My Journey from Avoidance to Awareness

I used to be an expert at avoidance.

A master at distraction.

If you looked at my life from the outside, you'd see someone who had it “together.”

Always busy. Always smiling. Always fine.

But under the surface, I was carrying pain I didn’t know how to name.

So I avoided it—

not out of weakness, but out of fear.

Because I believed that if I slowed down, the truth would catch up.

And for a long time, I wasn’t ready to face it.

🧠 The Comfort of Numbing

Avoidance comes in many forms.

For me, it looked like:

Scrolling endlessly through social media

Saying “yes” to everything so I didn’t have to sit alone

Watching shows late into the night just to drown out the quiet

Making jokes instead of being vulnerable

Helping others to avoid helping myself

I didn’t realize it then, but I was living in survival mode.

I wasn’t present—I was performing.

I wasn’t living—I was distracting myself from feeling.

And society made it easy.

We’re surrounded by noise.

We’re taught that busyness is strength and stillness is weakness.

So I stayed on autopilot.

💥 The Breaking Point

It wasn’t one big breakdown that changed me.

It was a quiet moment of exhaustion.

I was alone one evening after a long week. No music. No screens. No plans.

And for the first time in a while, the silence felt deafening.

My body ached in a way I couldn’t ignore.

My thoughts raced with things I hadn’t allowed myself to say.

I sat there and realized:

“I don’t know how to be with myself unless I’m distracting myself.”

That realization broke something open.

🧭 Choosing Awareness

Awareness didn’t come with a grand epiphany.

It came in small choices.

Like:

Turning off the background noise

Sitting with a feeling instead of pushing it away

Journaling before reaching for my phone

Asking why I was so afraid to slow down

Little by little, I began to see patterns.

The way I used “busy” as a shield.

The way I avoided hard conversations.

The way I denied myself rest because I thought I had to earn it.

Awareness isn’t always comfortable.

But it is clarifying.

It’s like turning on the light in a room you’ve avoided cleaning—overwhelming at first, but necessary for healing.

🔄 What I Had to Unlearn

To move from avoidance to awareness, I had to unlearn a lot:

That being strong means always being okay

That rest is only deserved after productivity

That hard feelings are bad and should be ignored

That asking for help is weakness

That numbing is safer than feeling

None of those beliefs were true.

They were just familiar.

And awareness helped me see that I wasn’t broken—

I was just disconnected.

🌿 What Awareness Looks Like Now

I won’t pretend I’ve figured it all out.

But I’ve built practices that help me stay awake to my own life.

Journaling. I write to hear myself. Not to solve, just to witness.

Body scans. I ask, “What am I feeling—and where do I feel it?”

Intentional pauses. Before I distract myself, I take one breath and check in.

Therapy and honest conversations. Because some truths need to be spoken aloud.

Allowing emotions without needing to explain them. Sad doesn’t mean broken. Angry doesn’t mean wrong.

Awareness isn’t about fixing.

It’s about feeling.

It’s choosing to stay present, even when it’s hard.

🔓 The Freedom in Feeling

When I stopped running from my emotions, something surprising happened:

I felt lighter.

Not because the pain disappeared—

but because I wasn’t carrying the weight of avoidance anymore.

I stopped waiting for a version of myself that was always happy.

And started showing up for the version that just wanted to be seen.

There’s freedom in that.

In being honest.

In crying when I need to.

In saying “I’m not okay” without apology.

In trusting that I can handle what I feel.

💬 Final Words: Your Feelings Aren’t the Enemy

Avoidance is a survival strategy.

If you’ve lived there, know this:

It kept you safe.

But you don’t have to stay there.

Awareness is the next chapter.

It asks for honesty, not perfection.

Presence, not performance.

You don’t have to dive headfirst into every emotion.

You can start slow.

One breath. One journal page. One moment of truth.

Because your healing begins the moment you stop running.

And start listening.

Not to the world—but to yourself.