I Don’t Want to Be an Update

I used to think people changed slowly. Quietly. Like seasons shifting. Not all at once, not with pop-up alerts and bullet-pointed summaries. But now I’m expected to report my growth like software patches. New version available. Improved boundaries. Slightly reduced people-pleasing. Resolved issue with fear of abandonment.

The performance of becoming

I’m tired of performing “becoming.” Tired of the self-reports and glow-up narratives and captions that hint at healing like it’s a story arc. You are not a character in a streaming series. You do not owe anyone your plot twist.

Sometimes I change and it’s messy. Sometimes I grow sideways, or backwards, or not at all. And sometimes I stay the same for years, not because I’m stuck, but because I’m resting. Because I’m tired. And because stillness isn’t failure. It’s breath.

No more changelogs

I don't want to give updates. I don’t want to reintroduce myself every six months like a brand refresh. “Still me, but now with slightly better boundaries and a soy allergy!” I want to be allowed to be quiet. To be unfinished. To not always have something to say or prove or show.

There's pressure in this culture to declare every shift. But real changes aren’t always loud. Some changes happen like a slow leak — unnoticed until one day you realize you’re lighter. Or like moss growing — subtle, soft, and deeply alive.

Let me be unreadable

I don’t want to be easily summarized. Or searchable. I want to be unreadable in the best way — a little confusing, a little old-fashioned, a little out of step. Let my growth be private. Let my sadness not be content. Let my joy not be aesthetic.

We weren’t meant to be this legible. We weren’t built for constant clarity. Some things in us are fog, and that’s sacred. The parts of me I can’t describe are the parts I trust most. The ache that doesn’t name itself. The hunch. The inexplicable love for something no one else notices.

Some things are just for me

Not everything needs to be shared. Not every insight needs to be crafted into a quote. Some of the most important things I’ve learned came without words. They arrived as a long stare out a window. As silence I didn’t rush to fill. As a song that found me in the right minute of the wrong day.

I want to grow like a tree, not a product. I want to bend, not pivot. I want roots more than reach. I want to know myself in ways that don’t need external proof.

Who are you without the update?

Maybe you're still you. Maybe you're someone deeper. Someone who doesn’t need to announce every evolution, every lesson, every little edge you’ve softened. Maybe becoming isn't the point. Maybe being is enough.

I don’t want to be an update. I want to be a presence. One that lingers, quietly, long after the page is closed.