Purple Vanilla World

I’ve lived a lot of my life in pieces.

Thalia, the Alcoholic. Thalia, the Traumatized. Thalia, the Chronically Ill. Thalia, the Overachiever. Thalia, the Performer.

I knew how to keep each identity in its lane, how to manage what people saw, how to act like everything was fine even when I was rotting inside.

But then I ruptured.

Now I must repair.

My parts are no longer separated, isolated, at a civil war inside the claw-marked walls of my psyche.

I asked them to look around the claw-marked room.

I asked them to drop their weapons.

I coaxed them out of their caves.

They sat among each other for the first time, not as enemies, but integrated into a little army of instincts.

I want them in the same room, working together.

My internal parts, my masculine and feminine, my grief and gratitude, my anger and my passion, my accountability and my grace—they’re all invited to the table. I aligned them enough to rebuild their home together, so my essence can actually take the wheel instead of white-knuckling it while the others hijack me.

Integration means I don’t have to choose between being a victim and being strong. I am both. I am all of it. I’m allowed to feel grief without being swallowed by it, and I’m allowed to feel joy without guilt.

My shortcomings now stand next to my strengths, not in shame but in purpose. I want all the awful shit I’ve been through to mean something—not in a toxic positivity way, but in a fuck you, I’m using this way.

I’m learning when to use my voice and when it’s okay to be quiet. I’m learning that saying “no” is not an act of violence, but actually an act of kindness. I’m learning that walking away can be love—for me and for autonomy, and for growth. I’m learning that I can observe without being dragged into other people’s chaos. I can care without drowning.

I have a healthy fear of getting sucked back into dysfunction. I’m paying attention to that in my relationships and in every connection I keep. If you’re not integrated, I don’t have to join your vortex. I can stand outside it.

I’m autistic. I have CPTSD. I live with chronic pain. I’m not a ray of sunshine every day, but I’m not pretending anymore either. And sometimes—like right now—I feel peaceful, even with a headache, even with aching legs, even with a job I fucking hate.

These tiny blips of okay-ness, even when I feel like shit, that’s what makes life worth it. Those moments where I’m just here, and I’m just existing, with grace, compassion, and a dash of fiery awareness.

It’s because I’ve found My Purpose: I’m here to be a truth-teller and a cycle breaker.

I’m here to drag the shit I’ve hidden in the dark into the light and let people watch me do it, so maybe they feel brave enough to do the same. I’m here to speak up, to break cycles, to advocate for myself and, if I can, for others.

I outgrew the pot I was planted in, and it shattered. I landed in unknown soil, and it took years for the shock to wear off, but my roots are growing again. My pot is stitched back together again. And the soil is fertile here.

I’m not perfect. I’m not “fixed.” But I’m whole enough to keep going. So I think I will, for today at least.

by Thalia Graves

Purple Vanilla World, 2025