What Lived Experience Really Means to Me
I remember noticing it before I could explain it.
The way I would pause in certain moments.
The way I could feel something shift before anyone else seemed to notice.
I didn't have language for it then.
I just knew I was carrying something I hadn't been taught.
It showed up in small ways.
What I picked up on.
What I anticipated.
The things I understood without needing them to be said out loud.
There were parts of my experience that never made it into words.
Not because I was hiding them.
Because they were already part of how I moved through the world.
They shaped how I listened.
How I responded.
How I knew when something felt off, even if I couldn't explain why.
For a long time, I thought I needed to find the right words for all of it.
Now, I'm not so sure.
Some things can be understood before they can be explained.
Some things can be felt before they can be named.
I don't question those parts of myself in the same way anymore.
I notice them.
I trust them.
I let them be what they are.
Some of it still doesn't have words.
And that feels okay.
