Life In The Black & White.

I live in a mind that splits everything in two.

Good or bad.

Right or wrong.

Worthy or worthless.

There’s no middle ground, just cliffs on either side.

Some days, I wake up already losing. Already behind. Already convinced that if I can’t do it perfectly, I shouldn’t do it at all. That if I’m not good enough, why bother trying?

It’s not just a thought, it’s a courtroom. A constant argument in my head. One voice says, “You’re capable.” The other says, “You’re a fraud.” And they never stop talking.

But it doesn’t stay inside. Black-and-white thinking bleeds into my relationships. It turns conversations into interrogations. I dissect how others think, not to judge them, but because I can’t wrap my head around a world where ideas aren’t fixed in extremes. Where someone can say, “I believe this and that,” and not be contradicting themselves. Where nuance isn’t betrayal, it’s maturity.

I ask too many questions. Push too hard. Not because I want to fight, but because I’m trying to understand. Trying to find the edges of a belief that doesn’t have edges. And sometimes, that hurts people. Sometimes, it hurts me.

I’ve lost connection over this. Over needing certainty. Over needing someone to pick a side. Over needing the world to make sense in black and white.

But I’m learning to sit in the grey. To let two truths live side by side. To say, “I’m not okay,” and still reach for hope. To say, “I’m scared,” and still take the next step.

Grey is messy. It’s uncomfortable. It doesn’t offer the clean lines of certainty. But it offers something softer: grace.

Grace says I can be unfinished and still beloved. I can be unsure and still moving forward. I can be both/and—not either/or.

So today, I’m practicing the pause. The breath between extremes. The quiet space where I don’t have to prove anything. Where I can just be.

Not perfect. Not broken. Just here.