Every time I open up, I spiral after. Did I say too much? Was I annoying? Should I have just stayed quiet? Vulnerability always feels like a risk—and afterward, I’m left wondering if anyone truly knows how to hold what I shared.

I used to think love was supposed to hurt—until I realized I was just trauma bonded. What I felt wasn’t love. It was control, confusion, and a longing to be chosen. Now I know real love feels like peace, not pain.

I don’t hustle for money or clout—I hustle because I don’t know how to sit still. Chronic boredom makes me feel worthless, so I fill every silence with ambition. But sometimes I wonder… who am I without the hustle?

I’m great at being strong. Holding it all together. Getting things done. But being soft? Being kind to myself? That part still feels foreign. I’m learning how to stop measuring my worth by my productivity and success—and how to finally make peace feel like home.

Covering the Diddy trial hasn’t just been emotionally exhausting—it’s been personal. As someone who grew up around abuse and now writes about it, I’ve learned that bearing witness comes at a cost. This isn’t just about legal analysis. It’s about vicarious trauma, emotional resilience, and the quiet strength it takes to translate horror into truth.

Peace used to scare me more than chaos ever did.

This post is about the trauma response of waiting for things to go wrong—even when life is finally going right. If you’ve ever felt triggered by stillness, terrified by calm, or uncomfortable when things are too good, this is for you.

Every time I think I’ve found a male figure I can trust or admire, the truth shows up like a slap in the face. From the men in my personal life to public figures like Shannon Sharpe, the betrayal stings in ways I can’t explain. This piece is about my growing fear of men, my disgust at the violence they continue to inflict, and the $50M lawsuit that pushed me over the edge.

Sometimes it’s not that I want to die—it’s that I can’t function while wishing I wasn’t here. My suicidal thoughts have been running in the background like a virus, quietly crashing my ability to handle school, responsibilities, or life. I’m not lazy. I’m exhausted from the war in my head.

They said rage made me difficult. But I’ve learned it made me dangerous—to the silence, to the shame, to the systems that thrive when we stay quiet. This piece is about the fire behind my fight, and how anger shaped me into someone who refuses to stay small.

Being emotionally intelligent is a gift—but it comes with a cost. When you understand everything, you feel everything. And after a while, it stops feeling like wisdom and starts feeling like exhaustion. This is for the people who always make room for others, who analyze everything, who see the deeper meaning behind every action—and still feel alone.

I don’t feel safe when men flirt with me. I don’t feel safe walking home alone. I don’t feel safe existing in a body that men think belongs to them. And the truth is, sometimes I don’t feel like living—not because I want to die, but because I’m terrified someone else will take that choice from me. This piece is rage. It’s fear. It’s survival. It’s me, unfiltered.

— Trinity Barnette

I want closeness. I want to be known. But the second someone gets too close, I pull away. It’s not because I don’t care—it’s because caring terrifies me. This is what it’s like to crave connection while constantly preparing for the worst.

For years, I thought I was just “too much.” Too emotional. Too reactive. Too intense. Then I got diagnosed with borderline personality disorder—and suddenly, things started to make sense. This is what it’s really like to live with BPD, and why it doesn’t define me, but it’s part of my story.

I was told to stop crying before I got something to cry about. I was punished like a soldier, humiliated in public, and made to believe it was for my own good. But it wasn’t discipline. It wasn’t love. It was abuse—and this is the truth I was never allowed to say.

When I was younger, I thought I was just a “mature kid” talking to older guys online. I thought I was in control. I didn’t realize that what I was experiencing had a name—or that it would stay with me for years. This is the truth I couldn’t see back then, and the story I’m finally ready to tell now.