Hello Beautiful Human Jessie Raye

I wrote this last week, on my birthday, and wanted to share it here. Something about reading these words out loud makes me feel so good.
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35 years young today and man—to be alive is wild. 
It’s beautiful and it’s messy and it’s hard and it’s wondrous. 
It’s confusing and it’s worth it. 
I am feeling grateful for being able to use my legs another day. 
I have lungs to breathe sweet fresh air.
I have ears to hear my favorite songs over and over and over again.
I have eyes to see beautiful sunsets and even more beautiful people.
I have a mouth to taste. 
I have a mind to be curious. 
It’s all kind of magical. 
Despite all the pain, it’s magical. 
Maybe even sometimes because of all the pain, it’s extra magical. 
How do you know beauty unless you see something that’s not? 
To be alive is a miracle. I really believe this to be true. 
Out of all the endless possibilities of life—we are right here, right now, alive. 
My birthday wish, and my wish for every other day, is for us all to experience feeling soft and loved and warm and cherished and held. 
Good food, belly laughs, and deep, slow kisses. 
Weepy tears, moments of clarity, and phone calls from best friends. 
Hot showers, long stretches, and an empty notebook with a brand new pen. 
Wrapping your hands around your favorite mug of hot tea. 
Long drives to nowhere with someone.
The deep ache of a heart broken from trying.
May you feel it all—joy, pain, and sky. 
In a lot of ways I feel 305, and in some ways, I still feel like I’m 5. 
But it’s all happening at the same time and I’m aware that it is and WOW! You know?
I am aware that I am alive.
How wild.
How beautiful.
-Jessie Raye
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***The voice note has a few extra thoughts that I added as I was recording this essay. Listen as your read for the full experience.***
How do I honor being in a place I don't want to be in anymore?
For the first time in my life, I am acutely aware that I am amidst a meltdown—a surreal experience that I can finally grasp. Unlike before, when life's ground would crumble beneath me, and I'd lose consciousness only to resurface after rebuilding the fragments, this time I am present, awake to the turmoil within. 
My journey has been a rollercoaster ride, marked by dizzying heights and harrowing lows. I burn bright and high for a short amount of time and then burn out completely, taking out bystanders on the way down. There's no eject button on this ride, no easy way out. It's not just the external ups and downs of jobs and relationships and life responsibilities; it's the internal tempest, a whirlwind of fighting, fleeing, freezing, and appeasing. 
I've felt like I've been swimming upstream, struggling against life's current, suffocating in the weight of expectations, anger, and responsibilities that have been haunting me for as long as I can remember. The world around me is relentlessly vivid—lights too bright, sounds too loud. I want to be a part of this world so badly, to feel connected—but it seems like every time I try, I short circuit. 
My earliest memories are tinged with embarrassment and shame, tracing back to kindergarten and even earlier. It's astonishing how I, at such a tender age, was already scrutinizing myself, feeling the pressure of taking up space in this world. How did I become so hard on myself so soon?
I've spent years trying to keep up with everyone else, striving to make the best out of whatever life tossed my way. But on reflection, I realize that many of my choices were mere survival tactics, short-term solutions rather than mindful steps toward lasting wellness and happiness. 
Each decision was a response to the pressing question of how to navigate the next day's challenges.
I have been perpetually overwhelmed with being myself and I am tired. What’s the point?
In fleeting moments of stability, I've revealed a side of myself I hold dear—someone fun, affectionate, daring, and creative. However, when the spiral into meltdown mode begins, and the world around me transforms into an overwhelming nightmare where even simple tasks feel agonizing, my focus narrows drastically. It becomes a matter of survival, and I unintentionally distance myself from those close to me. I am a black hole and I will swallow them up. I will be a burden and they will hate me because I am falling apart again. 
The intensity of my emotions engulfs me, and I'm paralyzed by shame, shutting down completely. In these moments, I retreat, disconnecting from everything and everyone, blind to the impact of my actions on those around me. I haven’t been able to see how I have hurt other people. 
