’d like to admit. I’ve made space for others, thinking it was noble, thinking it was love, but sometimes it was just me avoiding my own reflection.

Still, even with all of that, there’s something inside me that cannot be tamed. Into the abyss I fall, not out of fear, but out of joy. There is this dream, this deep, pulsing dream that lives inside of me, and I do not fully understand what it looks like or where it leads, but the feeling is unmistakable. It is a hunger, not for more in the material sense, but more of that soul anchored life, more of that connection that makes you feel like you are finally home within yourself. It’s like chasing something you cannot fully see, but you know in your bones that it exists, and it’s waiting for you to meet it.

I’ve fallen many times before, and still, I say, do not help me. Let me stay here. Let me explore this space between the known and the imagined. Let me find out what happens when I trust the feeling instead of the logic. I’ve chased dreams that made no sense to others, and truthfully, sometimes they didn’t make sense to me either. They came from that intuitive space, that untamed knowing that didn’t need justification. To those watching from the outside, my life probably looked messy, chaotic even, but to me, there has always been meaning, always a thread that stitched it all together in ways I could only understand in hindsight.

There have been so many times I’ve wanted more, times where the desire surged through me only to be met with overwhelm and self doubt, so I’d retreat, I’d pull back, I’d play it safe. The whisper would rise, that sacred whisper that says you are meant for more but then the noise of the world would rise louder, telling me to calm down, to stay small, to be sensible, to not make a scene, to not be so much.

But the truth is, I was never built for small things.

So I’ve taken the time recently to slow down, not in avoidance but in reverence. I’ve grounded into the Earth, into my body, into my own sense of rhythm. I’ve listened to the trees, to the silence, to the old wisdom that lives beneath my feet. I’ve let the land hold me and remind me of what truly matters. I’ve tuned into the song of my soul, the one I used to drown out with noise and movement and trying to be everything for everyone. The song is returning now. It’s gentle but steady. The beat is clearer. The melody is forming. The words are coming back to me in the quiet moments, like a prayer I didn’t realise I was still saying.

And for the first time, the dream doesn’t feel like a fantasy anymore. It feels like something I can hold. It has roots now. It has breath. It has a foundation built not on recklessness or desperation but on truth and presence and the courage to meet myself fully. I’m no longer afraid of what it could be. I’m ready to find out.

A gentle question for your own reflection:

Are you hiding behind distractions, behind false friendships or busyness, or are you finally ready to meet yourself with honesty? Is it fear holding you back, or are you simply softening into a deeper, more aligned version of who you truly are?