The Truth Shall Set Me Free
I stayed silent for a long time. I kept fragments of painful truths buried inside me, afraid of what people would say, of how they would look at me if they knew who I really was. But in that silence, I lost pieces of myself. The day I started telling my story, something shifted. I felt the chains that had kept me trapped begin to break.
Why did I choose to tell my truth?
Because I had no other choice. Life pushed me to a breaking point where I couldn’t move forward, physically and emotionally. I had been running, trying to do everything perfectly in every aspect of my life, until I collapsed. If illness hadn’t stopped me, I would have kept going until my last breath. In all that striving, I lost my purpose. I lost myself. I had nothing left to give. I realised that if I wanted to give anything at all, I first had to have something within me. And I had run empty. Looking back, I am grateful for what happened. That forced pause made me look inward, deeper than I ever had before. I learned that, despite our differences, we all share the same longing: to fullfil our dreams, to be understood, to be seen, to know that our story matters. And yet, how often do we hide our truth out of fear of being judged? I did. I was afraid to show how exhausted or wounded I was, how often I had felt alone or unworthy. But silence didn’t protect me. It made me invisible. And I realised that if I wanted to be free, I had to find the courage to face myself.
How did I start telling my story?
At first, it was hard. I felt a lump in my throat, shame and fear all at once. Who am I to share my story? Does what I have to say even matter? What if I can’t say it right? Why open up about something painful? What will those who remain silent think of me? But then, I realised: my story didn’t have to be perfect, impressive, or even good. It just had to be true. So, I started with the small things, with the moments that left a mark. I talked about a night when I felt completely lost, about the tears that wouldn’t stop, about the darkness inside me that threatened to swallow me whole. And then, I spoke about how, in a moment of complete despair, when I had given up, God caught me by the wing. When I finally said out loud that I am imperfect, that I have made mistakes but am not defined by them, that I am still struggling but slowly healing, something changed. I was no longer defined by my shame and fears. My story became a bridge between me and the divine, between me and others, but most of all, between me and my true self.
Vulnerability set me free
I had feared judgment. I was afraid of being seen differently. But what I discovered was surprising: I wasn’t rejected like I had imagined. On the contrary, I attracted new people – people who were ready to share their own stories too. I realised that when I allow myself to be vulnerable, I give others permission to do the same. When I embrace vulnerability, I have the courage to look at the things I had buried. I see what’s inside me, and I try to be gentle with myself. I begin to do things with awareness. I find out who I really am, what my boundaries are, and where my limits lie.
No one loves someone who is perfect. Quite the opposite.
My flawed, ordinary story is no longer just mine. It is a gift. It shows others that they are not alone, that their pain, their fears, their struggles are shared by someone else too. The pieces of my life are not polished Instagram squares curated for people watching from the sidelines. Life is messy, fluid, spiraling. It demands rolled-up sleeves and deep cleaning. It allows you to dust off old wounds, take breaks, reevaluate, realign, fight, fall, get back up, fail, and celebrate small victories that light the way. My life doesn’t fit into a perfect mold. it’s a blend of beauty and chaos, of triumphs and tough lessons. It takes courage to face my own shadows, to accept myself, and to find balance in the middle of the storm. I have to adapt, reinvent myself, and find meaning even when everything seems to be falling apart. Every step, no matter how uncertain, adds to my unique story. And my story is constantly evolving. I’ve seen the power of a story told from the heart. By opening up, I’ve started to heal in ways I never thought possible. I have turned wounds into wisdom, mistakes into lessons, and the weight of silence into the joy of sharing.
Why do I keep telling my story?
Because self-work is an ongoing process. As I write these words, I feel that lump in my throat again, but also the freedom that comes when the truth rises to the surface. I tell my story first for myself, but also for you, the one reading this, who might need to hear that you are not alone. I want to encourage you to do the same. Your story matters. Tell it. Whether you write it in a journal, share it with a friend, or speak it out loud to the world, your story has the power to change lives, especially your own.
You don’t have to be extraordinary to be seen, understood, or supported. Your story doesn’t have to be spectacular. It doesn’t have to be complete. It just has to be true. What untold story are you carrying? What truth is weighing on your chest? Dig deep, and when you start to uncover it, speak it. You will find, just as I did, that as you tell your truth, you become freer, more authentic, more alive.
I’ve started this journey and I can’t wait to hear about yours.