I live in a bubble.
I’m self-aware enough to know how selfish that sounds—but still, it’s my reality.
I wouldn’t call myself an empath.
If you’ve been reading my letters, you’ll know I struggle with labels.
But I do feel things—too deeply. Everything affects me and shifts my mental state, so I found a coping mechanism.
I created a bubble.
As long as something doesn’t directly affect me, I don’t care. As harsh as it sounds, I needed a buffer—from the world, from reality.
I no longer watch the news, I don’t watch true crime, horror or “based on real life” movies, I don’t read crime books anymore. I do everything in my power to avoid the chaos and noise of the world.
But once in a while, cracks form, and things seep through to disturb my carefully constructed existence.
Last week, I saw a name I couldn’t unsee: Gisèle Pelicot. I read over 20 articles about her story, and the more I read, the more disturbed I became. But I couldn’t stop, if her husband of 50 years could do that to her then who could you trust? Can you even fathom the depravity? To do that to a woman you vowed to love for life. A woman who gave you three children?
Her story became a doorway to all the recent cases of femicide—too many stories, too many lives, and I couldn't unsee them. My mind was flooded, and I needed to escape. I had to intentionally purge myself of it, to cleanse my mind from the weight of it all.
One thing I’ve realized: what I consume affects me. I haven’t figured out how to let in just enough without losing my footing. How do you balance awareness with peace of mind?
I don’t want to hear about global warming, gender violence, or fraud. I want to live in my bubble, where all that matters is my life.
I don’t have space inside me for the problems of the world. I barely have space for my own.
Is that selfish? Or is it simply survival?
Sometimes, I wonder: if everyone lived in a bubble like me, how would the world ever get better? Who would create the change we need to evolve?
It’s why I’m grateful for activists—their passion makes up for the MEs of the world.
But here’s the thing: no matter how thick I try to make my bubble, it’s not perfect. It never is. Even in the safety of my cocoon, the guilt seeps in. I catch glimpses of injustice online, of people fighting battles I’ve chosen to turn away from. And while I convince myself I’m just protecting my sanity, a part of me knows I’m avoiding a universal responsibility.
Because in my heart, I know—if everyone chose to stay in their bubble, nothing would change. We would remain stuck, waiting for someone else to care enough to fix things.
The guilt is still there. I see people out there fighting, raising their voices, taking action. They’re changing the world while I remain here, sheltered in my corner.
But sometimes, protecting yourself is the only thing you can do. Sometimes, you have to choose self-preservation over the weight of the world’s problems.
That’s the balance I struggle with. How much can I care without losing myself in the process?
I don’t have the answer. Maybe someday I will.
But honestly?
I’d rather live with the guilt, knowing I’m still intact, than lose myself to the chaos outside.
It’s a fragile peace I’ve built, one that may not last. But for now, it’s what I need to survive the noise.
Mind Dump
I don’t have much on my mind and it’s all thanks to morning pages. I’m on day 5, annnnndddd I’m loving it.
Curious to know what I’m talking about?
Join the chat!
I can’t promise you the best experience of your life, but I can guarantee you a “Weird” one!