I used to judge people like this.
Cold. Calculated. Focused on results, not feelings. Always moving forward, even if it meant stepping on a few things — or people — along the way.
I promised myself I'd never be like them.
I valued connection. I valued time. I valued softness.
Until life didn’t let me anymore.
It didn’t happen all at once.
It was one small decision after another. Saying “yes” to more work than I could handle. Choosing productivity over sleep. Cutting off friends because “I’m just busy.” Smiling at my phone, faking good days. Pretending to be inspired when I was burning out.
Then one day I realized:
I had become the person I used to fear.
The one too strong to feel.
Too smart to stop.
Too efficient to care.
But here's the truth nobody tells you:
Becoming that person doesn’t always feel wrong.
It feels like survival. It feels like progress. It even feels like pride.
Until you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the one looking back.
I became successful.
I also became emotionally unavailable.
I learned to say no.
But forgot how to say “I miss you.”
I protected my peace.
But built walls so high no one could reach me.
Then something broke.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just... silently.
A message I forgot to answer.
A friend I didn’t notice had stopped calling.
A moment when I sat alone in a silent room and asked myself:
“If I’m doing so well, why does it feel so empty?”
That’s when I started undoing.
I didn’t quit my job. I didn’t vanish.
I just started asking real questions again.
Am I building a life I actually want?
Who am I without the hustle?
What am I trying to prove — and to whom?
I’m still learning how to soften again.
How to speak slower.
How to care deeply without getting lost.
And maybe, just maybe,
I needed to become the person I feared —
To finally understand what really matters.
If you’ve ever felt this shift too, let’s talk.
I’m not here to give answers. Just honesty.
If you’re exploring how technology, identity, and digital life intersect, I sometimes write here too:
https://dominetec.com.br
