The Weight I Wear

I wake up

before the sun has even sighed,

and wear a smile

like armor—

not joy.

Just a habit.

A mask.

Another role

I didn’t ask for.

They call me strong.

Reliable.

“Solid.”

But solid doesn’t mean whole.

It means no room to fall apart.

I say “I’m fine”

like it’s a reflex,

like breathing.

But I don’t even know

what I’m trying to keep alive anymore.

Every day—

I show up.

For them.

For work.

For birthdays.

For broken hearts

that aren’t mine,

for people who never stop

to ask

how much I’ve bled

under the surface.

I don’t reach for the bottle.

I don’t light it up.

Not because I don’t feel the urge—

but because I know

how many would break

if I did.

And I can’t risk

disappointing

the people who need me

to be okay.

Even if I’m not.

Especially if I’m not.

I’ve mastered

self-denial.

I’ve learned how to fold my dreams

into napkins

and tuck them in my pocket—

quiet.

Forgotten.

Like they were never mine

to begin with.

Because when you’re the one

everyone leans on,

there’s no space

to lean back.

And truth is…

I’m tired.

Tired of saving spaces

for everyone but me.

Tired of pretending

this doesn’t hurt.

Tired of walking past mirrors

and not recognizing

who’s staring back.

I want to scream.

Not for attention—

for freedom.

For a day

where I can just choose

me.

Where I’m not afraid

that choosing myself

means losing everyone else.

I want

to fall apart

without apology.

To feel

without filtering.

To cry

without covering it up

in laughter and “it’s all good” lies.

But instead,

I stay.

Steady.

Smiling.

Silent.

Because that’s what they need.

Because that’s who I became.

Because sometimes,

being the strong one

means

never being seen.

But someday…

maybe I’ll speak louder.

Maybe I’ll step forward.

Maybe I’ll say:

“This is who I am. And I deserve to be here too.”

And that day…

will be mine.

How Boyfriend Material Wrecked Me—in the Best Way Possible

I didn’t expect to cry while reading Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall.

Sure, I expected to laugh (which I did—loudly and often), and I expected some swoon-worthy moments (there were plenty). But what I didn’t see coming was how deeply this book would speak to the broken parts of me I’ve tried to keep hidden for so long.

This wasn’t just a fun, queer romcom with British sarcasm and a fake-dating trope. For me, Boyfriend Material cracked open something tender I didn’t even realize still hurt as much as it did.

Because, just like Luc, I know what it feels like to be shattered by someone who never saw me the way I hoped they would. To be left in pieces and told—through silence, through distance, through indifference—that I wasn’t enough. And after that experience, I didn’t just walk away hurt—I walked away convinced that love wasn’t meant for me. That I had to settle for half-hearted relationships or surface-level connections because deep down, I believed I didn’t deserve more.

Luc’s story is about someone who’s been burned so badly by past relationships and public humiliation that he’s built walls around himself so high, even he can’t see over them anymore. He uses jokes and sarcasm as armor, afraid that if anyone gets too close, they’ll see the mess underneath and walk away. Reading that was like looking into a mirror. I’ve done the exact same thing—pushing people away before they have a chance to really know me, because I assumed they’d leave anyway. Better to leave first, right?

And then there’s Oliver. Sweet, steady, structured Oliver, who on the outside seems to have it all together but is quietly wrestling with his own fears of inadequacy. Watching Luc and Oliver slowly, awkwardly, and honestly learn to care for one another felt like breathing for the first time in a while. Because for once, the romance wasn’t about two perfect people falling in love—it was about two real people, carrying real scars, choosing to show up for each other even when it was hard.

That part wrecked me.

There’s a scene (I won’t spoil it too much) where Luc starts to realize that maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t have to keep punishing himself for the ways he’s been hurt. That he can actually let someone love him. And not just tolerate him, but love him in all his messy, chaotic, vulnerable glory.

I had to close the book for a second after that scene. Because I’d never really let myself believe that was possible for me.

This book made me sit with feelings I’ve buried—how I’ve convinced myself to expect less so I wouldn’t be disappointed, how I’ve guarded my heart so tightly that love couldn’t even get close. And most of all, how I’ve confused being strong with being closed off.

