When No One’s Words Fit

I’ve never written for everyone.

The self-help crowd can clutch their pearls, but their advice never landed. None of it sounded like me. I kept trying to fit my grief, my anger, my half-healed hope into their pastel affirmations, and it always felt like wearing someone else’s skin.

Sometimes the only way through is ripping language apart and reassembling it so it doesn’t lie to you.

So I started stealing pieces instead.
A quote here. A habit there. A sentence that didn’t make me roll my eyes.

And slowly, I built something that worked—my own stitched-together philosophy. Not perfect. Not pretty. But mine.

That’s what writing turned into for me. Not therapy. Not branding.
Rebellion.

I got tired of waiting for someone else’s language to save me, so I wrote my own.
It’s messy. Honest. Occasionally profane. But it’s real.

Their certainty never fit my chaos. So I took the bits that fit, left the rest, and built a life out of scraps.

When no one’s words fit, you start building your own language.
And maybe that’s the most honest kind of self-help there is.

— cinnamon