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Posts by Zara Brown:

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Which Greek God or Goddess are you? Quiz

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“Some Goodbyes Don’t Have Closure”

Not all goodbyes are loud.
Some slip through the cracks quietly,
With no dramatic fight, no final word,
Just distance that grows where connection used to live.

One day, they were a regular part of your world.
The way the sun came up or the way you took your coffee.
And then they weren’t.
And now…
Now you think of them at random times —
When a certain song plays,
When you pass a place you used to go together,
When you hear someone laugh and for a second, it sounds like them.

No one tells you how to grieve people who are still alive.
Who just… faded.
Maybe they stopped calling.
Maybe you did.
Maybe life got in the way and neither of you knew how to stop the drift.

But the ache is still real.
The memories still flash like film behind your eyes when you least expect it.

You don’t have to hate them to move on.
You don’t need a villain.
Sometimes people are just meant to love us for a season — to teach us something,
To reflect something we were ready to see in ourselves.

And it’s okay to still love them in some quiet part of your heart.
To wish them well.
To hold gratitude and grief in the same hand.

Because closure isn’t always something you find.
Sometimes it’s something you decide.
You decide to forgive.
To release.
To stop rehearsing what you could’ve said.

You make peace with the version of them you knew.
You make space for what comes next.

And one day, you’ll think of them and smile without hurting.
You’ll realize the goodbye didn’t break you — it changed you.
And you’re still here.
More open.
More aware.
More you than ever.

Achilles __ The Trojan War Hero

What exactly do I want to learn?

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“When You Don’t Feel Like Yourself Anymore”

There are seasons in life when you don’t recognize the person in the mirror.
When your spark feels dim.
When your days blur together and you wonder if you’re still you under all the tiredness and numbness and noise.

You remember being softer once.
You remember laughing without having to fake it.
You remember a version of yourself that felt lighter — maybe even hopeful.

But now it feels like you’re walking through molasses, like everything good is just out of reach.
And maybe you’re showing up for work, replying to messages, doing all the things you’re supposed to do — but inside, something feels missing.
Disconnected. Quiet. A little hollow.

Here’s what I need you to know:
You’re not broken.
This version of you is not a failure.
You are not behind.
You are surviving something.
And survival doesn’t always look poetic.

Sometimes it’s crying in the shower and then pulling yourself together to make lunch.
Sometimes it’s staring at your phone for an hour before answering one message.
Sometimes it’s choosing to stay.
To try.
To breathe.
To take one small step.

You won’t feel like this forever.

One day, you’ll laugh again and it’ll reach your eyes.
One day, the weight will lift — little by little, breath by breath.
One day, you’ll look in the mirror and recognize yourself not because you’ve gone back to who you were,
But because you’ve grown into someone even deeper.
Even stronger.
Even more whole.

So if today is hard, let it be.
If today is heavy, you don’t have to carry it perfectly.
Just carry it honestly.

You are allowed to be both lost and becoming.
Both hurting and healing.
Both unsure and worthy.

This is not the end of your story.
It’s just a chapter.
And when you’re ready, you’ll write your way out of it — one word, one breath, one heartbeat at a time.

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The basics of Greek Mythology

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“A Love That Stays”

Everyone talks about the kind of love that burns — the love that makes your heart race, your skin tingle, your world flip upside down.
And yes, that kind of love is beautiful.
But I think there’s something even more powerful…
A love that stays.

Not the one that explodes into your life and disappears just as quickly, leaving you staring at your ceiling at 2 a.m. asking what went wrong.
But the one that lingers. The one that shows up. The one that chooses you again and again, even when things aren’t easy, even when you’re not easy.

A love that remembers how you take your tea.
A love that texts you when they know you’re anxious, even if you didn’t say it out loud.
A love that sits with you in silence when there’s nothing to fix, just feelings to feel.
A love that doesn’t need fireworks to feel like magic.

You deserve a love that doesn’t make you question your worth.
A love that doesn’t keep you on edge, waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under you.
You deserve softness — not confusion. Effort — not excuses.

And you know what?
You don’t have to chase that kind of love.
You just have to be brave enough to stop settling for less than it.
Brave enough to believe you’re worthy of it.
Brave enough to give it to yourself first.

Because the moment you stop begging for crumbs,
The moment you start living like you are already whole,
You’ll stop attracting people who only love pieces of you.

You’ll wait for the one who wants to hold the whole thing —
The chaos, the wonder, the depth, the shadow, the light.

And that kind of love?
It’s worth everything.
It’s not always fast.
But it’s real.
And it stays.

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Meet the Olympians: a guide to the 12 main Gods

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“Learning to Come Home to Yourself”

There’s something powerful about learning to come home to yourself — truly, gently, without judgment.

We spend so much of our lives stretching ourselves to fit into spaces that don’t feel quite right. We want to be accepted, wanted, loved. We try on personalities like clothes in a changing room, hoping something will finally feel like us. And yet, when the lights go out and everything is quiet, we’re left with one simple truth: the relationship we have with ourselves is the one that echoes the loudest.

Coming home to yourself isn’t always peaceful at first. Sometimes it’s messy. It’s sitting with emotions you tried to bury. It’s forgiving yourself for what you didn’t know then. It’s holding space for your younger self, your present self, and the future version of you who’s still figuring it all out.

It’s understanding that healing isn’t linear. That you can miss someone and still know they weren’t good for you. That you can feel grateful and exhausted at the same time. That growth often looks like discomfort.

You’ll start to notice it in the small things. In the way you no longer apologize for taking up space. In how you set boundaries without guilt. In the peace that comes when you realize you don’t need to perform for love — you just need to be.

And when you begin to show up for yourself — really show up — everything shifts. You’ll attract people who feel like safety. You’ll stop chasing what depletes you. You’ll begin to build a life that feels aligned, intentional, yours.

Coming home to yourself isn’t a one-time event. It’s a practice. A soft returning. A quiet decision, made again and again: I choose me.

And that? That’s where everything begins.