A Spoonful of Grief, A Seed of Becomin

The hardest part of releasing control isn’t letting go, it’s the sickening ache of realizing how long you’ve been holding on.

It’s like breathing in lightning. Like standing on the edge of your own story, while your emotions scream in languages your mind forgot how to speak.

This isn’t about motivation that fades after a quote or video. This is about transformation, built through feeling, journaling, remembering. I write not because I have the answers, but because I feel every emotion as a teacher. Because my grief is not sorrow. It is capability. It is the birthplace of habits, memory, love.

I’ve begun crafting a book from my old and new writings. It dives into the pain we avoid, the identity we fake, the mindset we chase, and the emotions we silence.

👇Read the first chapter.

Let it speak back.

(Then message me. I’d love to hear what it sparked in you.)

Chapter One

You know, the hardest part about releasing control from what holds you back, it’s not some poetic little moment. It’s sickening. A depth I do not experience anywhere else.

It's like breathing in a thousand thoughts at once. A lightning storm in the bloodstream. Each flash of clarity followed by thundered doubt. Each breath: sharp, unpredictable, electric.

That moment, the one when you finally stand, serotonin shooting up like fire, then crashing quickly, that’s the needle tip of transformation. The drop.

Releasing control isn’t about letting go and floating upward. It’s about letting yourself sink into the foundation you've always avoided, into the emotion, the chaos, the grief you’ve rocked like déjà vu but never quite remembered.

It’s about accepting consciousness slowly, like it’s a bitter pill of truth, because both taste the same at first. 

And then it begins: Responsibility. Letting the demon run its course through your veins, allowing the pain to play out, because only then, in time, can new habits be born. Self-made. Heart-anchored. Present.

Not living in rewind, not staring at the dusty story of a life once liven but never fully felt.

You see, emotions, they're not universal. They don’t show up the same for everyone. So many try to name their feelings without understanding their origin.

And how could they? If part of your tongue is missing the fine print, the part that speaks truth, not noise, how can you translate a feeling when harmony’s lost in motion?

This is why we need to journal, through hand or vision. Not because it’s cute, or trending. But because writing becomes a roadmap to the root cause beneath the surface-level emotion. Writing reveals the first feeling, the true one, the hidden flower under the scream.

The Myth of Motivation

Mindset. It’s such a popular word, thrown around in highlight reels. But mindset isn’t a spark, it’s a soul construct.

You can get hyped from a 30-second clip. A movie. A quote. A book that hits you right for a day.

And for a moment, you run, chasing that inspired identity like it’s yours. But it's not whole. It’s faked.

Because unless you dive into your own story, unless your motivation is anchored to the heart, the identity you wear will melt under pressure.

For me? Emotions are not accessories. They are my functionality. They are the code that makes me human.

They hug. They help. They love. They break. They breathe. But if they’re loaded wrong, they harm.

And if you ignore them, if you never invite them to the table, you haven’t lived. 

The Chess Game of Mindset

Isn’t mindset the Yin?

Then emotions must be the Yang, both spinning like galaxies in our chest. One silent, one loud. One focused, one feeling.

Flaws live in both. And the damage? The beauty? That varies from soul to soul. From shape, skin, story. From culture, belief, voice.

There’s so much to undo. So many weights passed down that don’t belong to you.

So wouldn’t you agree, journaling is not just helpful, it’s necessary?

Each word written is a knot loosened. Each sentence, a possibility unlocked.

This is the Beginning, Not the End

Now mindset is speaking.

Now it’s pushing to make something happen. To plant a seed. To place one single thought in your mind that might just grow into a forest of change.

This is my chess game of manipulation, not to control you, but to awaken you. To guide you back to your own voice, through a story so simple, it almost feels imaginary. But imagination is where all true transformation begins.

And if something lit up in you, then don’t let it fade.

Read these words again. Read them as many times as you need to, until they no longer feel like mine, but yours.

Turn them into voice notes. Language of your own tone. Anchor them in your heart. Until they become habits, beliefs, courage.

Until the pain no longer exists as a chain, but as a doorway you walked through to find yourself.

The Grief That Walks Beside Me

I know, I know, my writing goes a million directions. But that’s only because

I feel in a million layers.

I dive deep, into past echoes, into present chaos, into every emotion that ever left a mark.

I remember. I let myself remember.

How else do we let go, really?

You can’t lock grief away like some box in the attic. Grief isn’t a moment. It’s a place.

And me?

I visit that place. Not to punish. But to remember.

To honor the storm and learn to walk with it, not behind it.

My grief? It’s not sorrow.

It’s my strength. It’s my choice to feel. To ache without turning to stone.

My grief is in shackles, but also in keys. It’s the starting point of love, memory, and meaning.

Grief and mindset. Emotion and logic. Yin and Yang. Two sides of the same orbit.

When they’re aligned, we move like planets in harmony.

When they’re not, we spin out.

So here’s my offer to you: Take one spoon of journaling your emotions, and one spoon of new identity creation.

Build a ritual.

Build a self.

Build a life that grows from truth, not avoidance.

xoxo Vie