Intensity courses through my veins—it's who I am. I feel life so deeply, all of it. Yet, I've spent a lifetime trying to subdue it, attempting to be less sensitive, less conspicuous. I've aimed to fit into a mold that demanded conformity, to minimize my presence. Every action, every move I make, requires immense effort. My sensory needs are so high maintenance, and the mere act of inhabiting my own skin is a challenge. It takes very little to push me over the edge, to ignite a cascade of emotions that spill onto every corner of my life. Fear of not surviving has driven me to impulsive actions and choices, harming not only myself but those in my orbit. I don’t want to move through the world like this anymore.
In addition, I've been reactive—ill-equipped to communicate effectively or manage my emotions. I have been an avid reader my entire life, I thought that I knew how to communicate because I could read good. And that’s just not true at all. I learned a lot of words and could string them together but none of it ever made se

Do you ever think about what you want? What you really really want? Like, if your wildest dreams come true—what would life look like for you?
As big as my imagination is, this is something that I truly seem to struggle with.
I’ve spent most of my life thinking about what other people want and doing everything I can to please them. Thinking about what I want actually kind of scares me.
It's a strange phenomenon, isn't it? To be so attuned to the desires and expectations of others that you inadvertently overlook your own. I find myself caught in a perpetual cycle of accommodating everyone else's needs while neglecting the voice inside me that's whispering about my own aspirations. It's almost as if I've subconsciously embraced the notion that my dreams are secondary, that my desires aren't as valid as those around me.
But lately, there's been a subtle shift in the air, a quiet rebellion of sorts. I've come to realize that this pattern of self-negation is not sustainable. It's as if I've been living in grayscale, a muted version of myself, and it's time to infuse some vibrant hues back into my life.
The question lingers: What do I want? What would life look like if I truly unshackled my imagination and allowed myself to dream without restraint?
At first, this exercise feels daunting, almost impossible. I've become so accustomed to molding my desires to fit within the contours of others' expectations that identifying my own wishes seems like navigating through deep, resistant uncharted waters.
Sometimes, I feel like I am drowning.
But as I sit down to reflect, pen in hand, the barriers between me and my innermost aspirations begin to crumble. I envision a life where my passions take center stage, where the pursuit of my dreams isn't just a whimsical thought but a purposeful endeavor.
Softness, maybe. Security? A healthy nervous system and body. Clarity. The freedom to be myself.
In the quiet corners of my mind, these whispered desires flutter like delicate butterflies, seeking to break free from the cocoon of my fears. They're the inklings of a longing that has remained hidden beneath layers of conformity and self-doubt for far too long. As I finally confront these yearnings, I realize that they're not just fleeting wishes; they're the embodiment of my authenticity.
The first threads of this tapestry of desires weave through the idea of softness. In a world that often values strength and resilience, the concept of softness can feel like an anomaly. Yet, there's an undeniable beauty in vulnerability, in embracing the gentler facets of our being. Softness signifies a willingness to feel deeply, to approach life with an open heart, unguarded and unafraid. It's a quest to embrace the tenderness within, to honor the emotions that color our experiences without judgment or reservation.
Security emerges as another thread, a yearning for stability in a world of constant change. The desire for a foundation that remains unwavering, a safe haven where the storms of life can't breach the walls. It's more than financial security; it's the assurance that even amidst uncertainty, I possess the inner strength to weather the tempests and emerge unscathed. This security is not rooted in material possessions, but in the unwavering belief that I am the architect of my own stability.
A healthy nervous system and body form a vital part of this constellation of desires. It's a plea to be in sync with the vessel that carries me through life. A desire for vitality that allows me to explore the world with boundless energy, to dance with exuberance, and to savor each moment without the constraints of physical limitations. It's an acknowledgment that the body and mind are intertwined, and nurturing one nurtures the other.
Clarity—a luminous beacon in the fog of uncertainty. To see the path ahead with unwavering vision, to unravel the mysteries that shroud the journey. Clarity is not merely about knowing where I'm headed; it's about understanding wh