Why I Started My Blog: A Place to Figure It Out, One Post at a Time

this is either brave or unhinged

There’s something vulnerable about starting something new.

Not the kind of new that’s guaranteed to succeed — but the kind that makes you want to crawl under the covers immediately after telling people about it, because you're scared of what might happen.

This blog? It’s that kind of new.

It’s not perfect. It’s not polished. It doesn’t have a 90-day content plan or a carefully curated aesthetic (yet). But it’s real, and it’s mine.

So, welcome to my little corner of the internet — namesnadia. A space built on equal parts curiosity, chaos, courage, and lots of caffeine.

I’m not entirely sure where it’ll go yet, but I do know this:
I needed a space to figure things out.
And maybe, just maybe, you did too.

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when everyone else seems to have the map

I started this blog because I often feel like everyone else has a roadmap, a plan, a direction — and, well, I’m just... floating.

Like I missed the class where they handed out the “how to be an adult and have your shit together” manual.

So I thought: what if I documented my journey — the messy, uncertain, beautiful parts of trying to become the version of myself I’ve always pictured, but never quite felt I was?
Maybe that could be my own manual.

What if I made space for growth — for progress I could look back on?

What if, in writing for myself, someone else found something they needed too?

That’s how this began — as a whisper, a dream, a quiet thought:

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“Maybe you’re not the only one who feels this way. Uncertain about life, the pressures, and everything else.”

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choosing courage, even when it’s scary

I’ve been thinking about starting a blog for over a year.
The idea would come and go — like a song stuck in my head that I kept humming but never fully sang, because I never knew the words.

Part of me wanted to take the leap and do it.
The other part? Terrified.
What if I failed — publicly?
What if no one read it?
What if I lost interest? (Thanks ADHD.)

But then it hit me: I turn 29 on the 29th of April.
‍They call it a “crown birthday” — when your age matches the day you were born. There’s something poetic about that, right? A little wink from the universe, like: Hey, this one matters.

t’s my final lap in my twenties. The last season before a new decade. And I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want this year to stand for — how I want to remember it.

And the answer that keeps coming back is this: I want to be seen.
Not in the flashy, all-eyes-on-me kind of way. But in the this is who I am, take it or leave it kind of way. I want to stop hiding the parts of me that feel unsure or weird or unfinished. I want to share what I’ve always kept tucked away — the dreams I’ve delayed, the ideas I’ve second-guessed, the voice I’ve softened.

Starting this blog felt like the beginning of that. Like opening a door I’ve walked past a hundred times, always peeking in, never stepping through.

So I guess this is my crown birthday gift to myself: a leap. A decision to stop waiting for perfect timing and just begin.

Because if not now — when?

The fear of failure is loud.
The fear of criticism is loud.
But the fear of regret? That’s louder.

So this is me — choosing the scary thing.
Showing up, not because I have it figured out, but because I don’t.
Because I’d rather try, mess up, and learn — than think back on this moment twenty years from now, wondering “what if.”

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beneath all the labels

I’ve always found it strange how much weight job titles carry.

Say you work in finance, and people picture a suit and a spreadsheet.
Say you’re a teacher, and they assume you love kids.
Say you’re a model, and... well, the assumptions multiply.

I hold two degrees and two master’s degrees. I could be working anywhere — in some high-powered, well-defined role. But the truth is, that idea has always scared me.
Not because I lack the work ethic, but because doing the same thing every day on someone else’s agenda just doesn’t suit my ADHD brain.

But honestly? The scariest part isn’t the job.
It’s how easily we get boxed in — how quickly we’re expected to become whatever our title says we are.
And honestly, these titles aren't just how others see you. It’s how you start to see yourself.

Somewhere along the way, your job title, your LinkedIn bio, your “thing” becomes your entire identity.
It quietly starts shaping what kind of life you think you’re allowed to live. What kind of work you believe you can do. What kind of person you’re supposed to be.

And if you live with ADHD, like I do, that pressure hits even harder.

Because ADHD makes the linear path — the neat titles, the tidy progression — feel like a system that was never built with you in mind.

There’s this constant inner tug-of-war:
Wanting structure, but loving spontaneity.
Craving clarity, but chasing every new spark.
Wanting to feel “figured out,” but forever dancing with chaos.

It’s exhausting trying to be one thing.
To sum up your entire identity in a single sentence.
To keep shrinking until you fit inside a definition someone else wrote for you.

So I guess this blog is my quiet rebellion.

A space where I can be multi-passionate, messy, distracted, motivated, tired, curious, lit up, overwhelmed, inspired — and still be whole.
Where I don’t have to choose just one version of myself to show up as.

And through it all, there’s one mantra I keep returning to:

Remember who you are.

Not who you’re supposed to be.
Not what your resume says.
Not what other people expect.

Just you — beneath the noise, the pressure, the roles, the labels.

This blog is my reminder.
Maybe it’ll be yours, too.

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still winging it

^{— namesnadia}

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