Boyfriend Material reminded me that it’s okay to be soft. That it’s okay to want to be chosen. That love doesn’t have to be earned through perfection or performance—it can simply be given. Freely. Gently. Willingly.

It reminded me that maybe I don’t have to settle. That maybe—just maybe—I’m worthy of the kind of love that doesn’t leave when it gets difficult.

So yeah, I came for the fake dating and witty banter, but I stayed for the healing. For the truth it whispered into the quiet corners of my heart.

To anyone who’s ever been broken by love, who’s learned to shrink themselves out of fear, who’s convinced themselves that closeness is dangerous—I see you. And I think you’d see yourself in this book too.

And who knows… maybe we are boyfriend material after all.

Update 2: When Everything Feels Heavy

I thought being sober would fix all my problems.

I really did.

People made it sound like once you stop drinking or using, things just… get better. That life would slowly fall into place. That clarity and peace would come flooding in. And to be fair, some of that is true—sobriety has cleared my mind in ways I didn’t expect. But it hasn’t made life easy. It hasn’t stopped the world from spinning, or pain from landing hard and fast.

Right now, I’m sitting in this meeting, surrounded by people, and I can’t even focus. The voices around me feel like static. I hear them, but they don’t register. My mind is loud, chaotic, overstimulated. It’s been a whirlwind few weeks—emotionally, mentally, financially—and it’s all finally catching up with me. I think I’m just… tired. And not the kind of tired a nap can fix.

Let’s start with the biggest hit: I lost my job.

I’ve accepted that the job is gone, but the way it happened is what keeps looping in my head. I was lied on. Blindsided. Betrayed. I showed up every day, went the extra mile, stayed late, filled in the gaps where others fell short—not for recognition, not for brownie points, but because I genuinely cared. I gave it my best. And still, it wasn’t enough to protect me. That kind of disappointment cuts deep.

Now reality is showing up in all its heaviness. Bills are due. Gas tank’s low. I’ve had to ask my dad and grandma for money just to scrape together enough to get from point A to point B. I applied for unemployment, but a glitch in the system forced me into filing an appeal. I don’t know how long that process takes. Every day I wake up hoping for a letter, an email, a message—something—only to find nothing’s changed. The silence makes the anxiety louder.

And the worst part? I haven’t really told anyone how I’m doing.

Not fully. Not honestly.

I’ve danced around it in conversations. Shared a piece here and there. But never the whole picture. Part of me doesn’t want help—at least not if it feels like pity. I don’t want to be someone’s charity case, even if that’s not how they mean it. There’s this voice in my head that keeps saying, You should be able to figure this out on your own. But maybe that’s pride. Or fear. Or both.

Asking for help is hard.

Like, really hard.

But here I am, admitting that I need to learn how. Even typing that feels like a form of progress. A small step. A quiet yes. I’m learning that healing doesn’t always look brave. Sometimes, it’s just telling the truth—even if your voice shakes.

Lately, the pressure of staying on track feels heavy. Some days, the thought of slipping back into old patterns calls louder than I’d like to admit. Not because I want to lose everything I’ve worked for, but because it would be easy. Familiar. Numb. But people look up to me. They’re watching. And while that kind of pressure can feel overwhelming, it also anchors me. Reminds me of who I want to be, and who I don’t want to become again.

There’s step work I haven’t finished yet. It’s been sitting there for weeks, waiting. And I keep avoiding it—not because I don’t believe in it, but because I’m afraid. Afraid of finishing. Afraid of what comes after. As long as I’m “still working on it,” I have something to hide behind. But I know deep down that I can’t stay here forever. Healing demands movement.

And writing…

Writing is the only place where I can be completely real.

No expectations. No filters. Just me, laying it all out. Not many people read this blog, and I think that’s a blessing in disguise. It’s my little corner of the internet where I can breathe. A space where I don’t have to be “okay.” Just honest.

I don’t know what tomorrow looks like. Or next week. Or even next hour.

But I’m still here.

I’m still trying.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt like the weight of the world is too much—if you’ve ever sat in a room full of people and felt completely alone—please know that you’re not. We’re in this together. You’re not weak for feeling heavy. You’re human. And together, somehow, some way, we’ll figure it out.

Until next time.

MLWJR

Life Update: Learning to Breathe Again

Hey friends,

It’s been a while—longer than I intended. I’ve been meaning to sit down and write, but life has a way of swallowing time whole when you’re caught in its current. So here I am, finally taking a breath, and putting some thoughts into words.

