This is still my life, even when it feels like I’m living inside a series of reactions instead of choices. Even when I’m responding to circumstances I didn’t create. Even when I’m carrying responsibility that arrived without asking. Somewhere along the way, it’s easy to forget that I’m not just managing situations. I’m living.
I noticed how often I slipped into maintenance mode. Handling things. Keeping things moving. Making sure everything didn’t fall apart. Not because I wanted control, but because someone had to be paying attention. And when you’re the one who notices first, you become the one who adjusts first.
What gets lost in that is agency.
I started to realize how much of my energy was being spent on sustaining dynamics instead of choosing how I wanted to live. I wasn’t miserable. I wasn’t even unhappy all the time. I was just… deferred. My wants, my pace, my needs pushed slightly to the side while I handled what was in front of me.
This is still my life means I don’t get to pause myself indefinitely while waiting for things to stabilize. It means I don’t get to keep telling myself “later” when later keeps moving further away. It means even if I didn’t choose the situation, I still choose how long I stay in it.
There’s a subtle grief in realizing how much of your life can pass while you’re being responsible. While you’re being patient. While you’re being the one who holds things together because letting them fall feels heavier than carrying them. That grief isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet. It shows up as fatigue you can’t quite explain.
I had to remind myself that being aware doesn’t obligate me to keep managing everything. Just because I see the whole picture doesn’t mean I have to live inside it forever. Awareness is information, not a life sentence.
This is still my life also means I’m allowed to want more than functionality. More than stability. More than “it’s fine.” I’m allowed to want ease. Presence. Choice. I’m allowed to ask whether the role I’ve been playing still makes sense for the life I want to live.
I didn’t wake up one day ready to make drastic changes. I just started noticing the cost of staying the same. The quiet trade-offs. The moments where I felt like an observer in my own life instead of an active participant. That noticing mattered.
There’s a difference between being capable and being consumed. Between being responsible and being sidelined. I had crossed that line slowly enough that I didn’t notice it until I was already there. Naming it was the first step back to myself.
This is still my life means I get to make decisions even when they’re inconvenient. Even when they disrupt systems that rely on me. Even when no one else is ready for the shift. My life doesn’t pause just because others are comfortable.
I don’t need permission to re-center myself. I don’t need consensus to make choices that bring me back into my own experience. I don’t need everything to make sense to everyone else before it makes sense to me.
Being the main character, unfortunately, means remembering that the story doesn’t only move forward when you’re managing the plot. It moves forward when you choose to live it.
This is still my life. And I’m allowed to step back into it fully, even if that means letting go of roles I never meant to keep.
Final Thought
Responsibility doesn’t erase your agency.
This is still your life.
And you’re allowed to live it intentionally.
Disclaimer
Main Character, Unfortunately reflects personal reflection and lived experience. It’s not professional advice or a substitute for therapy or clinical guidance. Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t.