Darkness…
The greatest fear we are taught from childhood.
And yet, we all come from darkness.
From the womb.
When we finally reach the light, we don’t just deny where we came from —
we begin to fear it.
And we are taught to be afraid of it.
There are many forms of darkness.
A dark room.
A pitch-black night.
A dark moment.
And then there is the great darkness inside us.
To me, this is the most frightening one.
The place no one intends to visit.
The place we pretend not to see.
Because entering that darkness means confronting ourselves —
especially the parts of us we least want to accept.
And not just confronting them,
but accepting them.
How could we not be afraid?
Haven’t we all learned to stay on the surface,
to live with our “I’m doing fine” versions of ourselves?
Don’t we move through this world like showmen?
Hiding our real emotions…
Building identities through our families,
our jobs,
the series we watch,
the food we eat,
our friend groups,
our weekend plans,
our travels,
the clothes we wear,
the neighborhoods we live in.
So how many of us truly ask ourselves:
Who am I, really?
For a long time, I couldn’t ask that question.
It didn’t even occur to me.
Because I was the greatest showman around.
Let everyone be happy.
Don’t let the mood drop.
Crack a joke.
No one should feel sad.
Come on, let’s have a drink…
That was me.
It still is, in many ways.
And I can’t even begin to explain how exhausting that is.
When I lie down at night,
I feel as if I’ve lived two lives in one day.
When I began to question this version of myself,
I found myself in a deep darkness.
And I was terrified.
We are taught to fear darkness,
to escape it,
to reach the light as quickly as possible.
So that’s what I did.
Each time, I ran a little faster.
But the more I ran,
the more my darkness followed me.
Eventually, I slowed down.
I stopped running.
Whenever it invited me in,
I declined with a gentle smile.
We were more polite with each other now.
I wasn’t afraid of my darkness anymore,
but I still didn’t know what I would be forced to face there.
So I wasn’t ready to accept the invitation.
Then one day, it said to me:
“If you don’t come, I will.”
A week or two after leaving home,
my son and I went to my mother’s summer house.
We rested, spent time together,
had a quiet holiday.
We returned to Istanbul on the same flight.
Took the metro to Kadıköy,
then a taxi.
The taxi stopped first in front of the house
that used to be mine,
where his father and our dog still live.
My son got out, took his suitcase from the trunk,
and said,
“See you, mom.”
I stood there, watching him walk away.
Then the taxi took me to my sister’s apartment,
where I still live today.
She was away, still with my mother.
I opened the door with my key
and stepped into this place that felt utterly foreign to me.
The only thing I remember is my body beginning to shake.
I collapsed to my knees by the door.
Before I could understand what was happening,
I lost all control and began to cry.
I was in physical pain.
An entire hour on the floor —
unable to control my body,
unable to control my emotions.
I was at the darkest point.
At the bottom of a bottomless well.
I wanted to stay there.
But the voice of my light-self was strong.
I listened to it.
I stood up.
Pulled myself together.
Took a quick shower.
And left the house.
I went to work — even though I didn’t need to.
Yes, I escaped the darkness beautifully once again.
Staying there takes immense courage, ladies and gentlemen.
I threw myself back into the arms of the light —
my comfort zone.
But that moment never left my mind.
It was deeply painful,
yet just as real.
It was familiar.
Only later did I realize what it was:
the comfort of letting go of control.
There was a strange relief
in staying there without performing,
in simply being myself.
These days, I visit those places from time to time —
by choice.
Not all the way down,
but I go.
And I admit that I am still cautious.
Because there is a fierce confrontation waiting there.
And after that confrontation,
there is a real possibility
that I won’t be the same person.
How many of us are ready for that?
How many of us are brave enough
to accept our purest selves —
the good and the bad —
and return to life as that person?
What if our purest self
doesn’t even like the version of us we’re presenting now?
Who would you explain that to?
And how?
Perhaps the very first thing we need to accept is this:
we owe no one an explanation.
I spent my life convincing myself that I was “good.”
Even in my worst moments,
I chased away that feeling
and focused on being okay.
But that bad feeling is also me.
I need to feel bad sometimes.
To look gloomy.
To cry.
And that is my most natural right.
Freedom has always been my greatest goal.
But freedom is a broad concept.
I am only now beginning to realize that
we are free every moment we are not hiding
in our own prisons —
as long as we can be ourselves,
as long as we allow ourselves to feel
without suppressing it.
Still, it seems there is no shortcut to that freedom.
It requires daring to take a long, dark journey —
and courage.
So what do you say…
Shall we meet there sometime?
Nazan
About these Piece!
If These Piece Had a Color : It would be ”Black”.
If These Piece Had a Song : It would be ”Slow Down” from Imany. https://open.spotify.com/track/3X4IhO8J86znRwjZwnib6n?si=bcf7c081e3da4abe 
If These Piece Had a Scent : It would be the smell of an ”Empty room”.
stillbecoming.studio 