There’s a war I’ve been fighting for years.

But until recently, I didn’t even know it was a war.

It looked like procrastination. It felt like self-sabotage. It masqueraded as “perfectionism,” or “waiting for the right moment,” or “not quite ready yet.” But none of those labels ever sat quite right. Deep down, I knew I was capable of more. I felt the ceiling — glass, invisible, and just slightly out of reach.

Every time I tried to break through, I ended up right back where I started. Angry. Ashamed. Tired. Telling myself I’d try again on Monday.

It wasn’t laziness. It wasn’t fear of failure. It was something deeper — something more wired in than I realised.

The Real Enemy Was My State

What I’ve come to understand is that the battlefield was inside me all along. A combination of nervous system dysregulation and misunderstood neurodivergence had me in a constant state of shutdown and self-withholding.

I couldn’t act — not because I didn’t want to, but because I was trapped in survival mode.

When your body is in a state of threat, your mind stops thinking about legacy or dreams. It’s not trying to create a masterpiece. It’s trying to stay alive. That’s what most people don’t understand about chronic stress, trauma, or even high-functioning anxiety. It’s not just a mindset issue. It’s biology. Your nervous system sets the tone for your entire reality.

No matter how much I planned or visualised, my body wasn’t on board. And because I didn’t understand my own wiring — the sensory sensitivity, the emotional intensity, the way I process the world differently — I kept trying to solve the wrong problem.

I thought I needed to “work harder.”
What I actually needed was to regulate, rest, and rewire.

The Reluctance To Be Seen

There’s another layer, too — and this one cut deeper.

I didn’t just fear failure. I feared visibility.

Some part of me learned early on that being seen wasn’t safe. That standing out meant pressure, exposure, or shame. So I found ways to stay hidden. Delays. Detours. Endless tweaking. The kind of perfectionism that looks like care but is actually camouflage.

Now I know what that was.
It wasn’t laziness. It was protection.

My neurodivergent brain, sensitive and strategic, kept me in the shadows because it thought the light would burn. And maybe, back then, it would have.

But I’m not that person anymore.

Now I Know

Now I know what I’m up against.

It’s not the market.
It’s not time.
It’s not other people.
It’s not “luck” or “strategy” or “timing.”

It’s me.

Not in a blame way. In an ownership way.
I have patterns that were forged in fire — patterns that kept me alive, but now keep me stuck.

So I’m going to war with them. Not with hate. Not with punishment.
But with precision. With intention. With discipline anchored in compassion.

I know what’s possible now. I’ve seen glimpses of it. I’ve felt the truth in quiet moments — the knowing that my work matters, that my vision is real, that my gifts were never random.

I just need to become the version of me who can handle it.

From Glass Ceiling to Open Sky

This isn’t the kind of war people see. It’s not loud. It’s not flashy.
It’s quiet. It’s daily. It’s internal.

It looks like:

• Choosing breath over reactivity.
• Moving my body when I don’t want to.
• Creating when my mind tells me to wait.
• Letting myself be seen, even if I shake.

That’s the work now.
That’s the real grind.

No more chasing strategies when the structure inside is unstable.
No more waiting to be ready.
I am ready. Because I understand myself now.

That’s what changes everything.