To put it simply, I’ve been working a lot. Like, 7 days a week, non-stop, barely-making-time-to-sleep kind of work. It started with good intentions—I thought staying busy would help me stay focused, keep me productive, and maybe even keep certain thoughts at bay. But somewhere in that busyness, I stopped going out, stopped reaching out, and started drifting into isolation.

Church and work became my entire world. And while those are two solid pillars, even strong foundations can’t hold you up if you don’t let people in. I’ve been sitting in my own thoughts way too much, spiraling a bit in silence. I kept telling myself I was just “tired,” but honestly, I’ve been walking through a fog of depression that I didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone talk about. I stopped showing up for people—and if you’re reading this and you’ve felt that distance, I’m sorry. It wasn’t personal. I just couldn’t find the words.

Part of the reason I didn’t say anything was fear—fear of being misunderstood, of being seen as too much or not enough. I’ve always been an all-or-nothing kind of person. If I can’t show up fully, I tend to retreat entirely. And that’s not healthy, but it’s honest.

But something shifted about a month ago.

I stumbled into a group of people—new faces, new energy, and no expectations. They didn’t know anything about me. They didn’t need anything from me. They just let me be. And that was exactly what I didn’t know I needed. I could sit there and just exist without feeling like I had to perform or explain myself. Slowly, I started to open up to a few of them. Not fully, not deeply, but enough. And for someone like me who guards their heart so tightly, that’s a big step.

These people feel different. Safe. And while I haven’t shared everything with them (honestly, no one knows everything about me), they’ve helped remind me that it’s okay to be seen. Even the messy parts. Maybe especially the messy parts.

I’ve also started baking again—something I’ve always loved but had lost the energy for. It’s funny how something as simple as creaming butter and sugar can help you slow down and breathe. Today, I made a caramel pound cake for the first time. I haven’t tasted it yet—waiting until I get home from a meeting I’ve been avoiding. A friend (who I’ve also been avoiding, if we’re being real) is speaking tonight, and I told them I’d show up. I’m here…even though everything in me wants to run out the door and disappear. But I’m staying. I’m learning that sometimes showing up, even when it’s hard, is the first step to healing.

So yeah…that’s where I’m at. Not fully okay, but not where I was either. Somewhere in between. And maybe that’s enough for now.

Thanks for sticking around, for reading, for being part of the journey—however messy or quiet it gets. Hopefully, I’ll find my rhythm again and get back to writing more regularly. Until then, be kind to yourself. We’re all carrying things we don’t talk about.

With love,

—Marty

Drowning in Silence: When the Emotions Won’t Come Out

There are days when I feel like I’m carrying the weight of emotions too heavy to name. Like there’s a storm inside me, swirling with thoughts, feelings, and memories that I can’t quite process. I want to cry, to scream, to let it all pour out of me but nothing happens. Instead, I just sit there, stuck in this strange in-between space where I feel everything and nothing at the same time.

It’s exhausting to have so much inside and no way to release it. I try to put it into words, but nothing feels right. I try to explain it to someone, but how do you explain something you don’t even understand yourself? It’s like I’m drowning, but nobody sees the water. Like I’m screaming, but no sound comes out. Like I’m full of emotions, but they refuse to take shape.

I know crying is supposed to help it’s supposed to be the release, the breaking point that makes it all feel lighter. But what do you do when the tears just won’t come? When you’re so overwhelmed that even your body refuses to process it? When all you can do is sit with the weight of it, hoping it will pass but not knowing when or how?

And the worst part is, no one really sees it. On the outside, I look fine. I smile, I nod, I do what’s expected of me. But inside, there’s chaos. Inside, I’m unraveling in a way I can’t quite explain. And I don’t know if I need someone to pull me out of it, or if I just need to sit in this space for a while until the storm settles on its own.

I wish I knew how to let it out. I wish I knew how to release all of this without feeling like I’m being swallowed whole. But right now, all I can do is exist in it feeling everything, feeling nothing, and waiting for the moment when the weight finally lifts.

