The Cost of Becoming – Reclaiming the Self Beneath Expectation

There’s a kind of knowing we carry inside us.
A quiet, persistent truth that whispers, “This is who I am.”

But over time, something happens.
That voice gets quieter. Softer. Buried.
Not because it isn’t true—but because everything around us tells us we’re wrong for feeling it.

A lot of discovering ourselves… is accepting ourselves.
And for many of us, the hardest part of that isn’t finding out who we are—it’s relearning how to honor what we already knew before the world told us it was unacceptable.

A lot of discovering ourselves... is accepting ourselves.

Not discovering in the sense of something we never knew, but uncovering what we’ve always carried deep within. A part of us that’s long been buried under expectations, assumptions, and survival strategies.

Often, we don’t reject our true selves—we’re taught to.

We were trained to deny our instincts in order to be accepted.
We were told to silence our truths to be considered "respectful."
We were taught to fit in, even if it meant fading out.

🧱 The Walls We Were Raised With

I was raised in a society where a woman could be brilliant, wealthy, educated but still, she was expected to shield herself under a man.

Not for protection, not for safety but as a performance of respect.
Even if she had the means to stand alone, she wasn’t allowed to stand tall.

I watched women:

• shrink their dreams to protect fragile egos,

• trade their voices for social approval,

• carry the emotional and domestic load on top of full-time work, yet still be told they were “lucky” to be supported.

And I thought:
Is this how it has to be?

🪞The Mirror That Doesn’t Lie

Even today—as a mother, as a career aspirant woman, I sometimes find myself wondering:

• Can I stand in my strength and still be embraced with softness?

• Can I ask for support without being seen as incapable?

• Can I draw boundaries and still be loved as I am?

These aren’t questions born from weakness.
They come from a life spent navigating expectations—many of them silent, but deeply felt.

They come from trying to balance it all, while knowing that balance, too, is a moving target.

⚖️ What About the Unpaid Labor?

Let’s be honest about something:
In many homes, when one partner works full-time and still carries the emotional and domestic labor— doing two full-time jobs.

But only one is acknowledged. Only one is paid. Only one is listed on a CV.

No one writes "Emotional Regulator. Night Shift Caregiver. Household Manager."
But we know what it costs.

We’ve been taught that one job is “love,” and the other is “work.”
But love is labor too. And when it's unbalanced, it becomes burnout.

We’ve been taught that love is silent labor.
That exhaustion is noble.
That motherhood means self-erasure.

But love, when it’s not mutual, becomes martyrdom.
And that is not balance.

So how do we speak about this without pointing fingers or placing blame?
There is no perfect answer. But what I’ve come to believe is this:

It’s okay to name what’s true for you.
That naming alone can be the first step toward healing.

🌱 Becoming, Again

Maybe self-discovery isn’t about reinventing who we are.
Maybe it’s about peeling away the roles we were assigned—until what’s left feels like home.

Maybe I’m not wrong for wanting space to grow.
Maybe I don’t have to play small to be respected.
Maybe motherhood, womanhood, and humanity can co-exist in wholeness.

And maybe the balance isn’t about a perfect 50/50 split.
Maybe it’s about seeing and honoring what each person brings—and choosing not to make invisible the labor that holds families together.

🌺 This Is the Hibiscus Path

Not linear. Not simple.
But deeply human.
Quietly sacred.

It’s the path of peeling back expectation.
Of remembering your softness.
Of honoring the self underneath the performance.

So today, I extend my hand to anyone carrying this silence.
To anyone shaped by culture, religion, or relationship into someone they barely recognize.
To anyone who feels exhausted trying to be everything to everyone.

May you begin walking gently back to yourself.
Not to the version the world prefers—
But to the version that has been patiently waiting for your return.

With love,
Elizabeth Iember

✨ Reflective Journaling Prompt:

1. What part of yourself have you quieted to maintain peace or appearances?

2. What does emotional labor look like in your life—and is it acknowledged?

3. What would it mean to slowly, gently walk back to your full self?