My peace isn’t a vibe that I woke up with today,
It’s not just a filter or something I say.
It’s not my aesthetic, not “soft girl” attire,
It’s me putting out my own emotional fire.
Because healing isn’t cute, it’s messy, it’s real,
It’s learning to sit with the things that you feel.
Self-care ain’t candles and skincare at night—
It’s choosing your sanity over a fight.
I’m not “always calm,” let’s get that straight,
I’ve spiraled in Target at 8:08.
I’ve whispered “I’m fine” while mentally screaming,
Like girl… what is this nervous system doing?
Peace is a habit. A daily repair.
Not something you’re born with, not something you wear.
It’s mindfulness practices, boundaries too,
And blocking the people who drain your soul like Hulu.
It’s mental health awareness in real-time, babe,
Not just cute affirmations you saved and misplayed.
It’s therapy, journaling, deep breathing too,
And saying “no” without writing a paragraph through.
Some days I’m zen.
Some days I’m not.
Some days I’m healing.
Some days I rot.
But I’m still evolving, still doing my best,
Still choosing my peace over needing to impress.
Because inner peace isn’t a personality trait,
It’s work. It’s effort. It’s showing up late
To the version of me that used to break down
Over someone who couldn’t even stick around.
And honestly?
The toxic stuff used to feel thrilling—
Now it just feels like emotional billing.
Like why am I paying in stress and in sleep
For someone who offers the bare minimum cheap?
In true Carrie Bradshaw fashion…
I couldn’t help but wonder—
When did peace become something we earn,
Instead of something we’re told we should naturally have?
Maybe peace isn’t a destination.
Maybe it’s a discipline.
A practice.
A choice.
A quiet rebellion.
So no, I’m not perfect.
I’m not always okay.
But I’m practicing peace
In my own imperfect way.
And if that makes me “too much,”
Or “too changed,”
Or “too distant”…
Good.
Because my peace?
Is not up for negotiation.
