The Dreamer's Pen

Lately I’ve been asking myself a question that won’t leave me alone: “Why do I keep trying to be something I’m not?”

Why do I keep molding myself to fit into rooms that drain me, conversations that flatten me, expectations that make me feel small? Why do I keep comparing myself to people who were never meant to be my mirror, like the extroverts who are effortlessly charming and endlessly “on”?

Why do I keep trying to be cubic zirconia when I’m Alexandrite, that rare gem that changes color with the light?

I’ve spent so much of my life trying to pass for something brighter and easier to understand. The life of the party. The one who can always be counted on to show up, talk endlessly, stay late, and smile through the noise. The one with hundreds of friends. But every time I push myself past my limits, I come home feeling like a ghost, like I left my real self behind somewhere between the small talk and the laughter that didn’t reach my eyes.

Why do I do that?

Why do I treat quiet like failure? Why do I call solitude “anti-social” when it’s the only thing that helps me feel whole again? I think it’s because I’ve spent years watching people who seem so at ease in crowds and I wanted to be that too. I wanted to belong. But I’ve finally realized that belonging isn’t about being seen everywhere, it’s about being known somewhere.

Protecting my inner world isn’t selfish. It’s sacred.It’s how I keep my soul intact in a world that keeps asking me to perform.

Why do I still believe that more people equals more meaning?

Every time I stretch myself too thin, I lose something essential like that sense of realness and connection that exists beneath words. I’ve never been built for surface level anything. I can’t do shallow relationships, small talk, or empty routines. I crave conversations that go on for hours. I crave honesty that isn’t curated. I crave people who ask questions that make me pause and think. Depth has always been my language, but I keep apologizing for it.

Why?

Maybe because depth scares people or maybe because I’ve confused being understood with being accepted. But I’m realizing that I don’t need everyone to understand me. I just need a few souls who see me clearly – the ones who can sit with my silences and still feel the connection.

There’s a world inside me that few people ever see. It’s a mix of colors, moods, intuitions, and patterns that never stop shifting. It’s hard to explain but it’s beautiful too. I hide it because I’m afraid it’s “too much.” Too emotional. Too abstract. Too hard to explain. But maybe that’s the whole point ? It is supposed to be hard to explain.

INFJs don’t just see the world; we interpret it. We feel the symbolism behind every experience. We connect invisible dots. And when I try to suppress that, I lose the part of me that’s most alive. My words, my creativity, my art aren’t hobbies. They’re translations of my inner language. They’re how I turn all this unseen feeling into something visible.

Why am I still hiding the most luminous part of me?

Why do I still believe that I have to be flawless to be worthy?

Perfectionism keeps me safe or at least it pretends to. It tells me that if I just get it right, no one will criticize, no one will misunderstand, and no one will leave. But it’s a lie that starves the soul. I don’t want to live a life that looks perfect but feels empty. I’d rather live one that’s messy, honest, and full of heart.

So I’m trying to let the cracks show. To write without polishing every word. To speak even when my voice trembles. To love without calculating the risk. Because truth is always more beautiful than perfection.

Why do I keep doubting what I already know?My intuition is like a quiet pulse beneath the noise it tells me when something’s off, when something’s right, and when it’s time to go. But too often, I override it. I analyze it, question it, silence it until I can no longer hear it. But intuition doesn’t shout. It whispers. And it only keeps speaking if I listen. When I ignore it, I lose alignment. When I trust it, everything unfolds naturally. So I’m learning to pause. To breathe. To listen. My intuition has never failed me, only my willingness to trust it has.

Why do I carry other people’s pain as if it’s my own? It’s second nature for me to absorb emotions. I can feel a room before I enter it. I can sense sadness hiding behind a smile. I can tell when someone’s pretending they’re fine before they ever say it. I thought that meant it was my job to fix it all. But I’m learning that empathy without boundaries is self destruction. I can care deeply without collapsing. I can love without absorbing. I can listen without losing my voice. Love isn’t about losing yourself in someone else, it’s about standing fully in your own soul and letting them do the same.

Why do I keep minimizing how much beauty affects me? I’ve always been sensitive to space, to energy, to light, to clutter, and to sound. My surroundings shape me more than I’d like to admit. I want my home to feel like breath: soft, uncluttered, and meaningful. I want warm lamps and quiet mornings and music that hums instead of shouts. Because INFJs are rare gems, like Alexandrite, we change depending on the light. We reflect what’s around us. When our environment is peaceful, we glow. When it’s chaotic, we dim. So I’m learning to create an atmosphere that honors my sensitivity instead of fighting it.

Why do I hide my fire? I’ve been told my whole life to “calm down,” to “not take things so seriously,” to “just let it go.” But what if I’m not meant to let everything go? What if my depth, my anger, and my passion are the sparks that keeps me alive? My darkness isn’t dangerous, it’s human. It’s where my honesty lives. It’s what gives contrast to my empathy and meaning to my light. I can be soft and fierce. Gentle and bold. I can be both.

Why do I keep trying to blend in with people who were never meant to understand me? I’ve spent too long trying to connect with people who only see the surface. But the truth is, I’m not supposed to fit everywhere. I’m supposed to find the few who speak my language. Those rare souls who understand the pauses between words, the ache beneath the smile, and the beauty in solitude. When I find those people, I feel something ancient and wordless recognition. That’s home.

Why do I see meaning in everything? Because it’s how I survive. I see the poetry in small things like the rain against my window, in the timing of coincidences, and in how endings always circle back to beginnings. The world speaks in symbols, and my soul listens.I don’t want to rush through life. I want to experience it, deeply, slowly, and intentionally.

Maybe the real question isn’t why do I keep hiding?

Maybe it’s what am I afraid will happen if I finally shine as I am?

Because the truth is, I’m not cubic zirconia! It’s easy to mass produce and designed to sparkle the same way every time.

I’m Alexandrite. Rare. Complex. Ever-changing with the light.

I don’t have to look like everyone else to be beautiful.

I don’t have to be understood by everyone to be real.

I just have to stop dimming what was never meant to blend in.

Because when the light finally hits, I want to be ready to glow!!!!