Taking a Break, But Not Knowing How to Let Go

Lately, I’ve been feeling the need to step back—from people, from places, from everything that constantly demands my energy. I don’t mean that in a dramatic, disappearing-act kind of way, but in the way that comes from deep exhaustion. The kind that makes you realize you’ve been running on empty for too long. The kind that whispers, You need to rest before there’s nothing left of you to give.

But here’s the problem: I don’t know how to do that.

It’s not that I don’t want to take a break. I do. I feel it in my bones. I feel it in the way my patience runs thin, in the way I catch myself sighing more than laughing, in the way I crave silence but rarely get it. I know I need space to breathe, to recharge, to not always be the person who shows up, who listens, who carries the weight of other people’s problems along with my own.

But at the same time, I don’t know how to shut off that part of me that wants to be there for people. I don’t know how to walk away when I know someone might need me. Even when I’m overwhelmed, there’s this voice in my head that says, What if they need you? What if they don’t have anyone else? What if you stepping away makes things worse for them? And so I stay. I listen. I show up, even when it drains me.

I’ve always been that person the one who checks in, the one who tries to make people feel less alone, the one who puts aside my own exhaustion because someone else’s pain seems bigger. And maybe that’s just who I am. Maybe it’s not something I can—or should turn off. But at the same time, where does that leave me?

Because the truth is, I’m tired. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. And I know that constantly pouring into others without refilling my own cup isn’t sustainable. I know that if I don’t take a step back, I’ll start resenting the very people I care about. And that’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to me.

So how do you do it? How do you take a break when everything in you is wired to be available, to care, to be the person people lean on? How do you silence the guilt that comes with choosing yourself for once?

I don’t have the answers. But I know this: I can’t keep going at this pace. I can’t keep saying yes when my soul is screaming for rest. Maybe I won’t fully step away. Maybe I’ll just take small steps—turning off my phone for a while, saying no to things I don’t have the energy for, allowing myself to exist without always being “on.” Maybe that’s a start.

And maybe, just maybe, the people who truly care about me will understand. Maybe they’ll remind me that I deserve the same care and consideration that I give to everyone else. Maybe they’ll tell me that it’s okay to take a break not because I don’t care, but because I do.

And maybe I’ll finally start to believe it.

The Difficulty of Trusting Others When Most People Let You Down

Trust is one of the hardest things to build and one of the easiest things to break. It’s the foundation of every relationship, whether it’s with family, friends, or even co-workers. But when you’ve been let down too many times, trust starts to feel like a risk not worth taking. It’s hard to open up when past experiences have shown you that people don’t always value your trust the way they should.

At some point, almost everyone faces disappointment from people they thought they could rely on. Maybe it was a friend who shared something you told them in confidence. Maybe it was a family member who didn’t show up when you needed them most. Maybe it was a relationship that ended in betrayal. Whatever the case, being let down repeatedly makes you cautious. You start building walls, not necessarily because you want to, but because experience has taught you that people can be unpredictable, selfish, or careless with your trust.

The worst part is that broken trust doesn’t just affect one relationship it affects how you see people in general. It makes you second-guess kindness, question motives, and hesitate before letting anyone in. You wonder, Is this person different? Or will they just be another disappointment? Over time, trust issues can make you feel isolated, like you can only rely on yourself because trusting others has only led to hurt.

But as much as broken trust teaches you to be careful, it also puts you in a tough position. You don’t want to be closed off to meaningful connections, but you also don’t want to be naive. It’s a constant battle between protecting yourself and wanting to believe that good, trustworthy people still exist. And they do. Not everyone is going to betray you. Not everyone is going to let you down. But after being burned so many times, how do you know who to trust?

The truth is, there’s no easy answer. Trust will always be a risk, but it’s a risk we sometimes have to take in order to experience real relationships. The key is learning to trust wisely paying attention to actions rather than just words, giving trust in small pieces instead of all at once, and being okay with walking away from people who repeatedly show they can’t be trusted.

It’s okay to be guarded. It’s okay to take your time before fully trusting someone. But don’t let past disappointments convince you that trust is never worth it. There are people out there who will value and protect the trust you give them you just have to be patient enough to find them.

The Weight of Being There

I need to step away, I know it’s true,

The world is heavy, and I’m worn through.

The voices call, the hands reach out,

And I keep answering, despite my doubt.

I feel it deep within my chest,

A longing pull to sit, to rest.

To let the noise fade far away,

To breathe, to be, to not obey.

