We begin as whispers of who we might be, soft sketches, unfinished, waiting to be rewritten. The world nudges us forward through storms we didn’t ask for, through endings too early, through beginnings we weren’t ready for. While everyone talks about growth like it’s effortless, like it’s something to admire no one talks about what it takes to get there. The slow falling apart. The quiet breaking. The parts of you you don’t get to keep. Because change doesn’t knock it crashes,