That question used to make me uncomfortable. Not because I didn’t know who I was—but because I’ve never lived a life that could be summed up in a sentence. I’m not a tagline. I’m not a list of adjectives. I’m not a personality test result, or a perfectly captioned photo, or even someone you could fully understand from a few long conversations. If I were a place, I’d be both a quiet chapel and a crowded street. If I were a season, I’d be the kind that shifts when you’re not paying attention. You’d think I’m just one thing, and then the wind would change—and so would I.

I wear my contradictions like a badge.

I’ve never fit neatly into boxes. I’ve tried. For years, I tried to be digestible. To shrink myself into something easier to define. To be just this or only that. But life has broken me open too many times to stay small. Now, I wear my contradictions like a badge. I am soft and steel, light and shadow, storm and stillness. I feel everything, but I don’t collapse. I give, but I’ve also learned how to stay full. I disappear when I need to protect myself—but when I show up, I show up completely.

To describe myself is to accept that I will never be just one thing. And maybe that’s the most honest thing I can say. I am not made for summaries. I am made of layers. And if you really want to know me, you have to be willing to sit with all of them—the loud and the quiet, the gentle and the guarded, the laughter and the loss. You have to understand that I am not meant to be explained. I am meant to be experienced—slowly, patiently, and with presence.

I’m not an introvert, but I’m not always an extrovert either. I’m both. I need space to breathe, but I also light up around people who make me feel safe. I love deep conversations and warm silences. I can command a room if I need to—but I’d rather stand at the back, observing. I recharge by being alone, but I thrive when I’m truly seen. I crave company, but only when it’s real. I’m not the life of the party—but I’m the soul of the conversation you’ll still be thinking about days later.

I am both soft-hearted and boundary-strong. I forgive easily, sometimes too easily—but I also know when to walk away. I feel people’s pain even when they don’t speak it. I’ve sat with friends in their darkest hours and held their stories like glass. I’ve wiped away tears I never told anyone about. I’ve smiled through breaking points because I didn’t want to burden anyone. That’s who I am. Not dramatic, not attention-seeking—just someone who’s been through things and still chooses to stay kind.

I love beautiful things, but not just the obvious kind. I notice details others miss—the chipped mug someone still uses because it reminds them of their childhood, the way someone’s voice softens when they talk about home, the quiet pride in someone’s eyes when they overcome something small but meaningful. That’s the kind of beauty I hold on to. I live slowly when I can. I pause. I document. I write so I won’t forget how something felt.

I’ve failed before. I’ve made mistakes I haven’t spoken about. But I’m still learning. I’m still softening. Still becoming. There are versions of me that no longer exist—and I grieve them gently, like old friends who helped me grow. There are versions of me I haven’t met yet—and I look forward to becoming her.

So how would I describe myself?

I’m the kind of person who will remember the small things you said in passing and bring them up years later, just to remind you that someone was listening. I’m someone who’s terrified of being misunderstood but also too tired to explain herself sometimes. I’m someone who builds walls with one hand and holds the door open with the other. I don’t need a spotlight—but I want to be known. Truly known. And I want to know others the same way.

If you ask me who I am, I’ll say this:
I’m someone who exists in the and.
Quiet and expressive. Soft and strong. Lost and found. Brave and still healing.
I am a series of contradictions that somehow hold together.

And if you stay long enough,
you’ll realize I’m not difficult to understand—
just not meant to be rushed.