But every time I try to leave,

A whisper stops me What if they need?

What if someone’s standing near the edge,

Waiting for a voice to pull them from the ledge?

What if my silence feels like a door

That’s closing on a heart too sore?

What if they reach and find no hand,

No steady place for them to land?

So I stay, I listen, I hold my ground,

Even when no strength is found.

Even when my heart feels drained,

Even when my soul is strained.

But somewhere deep, I hear the plea,

A voice inside that comes from me.

It doesn’t ask, it doesn’t shout,

It only whispers, Let me out.

Let me rest, let me roam,

Let me find my way back home.

Let me turn my phone to mute,

Let me walk without pursuit.

Let me trust that they’ll survive,

That they don’t need me to revive.

That I can step back, let them stand,

Without my ever-reaching hand.

It’s hard to stop, to say not now,

To choose myself, yet not know how.

But if I break, then who remains

To soften others’ hurt and pains?

So I’ll take a step not far, but wide,

A place where I can sit beside.

Not lost, not gone, just in-between,

A space where I can finally lean.

And if they call, if they reach,

I’ll trust that silence too can teach.

That sometimes strength is found alone,

And I, too, deserve my own.

How My Dog Saved Me, and How I Saved Him

I never knew how much I needed a dog until the day he came into my life. I wasn’t looking for a pet, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure I could take care of one. Life had been throwing punches, and I was barely keeping my head above water. But sometimes, the best things happen when you least expect them.

It all started when I stumbled upon an adoption event at a local shelter. I wasn’t planning on stopping, but something made me slow down. Maybe it was fate, or maybe I was just looking for a distraction from the weight I had been carrying. And then, there he was a scrappy, wide-eyed dog with the kind of eyes that seemed to look right into my soul. He wasn’t the biggest or the fluffiest. He wasn’t the one everyone was rushing to see. But when I knelt down, he walked right up to me, wagging his tail like we had known each other forever.

I don’t know what it was about that moment, but I knew he was mine. Or maybe, I was his.

Bringing him home changed everything. At first, I thought I was rescuing him, giving him a second chance at life. But the truth is, he was the one who saved me.

On my worst days, when I didn’t even want to get out of bed, he reminded me that I had to. He needed me to be fed, to be walked, to be loved. And in taking care of him, I started taking better care of myself. The simple joy he found in the smallest things a belly rub, a game of fetch, a long walk in the park reminded me to find happiness in the little moments, too.

He became my anchor, my reason to keep going. On days when I felt lost, he made me feel found. On nights when I felt alone, he curled up next to me, his warmth and steady breathing reminding me that I wasn’t.

I don’t know where I’d be without him. Maybe I would have kept drifting, feeling like something was missing. But now, every time I see his tail wagging when I walk through the door, or feel his head rest on my lap when I need comfort, I know: We were meant to find each other.

He may not know it, but he saved me in ways I never thought possible. And every single day, I’m grateful we found each other.

Being Accountable: Why It’s Necessary for Growth and Success

Accountability is a word we often hear in workplaces, relationships, and personal development discussions. But what does it really mean to be accountable? And why is accountability such a crucial aspect of success in every area of life?

What is Accountability?

At its core, accountability means taking responsibility for your actions, decisions, and commitments. It is about owning up to the consequences of your choices both good and bad without blaming others or making excuses.

Being accountable means:

• Following through on your promises.

• Admitting when you’ve made a mistake.

• Learning from failures instead of denying them.

• Accepting constructive criticism and making improvements.

• Being reliable and dependable in all areas of life.

Accountability is not just about taking responsibility when things go wrong; it’s also about recognizing your successes and the impact of your actions. A truly accountable person understands that their actions influence others and that their personal integrity is vital to maintaining trust and respect.

Why is Accountability Necessary?

Many people view accountability as a burden, something that makes them feel pressured or constrained. However, accountability is one of the most liberating and empowering principles a person can adopt. It leads to self-improvement, trust, and achievement in both personal and professional life.

1. Builds Trust and Credibility

When people know they can rely on you to keep your word, they are more likely to trust and respect you. Whether in the workplace, friendships, or family relationships, accountability is the foundation of credibility.

For example, if you consistently meet deadlines at work and take responsibility for any delays or mistakes, your boss and coworkers will see you as reliable. On the other hand, if you constantly shift blame and avoid responsibility, your credibility will suffer, and people will hesitate to rely on you.

