She Is the Sun: A Story of Strength, Struggle, and Survival

Not merely light, but the fire that births it.

Not a passive glow,

but a force—fierce, untamed,

and impossible to ignore.

She has burned through darkness that tried to snuff her out,

survived skies that begged her to dim.

And still, she rises every morning.

Even when she doesn’t want to.

Even when the weight is too heavy to glow.

You see, she doesn’t shine to be seen.

She shines because it is in her nature to set things ablaze—

dreams, hearts, entire worlds—

with the warmth of her truth.

They whispered that she burns too hot,

melting comfort, disrupting quiet.

But she was never meant to soothe.

She was born to transform.

There are days her fire flickers—

small, quiet, almost forgotten.

But even a whisper of warmth

can keep a soul from freezing.

And she carries enough to keep going.

She is not a sun for spectacle.

She is a sun for survival.

For healing. For hope.

For the moments no one sees—

but she endures anyway.

Mental Health: The Fire Beneath the Surface

I live in a small town, surrounded by kind-hearted people who care deeply about mental health. These are people who often check in on me—even if they don’t know me personally. Some know me through my writing, some just sense I need a moment of kindness.

And while I truly appreciate the compassion, there are moments—especially when I’m in a heightened or panicked state—when being approached, even with the best of intentions, can be overwhelming.

I live with two mental health conditions: PTSD and social anxiety.

My PTSD is mostly triggered by strangers, and my social anxiety can bring on full-blown panic attacks. When a stranger approaches me, especially in public or crowded places, my mind sometimes flashes back to trauma. I may appear calm on the outside, but internally, I’m bracing for danger that isn’t really there—but feels all too real.

Sometimes I make excuses to walk away. Sometimes I can’t speak. Sometimes I smile and leave quickly—not out of rudeness, but out of survival.

There are good days when I can hold a conversation with a stranger. And there are days when the smallest interaction feels like climbing a mountain.

What You Can’t Always See

You can’t see inside my head. You can’t always notice the fear in my eyes. But if you hear me stammer, if you see me freeze or fidget, it’s likely because my mind is in panic mode.

These symptoms are often misunderstood. People wonder why I seem different, why I might suddenly go from walking calmly to running away without a word. These behaviors are not choices—they’re responses shaped by trauma.

I’m a survivor of repeated violence, both inside and outside of my home. These were not one-time events. They were years of painful experiences that carved fear deep into my bones.

Even after years, those memories don’t just disappear. They live in the body and in the brain, quietly waiting to be triggered. One memory can spiral into panic, and that panic can make the world feel unsafe—even if no danger is truly present.

To Those Who Care

People often suggest I avoid situations that might trigger me. But the truth is, avoiding everything would mean never leaving my home. That’s not living—that’s hiding.

So I choose to step outside. I choose to try. But sometimes, I panic. And when I do, it’s not because you’ve done something wrong.

To the kind strangers who reach out—thank you. Your compassion matters. But if I seem withdrawn or uncomfortable, know that it’s not your fault. It’s just that my mind and body are trying to keep me safe the only way they know how.

Please Don’t Take It Personally

If you ask me how I am and I smile but walk away, please don’t stop me. Please don’t insist that I stay and talk. That moment might be the limit of what I can handle.

People who know me well understand this. On my good days, I can be bubbly and sociable. I laugh. I connect. I even thrive.

But on other days, I just need silence. I need solitude. I need space.

And that doesn’t mean I’m broken. It means I’m healing.

To Anyone Who Feels This Too

If you’ve ever felt like this—if you’ve ever been overwhelmed by things others find easy—know this: you are not alone.

Mental health challenges don’t always look like what the world expects. They don’t always have visible signs. But they are