2. Encourages Growth and Self-Improvement

One of the greatest benefits of being accountable is that it forces you to recognize areas where you can improve. When you hold yourself accountable for mistakes instead of making excuses, you open the door to growth.

Imagine a basketball player who always blames the referee for bad calls instead of acknowledging his own mistakes. He will never improve his game because he refuses to see what he needs to work on. However, a player who reviews his performance, accepts feedback, and works on his weaknesses will become stronger and more skilled over time.

3. Strengthens Relationships

Accountability is key to healthy relationships, whether romantic, professional, or personal. When both parties in a relationship take responsibility for their actions and words, it fosters mutual respect and understanding.

For example, in a marriage, if one spouse forgets an important event and refuses to acknowledge it, it can lead to resentment. However, if they own up to their mistake, apologize, and make an effort to do better in the future, it strengthens the bond between them.

4. Increases Productivity and Efficiency

In a work environment, accountability drives productivity. When employees and leaders hold themselves accountable, tasks are completed on time, goals are met, and teams function more effectively.

Many businesses that struggle with inefficiency do so because employees lack accountability. If no one is held responsible for unfinished projects or poor performance, nothing improves. However, when accountability is built into the company culture, everyone takes their responsibilities seriously, leading to better outcomes.

5. Helps You Achieve Your Goals

Setting goals is easy, but achieving them requires accountability. Many people set New Year’s resolutions, but only a small percentage follow through because they lack accountability.

When you hold yourself accountable whether through self-discipline, accountability partners, or structured planning you are far more likely to reach your goals. A person who commits to exercising regularly and tracks their progress is more likely to succeed than someone who simply “hopes” to get in shape.

6. Builds Character and Integrity

Accountability strengthens your character. It teaches humility, responsibility, and discipline qualities that are essential for success in life.

When you take ownership of your actions, you demonstrate integrity. Integrity means doing the right thing even when no one is watching. People with integrity earn the respect of others because they stand by their principles and take responsibility for their choices.

How to Practice Accountability in Daily Life

Now that we understand why accountability is necessary, how can we actively practice it? Here are some practical ways to cultivate accountability in your personal and professional life:

1. Stop Making Excuses

Excuses are the enemy of accountability. Instead of blaming others or external circumstances, focus on what you can control. If you make a mistake, acknowledge it and find a way to improve.

2. Set Clear Goals and Expectations

To be accountable, you need a clear sense of what you are responsible for. Set specific, realistic goals and create a plan to achieve them. Whether at work, in relationships, or in personal development, knowing what is expected of you makes accountability easier.

3. Keep Track of Your Progress

One way to stay accountable is by tracking your progress. Whether through journaling, creating a checklist, or using accountability apps, regularly reviewing your progress helps you stay on track.

4. Seek Feedback and Accept Criticism

Accountable people are open to feedback. Instead of getting defensive when someone points out a mistake, view it as an opportunity to learn. Accepting constructive criticism helps you grow and improve.

5. Surround Yourself with Accountable People

The people you associate with influence your mindset. If you surround yourself with people who make excuses and avoid responsibility, you may adopt the same habits. On the other hand, if you spend time with disciplined, accountable individuals, their mindset will inspire you to be better.

6. Admit Mistakes and Learn from Them

No one is perfect, and mistakes are inevitable. However, the difference between an accountable person and an unaccountable one is how they handle mistakes. Instead of denying or ignoring failures, own up to them and find ways to do better next time.

7. Hold Others Accountable

Accountability is a two-way street. If you are in a leadership position, encourage accountability in others by setting clear expectations and holding people responsible for their commitments. In personal relationships, gently remind friends and loved ones of their responsibilities while also ensuring you lead by example.

Accountability is not always easy, but it is one of the most valuable traits a person can develop. It builds trust, fosters growth, strengthens relationships, and leads to greater success in every aspect of life. By taking responsibility for your actions, setting clear goals, and surrounding yourself with accountable individuals, you can create a life of integrity, productivity, and fulfillment.

In a world where excuses are common, be someone who takes ownership. Hold yourself accountable, learn from your experiences, and strive to be the best version of yourself. Accountability is not a burden it’s a pathway to a better, more successful life.

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